#<- worlds most pathetic man with no concept of self satisfaction

[1kari]

btw all my art is ok to reblog ^_^ obviously u dont have to but just want to say that

#i know its doesnt fit peoples Blog theme or wahtever and thats fine but i really am so sad when it doesnt even get likes aaauu #<- worlds most pathetic man with no concept of self satisfaction #gonna delete this later i feel so lame doing this. sorry

[thegreenfairy13]

Mr Van Dahl’s Remarkable Double Life - Part 7 Love You Forever

A Gobblepot fanfic. Jim and Oswald have been married for years, fooling all of Gotham. When Jim decided their marriage shall not remain a secret anymore, all hell breaks loose for the detective. Read it here on Ao3. E-rated chapter! Read at your own risk! 

Even when having an existential crisis, there’s only so much you can do when being locked up in your own home’s basement. Jim is alternating between experiencing fits of rage and despair.

How dare Oswald hold him prisoner in their shared mansion? Well, it’s not even a shared place. It never was, Jim realizes. Does his husband ever even loved him or did he always regard him as his personal possession? The sheer audacity to tell the world he’s some kind of brain-washed pet. The cop can hardly breathe from anger.

Yet, it’s his very own fault. His track record when it comes to relationships is godawful. Each and every person he ever had an interest in turned out to be a psychopath at some point and Ozzie is decidedly the king of them. What was he expecting anyway when marrying a mob boss who won’t hesitate to stab his enemies right into their necks?

Despite all their shared years, Oswald, the Penguin, doesn’t value human life. Rather prefers regarding others as obstacles - with only a few exceptions.

Like him.

Jim once thought he might be able to change that. The bitter truth is, Oswald only contained his temper for Jim. Deep down, he’s still a stab-happy lunatic.

Well, that’s one side of the truth. He’s also loyal to a fault, he’s passionate, loves without abandon and all in all, is a force of nature, he reminds himself. Jim fell for the contradiction that is his husband and together they made Gotham a safer place.

Could he really leave all that behind? All those shared years in which they played mob bosses, fooled the GCPD and protected each other? God, how awful it felt to lie to his colleagues, especially Harvey. He pretended to be this self-righteous man while literally sleeping with the mob.

It hadn’t been easy to admit that he was in love with a gangster. But at some point it became inevitable. How many times did he allow Oswald to get away with crimes others would serve a life sentence in Blackgate for? He watched him take down Falcone, Maroni, and Mooney, watched him beating little tugs to a pulp without raising so much as a finger. And at one point, when truly realizing what the ingenious bastard was capable of, he actively started helping him while slamming his back into walls for the public.

Gotham prospered while Jim’s morals withered and faded to dust.

How on Earth did they even get away with their charade for so long? Didn’t their enemies wonder why Jim Gordon is still alive when others ended up with a bullet between their eyes only for calling the Penguin a freak? Wasn’t it obvious?

He told Oswald he’d be filing for divorce but that was in the spur of the moment. Imagining being at war with his husband churns his heart. Even thinking about it feels like getting his leg amputated without anesthesia. But he won’t allow him to get paraded around like a circus monkey. And he won’t continue playing this game of lies.

Reaching for his phone, Jim ponders giving his husband a call. He’s seriously worried their conflict else might be the cause of the premature death for some of his subordinates. The Penguin looked definitely shaken when leaving Jim behind in his prison.

Heatedly, Jim throws his phone away. Oswald wouldn’t dare to touch his employees if he really wants to stay married. He’s not going to give his man the satisfaction and cave in. No, instead he spends the next hours sulking in his room, waiting for his spouse to see reason.

Completely exhausted, he falls asleep.

When waking again, he notes two things right away. On the one hand, the entire room smells like cinnamon. On the other hand, he’s not alone anymore.

Oswald hovers over him, expression anxious. He’s holding a little tray loaded with fresh, warm waffles and whipped cream, looking the most erratic Jim has ever seen him. His eyes are red and puffy as if he’d been crying and his mascara is obviously smudged. He’s wearing that hideous make-up again that covers up his pale skin and never fails to make him look a bit like an orange.

The cop never understood why he uses it. His pale face in combination with those emerald eyes brought him to his knees after all. Oswald certainly has no concept of how beautiful he is. Shaking his head, he snaps out of it. It’s neither the place nor the time to appreciate his husband. Certainly not the place.

“Jim,” he exclaims when the detective gives him a discontented once-over. His lips spread into a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I made you waffles,” he carries on ingenuously. “Your favorites,” he beams, almost knocking the tray against Jim’s jaw in his excitement.

“You think you can fix this mess with waffles?” Jim stares at him in bewilderment. If he doesn’t let him out the next minute he’ll get that whipped cream into his face and all over his beloved, decadent suit.

The smile drops from his face and if not for the tray Oswald would for sure either start biting his nails or fidgeting with his cane. “I, I thought it was a start?” he admits carefully averting Jim’s eyes.

“A start would be to release me,” the cop huffs while sitting up. Scooting a hand through his hair, he tries regaining some of his dignity - not an easy task when lying in bed, wearing a white shirt and shorts.

“I am sorry,” Oswald whines in response, finally setting the tray down. “I know what I did was wrong and I wanted to apologize and…”

“And so I’m free to leave, I hope?” Jim interrupts, glaring effectively at his spouse. The answer he receives is as frustrating as it is expected.

“Please wait.”

The detective rolls his eyes. “Then you can stuff your waffles where the sun never shines and get the hell back out,” he barks, pleased when the scrawny man looks genuinely shocked.

Swallowing hard, Oswald tries deciding what to do next. He doesn’t budge, probably painfully aware that Jim isn’t going to physically force him to leave. By now he definitely understands how uncomfortable his man is with violence.

His long, white fingers tremble slightly when he speaks again and his shoulders slump, bringing out the awkward shape of his spine more prominently. “I only ever wanted to protect you.” He searches Jim’s face after his confession. Hope the cop would understand written all over his features.

“Your protection got me killed,” Jim points out, tone cruel. Another spark of anger flares through Jim. Despite being constantly in pain, he doesn’t turn to one of Gotham’s various doctors to get his leg and back properly fixed but has absolutely zero qualms turning him into a zombie.

Well, not really into a zombie. Technically, he still feels human-ish enough but the point still stands. He just went and took a big part of what being human means from him without even asking. And what is it with his eternal youth? Was that really necessary? His husband probably merely fed his vanity with that one.

Yes, he knows he’d be dead otherwise but….his thoughts trail off. And now Oswald thinks some stupid waffles will fix that. It’s ludicrous. Jim doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s the exact moment Oswald’s determination cracks. Eyes filling with hot tears, the mobster sits down beside his husband. “Don’t you think I know that?” he whispers. “Don’t you think I know I made everything worse afterward? I panicked, okay?”

Wringing his hands, the King of Gotham becomes the pure picture of remorse. “You were dead, Jim. And I didn’t know what to do. I knew I could live in a world with you hating me but not in a world without you. And so I turned to Fries. Please, I’ll make everything to make it up to you!” he cries desperately.

Calmly, Jim picks up the bowl with the whipped cream. He truly had enough of his husband’s pathetic excuses. Sticking his finger inside the bowl, he tastes the cream. It’s good, refined with vanilla sugar just like he prefers it. Oswald meanwhile eyes him with rapt curiosity.

Good.

With one swift movement, he presses his face into the bowl, smearing the greasy cream all over his face, neck, and the collar of his shirt. The other man sputters indignantly when diving back up from the bottom of the bowl.

Jim bursts into laughter when observing his man gasping for air and trying to get the mass out of his eyes and hair. When flapping his hands around like that, he truly looks like a Penguin. A pretty enraged Penguin.

“Jim Gordon,” he accuses, smearing the whipped cream all over himself in his futile efforts to get rid of it. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you and..”

“You are not,” Jim interrupts more harshly than one would assume after his little joke. “You are trying to get your way. And as long as you are treating me like a prisoner, I’ll behave like an unruly prisoner.” Leaning casually back, he arches his eyebrow. “Or are you going to torture me next, hmm?” he urges.

“Of course not!” the mobster exclaims, appalled. “How dare you even think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim drawls sarcastically. “Maybe cause you literally imprisoned me? Or cause you made me immortal without asking me first? Maybe because you didn’t stop there but gave me eternal youth as well so you can parade me around without being ashamed of me when I grow old. Or maybe because you decided to present me to the world as some brain-washed pet. How on earth do you want to make that up?!” he hollers, at last, dropping the indifferent facade.

Mouth hanging agape, the gangster stares silently at his cop for a long time. Breaking off a piece from the waffles, Jim dips it into the cream still covering his husband’s neck and starts munching. The King of Gotham squeaks unkingly and Jim chuckles mirthlessly anew.

The sad truth is, he might never find a greater love than Oswald. But everything considered, the divorce is inevitable. If there’s any pride left in Jim, he needs to walk away right now. His gangster might be sincere in his attempts to protect them both but that doesn’t give him the right to act the way he does.

Luckily for Oswald, there’s not too much pride left in Jim. The part of him that knows what’s wrong or what’s right died with Galavan and got stabbed for good measure in the months following that event. And despite telling himself what terrible fate Gotham might have awaited if he hadn’t done it, a part of him still misses the ambitious, goody-two-shoes boy he used to be.

“You are right,” the kingpin finally concedes with a heavy sigh. “I am selfish, Jim. But I would truly never hurt you. Not now, not in the future. Not if you stay, not if you leave.”

“You already hurt me. Multiple times,” Jim protests, dipping another piece of waffle nonchalantly into his husband’s neck. The ticklish mobster flinches but dutifully stays in place.

“Do you really want a divorce?” he demands to know at last, eyes big, pleading. A murderer shouldn’t have any right to look like an innocent puppy, Jim thinks as he moves behind him, wiping more cream from his pale throat. “Jim, I truly had no other choice. You were gone and Fries was at my disposal.”

Deep down, Jim knows his gangster is probably not lying. He wonders what he would have done if their roles had been reversed. Tries imagining Oswald cold and dead beneath his fingers. Would he have turned to Fries or Strange too? Or would he have accepted fate and moved on.

The delicate, deadly creature trembles as he caresses Jim’s jaw. “Your eternal youth wasn’t my wish, I swear. I just had no idea what to do. Please believe me, Jim,” he pleads, eyes big and so damn earnest it pains his heart. Those eyes once made him kill a man. They made him kill the man he used to be. It’s just consequent those eyes make him accept immortality.

Closing his eyes, Jim once again succumbs to the darkness of his Penguin. Leaning in closer, he tastes that damn cream again. This time without the waffle as a barrier but directly from his skin.

Oswald gasps in surprise.

“This time, we’ll have it my way,” Jim whispers into his ear. “You’ll be a nice, good hubby and release me. And then you’ll tell Gotham we played them all for years. And if they dare threatening us, we’ll remind them who exactly they are messing with.” His tone is too serious for Oswald to protest.

Fingers curling possessively into his man’s hips, Jim gently bites down on his ear. “We’ll let them know what the GCPD and your army are capable of,” he promises portentously, sending shivers down Oswald’s crooked spine.

“But first.”

“Yes?” Oswald asks breathlessly.

“I’ll make you pay,” he vows, lips curling into a dark smile. He might give in, but first, he’s going to have his wicked way with the little Penguin.

The gangster shrieks when Jim catches him around the waist and manhandles him onto his back in the process. Pinning his hands beside his head, the cop looks very pleased when his man’s eyes darken from arousal.

Leaning down, he presses a bruising kiss against his man’s lips, effectively distracting the devious imp in the process. He yanks the cravat from his neck next, using the piece of garment to tie Oswald’s hands swiftly to the headboard. Giving the mobster his dirtiest smile, Jim he straddles his narrow waist while already starting to rip the buttons of his shirt open.

“Told you I’d find a more pleasurable use for shackles,” he growls against his mobster’s skin, sucking the remaining cream from his throat.

As hoped, his little gangster agrees so very eagerly. It’s probably the relief from not getting a divorce right away, Jim muses. They haven’t even started but Oswald is already gasping and writhing beneath his hands.

Chuckling mischievously the cop starts his journey south and despite his delicate man moaning impatiently, Jim knows no mercy. Taking his time, he drags his tongue over the delicate clavicles, slightly biting down when Oswald starts trashing too much. Strong, calloused fingers then count fine ribs one by one, cherishing each treasured bone extensively.

By the time Jim starts sucking his nipples, the mobster is practically mindless. Eyes rolling back into his head, he starts begging his man to fuck him already. Of course, Jim doesn’t comply. Sitting back on his haunches, he enjoys watching his man’s hips rolling towards him. Desperately thrusting into nothing, the gangster searches for some form of friction.

Oswald sighs in relief when thinking Jim has finally pity. Instead, the cop decides to tease him with featherlight kisses right above where he needs him the most.

“Jim,” he whines, tossing his head back and yanking ineffectively at his makeshift shackles.

“Yes?” he asks indifferently, ignoring his own raging hard-on. The gangster pulls again at his restraints, eliciting another lewd smirk from his husband in the process. He’s truly good with knots, Jim thinks proudly as he starts caressing his man’s thighs. Tired of playing, he finally frees him of his pants and drops his own shorts.

“I like you like that,” he confesses as he drags his nails lightly over the exposed skin. “Naked from the waist down, covered in whipped cream, and tied to a bed. There’s not much damage you can do like that,” he snickers while giving Oswald’s cock a playful lick from base to tip. In return, the mobster nearly yanks the headboard off. Trying to calm him down, he leans down for another heated kiss, thoroughly enjoying when he feels Oswald’s cock press against his stomach.

Wantonly spreading his legs, the criminal starts moving his hips, trying to increase the pressure on his leaking cock. A distressed, guttural sound escapes his throat and finally, Jim has mercy. Sneaking a hand between their bodies, he starts pumping both their cocks in a firm grip. It takes Oswald only seconds to cum hard over Jim’s fist.

It would be a lie to say Jim’s wasn’t still mad at his husband. But when he curls up against his chest, head placed directly over his beating heart, he’s got a hard time being as angry as he should be too. Despite himself, he kisses each reddened wrist carefully before settling against the pillows.

“I still don’t like what we are about to do,” Oswald confesses tentatively, looking up at him through his long lashes. The cop deliberately ignores him. He’s got Oswald exactly where he wants him to be and like hell, he’s going to backpedal now.

“That’s not negotiable,” Jim reminds him, fingers curling around his husband’s arm.

“I could keep you down here,” the mobster suggests casually and to Jim’s dismay, only half-jokingly. His grip tightens in warning.

“I wouldn’t,” he concedes. “What I did was horrid enough.” Propping himself up on one hand, he looks his spouse straight in the eye. “I was pretty much unable to think in the hours following your death and resurrection. I...losing you...it would have killed me too,” he confesses earnestly.

“You had enough mind left to poison me,” Jim points out but the heat is gone from his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, averting his eyes again and blushing slightly. And that’s exactly when another alarm bell goes off in Jim’s head.

“You are hiding something,” he accuses as the mobster ducks his head behind the pillow.

“I’m not,” he squeaks unconvincingly.

Yanking the pillow from underneath his head, the cop glowers down at the rapidly paling form of his husband. “You would have died. What should I have done?”

“We’re past that. Try again,” Jim commands, giving his man his best severe stare.  If possible, Oswald shrinks further into the mattress.

“Jim,” he starts gently, lacking his usual confidence entirely. “Don’t you see the potential in being immortal?”

“No, not really,” he huffs in return. “I’m not really looking forward to seeing everyone I love die.”

Oswald’s slightly hopeful face drops as he starts nibbling his fingernails frantically. “Jim,” he tries again, and his tone would be perfect for a spooked horse. “Would it be better if not everyone you love will die?”

Horror settling in his gut, the penny finally drops. “You didn’t?!” Jim practically screams.

Oswald’s silence is answer enough.

“When?” he sputters.

“Shortly before Ed snapped. But the procedure wasn’t perfected back then. It took me weeks to heal but that shot would have killed me else,” he admits pulling the blanket over his head like a child trying to hide.

Well, Jim should have known Oswald was serious when promising he’d love him forever.  

#gobblepot #fanfiction #lemon

[moonbelt]

»kaleidoscope

↳soulmate au | baseball player au

⇢ pairing: park jinyoung | reader

⇢ genre: fluff + soft angst

⇢ word count: 7.227

author’s note: born out of this anon request and the unbecoming amount of love i have for soulmate aus lmaoo

It's a cold, dark and windy day in the middle of April when you first see through the eyes of someone else.

Cold weather, although comfy when in sweatshirts and cardigans, isn't your favorite thing in the world, and given your luck, the weather isn't the only thing that has been slowly creeping up your skin. Your boyfriend — ex now — had given you the whole breakup speech a day before. The usual "it's not you, it's me," as he slid his fingers into the ones of his newly found soul mate. You don't intend to sound like a broken record to your posse of friends, but you find yourself repeating the same words every ten minutes.

"Fuck soulmates."

Your closest friend, Althea, laughs at your statement but doesn't try to talk you out of your self-indulgent mourning. You'll be honest, you don't hate the concept of soulmates but you do despise how quickly Nathan had dropped you; like hot coal. With a flick of his wrist, you were gone and replaced by Mr. Nice Guy. You didn't bother to remember Nathan's soulmate's name, why would you? You'd thought you and Nathan were forever. As it turns out, forever only lasts a year and six months. A whole year and a half of Nathan and you asserting that having soulmates 'didn't matter in the grand schemes of life.' Now you realize, that had all been wishful thinking and the height of naiveté.

Grabbing the nearest bottle of soda, you crack open the lid and down half of it in one gulp, pretending it's something stronger. You're on a mission to not drink any alcohol because of him. And even though your chest is a mass of emotions and broken promises, you figure you'd rather die than give Nathan the satisfaction of crying over him. Not that he'd care. He doesn't seem to care for you at all anymore and you're on track to doing the same.

Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a heartwarming experience. Colored by streams of light and love, something you'll tell everyone you know - and the people you don't - because you finally found the one made for you. You understand that you're being a tad cynical but, what happens to the person who was left behind? What happens to you? The glitch in the equation. Do your feelings suddenly, by some sort of miracle, become invalid? Because at this moment, you are sure there's nothing worse than feeling like discarded leftovers.

It wasn't like you didn't know the both of you had soulmates lounging around and about out there in the world. You knew this. But you'd thought it had no effect on your connection. It's not like you'd ever met your soulmate before to have something to compare your relationship to. Nathan himself had called you his one and only love, proclaiming to the heavens and back how he was willing to fight for you. You scoff. All his words, about how the soulmate business didn't faze him, coming to bite you in the ass.

Soulmate or not, the two of you had loved each other. Or at least you loved him. And now you were trying to un-love him all on your own.

"You know what we should do?" BamBam, who originally was a distant friend of a friend but nuzzled his way into your group, perks up in his seat. "Ditch this dump and head to Club Medusa. I swear you'll forget Nathan even existed within ten minutes."

"I'd rather spare my lungs Bam," you say rolling your eyes as you kick your head back and stare at the fluorescent overhead lights.

The fast-food joint you and your group of friends are currently inhabiting is a newly established one. Freshly opened and with zero regular customers, which in turn made it one of your favorite places. You'd rather be here than in a club where personal space was akin to the devil.

Althea reaches over with her boot-clad foot and nudges your knee, dragging your attention back to her. Her face is pressed against her palm as she leans on the table's surface, a look of pity painted across her features.

"If it makes you feel any better, you're lucky he found his soulmate now and not later down the line. I mean, imagine if he left you at the altar? God, or worse if he —"

BamBam hits her arm... hard, effectively cutting your best friend off. "You are not helping. Like at all. Let me handle this, okay?" He angles his body back at you. "[y/n], believe me when I say anything," he flashes a pointed look at Althea. "Beats eating burger and fries — alone — after a breakup."

"I'm not alone. I have you guys," you say feigning ignorance, raising your hands to your chest and bowing them into a heart. "I love you guys."

Althea snorts out in laughter while Bambam shakes his head in bemusement. You really do love them, honest, more than you bargained for. Platonic soulmates are something you're glad to believe in, especially now that your friends haven't ditched you even with all your moping and sulking.

At the back of your mind, however, you acknowledge BamBam's logic. It does suck to eat junk food after a breakup but rationally, you think Althea is kind of right. You are somewhat lucky that Nathan and you called it quits before things got too serious. Even though almost two years in most relationships would be considered pretty damn serious. You thought it was serious, apparently, Nathan had not. Besides, you're trying to look at the bright side of the situation and not resort to crying your heart out in a near-empty restaurant. So just to prove a point, you reach over and stuff your mouth with a handful of fries.

Fast food might not be the answer but you sure as hell are going to make it work.

BamBam swats your hand away when you try to grab another set of fries, going on another rave about how Club Medusa is the shit. You know it's just another excuse for him to go on a dabbing spree in the cloak of darkness and an intoxicated crowd. You're about to tell him off for the umpteenth time that night; you are most definitely not getting drunk off your ass just because you got dumped. You're not that pathetic, you think. However, before you can get the words past your lips, a wave of nausea inflames your senses.

It floods over you so quickly that you don’t have time to register what’s happening as your vision darkens to pitch black. When it relights, it's to a completely different view.

Loud cheering and even louder panting usher you in. It feels... like your chest is about to implode in on itself, sweat relentlessly pooling at your armpits. You've never felt such an adrenaline rush before. Sure, you've done a few workout routines here and there but this felt oddly contrasting and for a moment your body freezes up, clutching the only thing in your hand for support. Which so happens to be a bat? But even with the peculiar item, you strangely feel at ease. Safe. Like you've done this a thousand times before even though you're positive you have not. Still, more than anything, you're confused by your situation. And when you raise your head in an attempt to determine your surroundings, you almost lose your footing.

Maybe it's due to the feeling of unfamiliarity that seeps into your bones once your eyes connect with what's ahead of you, or maybe it's because your heart has faulted in its beating, but you suddenly can't breathe.

Large expanses of sand and neatly cut grass lay onward. There's a distinct cheer that filters through your ears. "Jinyoung. Park. Jinyoung. Park." It's loud. It's deafening. And it is taking up all the space left in the stadium. Contrary to what you think, it gives you an unusual sense of calm? But in spite of that, you can't stop the one question relaying in your mind: what the fuck is going on?

Your eyes connect with the man directly in your line of sight. Posture prickly straight with a cap sitting low on his head. Blue uniform loose yet fitting against his form, and a gloved hand dangerously close to his chest. The urge to scream in fear is daunting. What, the ever-loving-fuck, is going on? You have absolutely no idea. You vaguely remember that it resembles the dreams you used to have as a kid. Back in a time when you placed baseball players on a high pedestal, aspiring to be a professional later in life. Reality came in a hard dose of ridiculous hand-eye coordination and your father urging you to quit early to prevent catastrophic injuries.

Faster than light, the man in blue whips his arm back, his leg positioned slightly ajar as he releases the ball. Your eyes barely follow the white baseball that comes flying straight at you. On impulse, you're prepared to swing at it with all your pent-up frustrations. But just as fast as you were dragged away from your world, you are ruefully brought back. Clasping your chest like your life depends on it, a sheen of heavy sweat lining your forehead and brows, eyes wide as you wait for the ball to connect with — hopefully — not your face.

"Holy shit," you manage to stutter out long after the sensation has come and gone. Your heart took its time with catching itself back in place. Your friends don't seem to have noticed your out-of-body experience. Instead, their bickering is the only thing that remains constant.

BamBam is shooting Althea an unimpressed look as he draws his words out dryly. "All I'm saying is, [y/n] needs a break from relationships. Don't set up some stupid blind date and think you're doing the Lords work because I can assure you, you are not."

"This has absolutely nothing to do with you!" She exclaims incredulously, flipping her hair to the side. "[y/n] loves my blind dates, don't you [y/n]?" Althea cocks an expectant eyebrow at you, waiting for your input.

"Holy shit! Holy freaking shit!" You say instead with a voice louder than before, toppling over your chair in a bid to stand up and pace the adrenaline away. "Oh, my fucking gosh. D-did you guys see what j-just happened?"

"Um... no?" Bam's concerned gaze flicks incessantly between you and Althea like maybe the two of you are telepathic and are holding out on him. "Why are we freaking out? I want to know why we're freaking out. I can't freak out if I don't know what happened!"

"I-I just saw something. Or at least... I think I did."

Althea squints her eyes at you not exactly confident on where you're going with this, but nevertheless, she rises to her full height and clamps two calming hands on your shoulders.

"Deep breaths [y/n]. In out, in out. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than Nathan dumping you for Mr. Nice Guy —"

"Althea!" BamBam's exasperated voice booms out as he throws his arms up in the air. "Don't bring up that asshole, not now—"

You cut the conversation short. "I think I just connected with my soulmate," your voice reverts back to whispering. It's a miracle that Bambam can even hear you. "I mean, I'm not sure... but I'm positive I just saw a snippet from their life or something. Again, not sure about this, but I swear I'm not making this up I—"

"What?!" Althea cuts you off, her eyes widening in disbelief but also curiosity. All of you seem to be cutting each other off today. "You're not shitting us, are you?"

Amidst the pounding of your heart, you relax at her facial expression. "Do I look like I'm shitting on you right now? This has never happened before. Does this mean what I think it means or am I being delusional?" You look to Bambam for support.

He shrugs his shoulders in astonishment. "Why are you looking at me?! I've never met a rare before."

Soulmates — no matter how commonplace they've become over the decades and with the advancement of science, are still an enigma to the world. Why do they exist? How did they suddenly come into being? And most importantly, in what forms do people find them?

The most common had to be the name business. Finely printed letters across wrists, something you never got even after clocking seventeen. Closely after that came Soul marking — in which you only know your soulmate by touching them and getting a peculiar mark from them in that area. Add that to the never-ending list of stuff you've never experienced. But then there's the ultimate rarity, God tier level if you will, instances where people suddenly could see through their soul mates eyes; snippets that barely lasted four minutes.

You'd read countless work about them in your high school Advanced History class, some fabled and some rumored to be true, but not once did you think you would be the one experiencing it.

Terrifying yet thrilling at the same time.

"Do you know how amazing this is?" Althea is bouncing up and down, her arms caging you in a hug. "Loser Nathan can suck it. Your soulmate exists!"

Bambam quickly gets the memo and wraps his hands around the two of you, cementing your bond closer. You're still in a daze as your mind grasps the implication of what happened. You don't know if it is right to feel as elevated as you do.

Twenty-four hours ago, you had a relationship and although that has since become dust, you can't help the little attachment tying around your heart. What if your soulmate already has someone? Someone who is obviously not the one the universe wants for them, but someone nonetheless. What if they don't pull a Nathan and dump their significant other? What if they genuinely love them? More than they love a practical stranger at least. What if —

"This is a cause for celebration, isn't it?" Bambam shoots you a shit-eating grin as he releases his grip on you. "There's no reason why we can't hit Club Medusa —"

"I agree!" Althea nods her head adamantly, long hair falling across her shoulders.

You try, a little, to pay attention to the excitement of your friends but it proves to be a feeble attempt. Your mind - and heart - can't stop racing. It feels like you've flown closer to the sun, electricity flowing through your veins, lighting everything in sight. And even though you're sort of scared of how weightless you feel, you don't want to ever let this feeling go. You still have insecurities plaguing your mind, probably won't cease just because you want them to. But like before, you decide to only look at the bright side of the situation. At long last, the Universe is getting on your side and you're not stupid enough to jinx it with negative thoughts.

Soulmates might not be the end all and be all of the world, but you'd rather not spend the rest of your life wondering about the might-have-beens. At least for today, you vow to revel in this sensation, like everything is finally right.

Soon after, you find yourself leading your trio to Club Medusa, thoughts of your ex-banished to all hell and replaced by thoughts of the person with the bat. Two words piercing through your thoughts consistently. For reasons you don't understand, you get inexplicably lightheaded from them.

Park Jinyoung.

It has a nice ring to it, you think. Comparable to how you believe hitting a home run would feel like. Exhilarating; like you're gliding on ice and nothing can stop you. Not even death. Maybe it applies almost exclusively to death? As if this feeling won't ever stop, regardless if time passes.

It scares you. After all, almost every fairy tale you know of was spawned out of tragedy. And you're not stupid enough to believe completely in things you can't see. But for all that you do believe in, you want to trust this feeling.

Not to sound philosophical or anything like that, but life is all about moments. Moments before life, moments during life and moments afterlife. And no matter how coincidental you believe a situation to be, it most likely wasn't accidental or simply by chance. It comes as no surprise to you then that you find yourself repeating this mantra to yourself, more often than not, over the next few days since the incident.

You haven't experienced a really out of tuned snippet like the one you had back at the fast food restaurant. In fact, since then all you'd had were dizzy spells. Instances where you could taste something when you weren't eating. Or when you closed your eyes to doze for a bit, you'd wake up disoriented with the feeling of being in a body that is not yours. This happened for two weeks. Two weeks of you almost feeling your soulmate but not.

To be quite frank, you never thought you'd be one of those people. You know, the ones who become obsessed — to the point of borderline insanity — over their soulmates. Ergo Nathan. Okay, maybe you're still holding a slight grudge against him but it's not like you're a saint. Or want to be. And it's not like you want to relentlessly think about your soulmate, but for the life of you, your brain seems adamant on not listening to any of your demands.

Like right now, as you filter through the orders of the day. Working at the only on-campus coffee shop/bakery was quickly proving itself to be a bad decision. You work the late evening shift and half the time it was scarce, a big difference compared to most afternoons where orders were constantly flooding in.

The only downside of not having enough orders to occupy your body was that your mind was consistently straying away from the present. Weaving vivid descriptions of your soulmate. How tall would they be? How loud did they laugh? What kind of things did they do for fun? You're so far gone in your thoughts that you don't realize a new group of customers have walked into the store. In fact, you don't return to the present until one of them, a lean and tall yellow-haired boy, clears his throat loudly.

Your shoulders jump back, startled. It's a group of six boys all in white baseball uniforms and even though you consider yourself pretty tall, they tower over your height as they make their way to the back of the store where the speakers are located. They barely give you any attention, instead, they leave Blondie to handle their orders.

The blonde boy who winks at you, like maybe you're taken aback by his admittedly unabashed beauty and not the intrusion of your personal space. You manage to awkwardly offer him a smile, your eyes scanning the pack that has now settled in a corner booth.

Usually, you worked your shift alongside Yuri, a Nursing major, but due to unforeseen circumstances, she had to check out early. Yuri was the one that dealt with the jocks, for a lack of a better term. Not that you had anything against the athletics department, you'd just rather not put yourself in a situation to interact with them. Your view on them may have been slightly tainted due to experiences in high school. But life was all about moments, you tell yourself, and right now you're trying to get past the faint lingering smell of sweat and dirt.

"What can I get for you today?" You try to put a pep in your voice but it falls flat.

"Can I have, uh, you?" he replies with an unexpected grin on his face. Like he knows how cringe and unreasonable he's being but is engaging you in his humor. You roll your eyes at him.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that and spare both of us the embarrassment, okay?" You say, not really expecting an answer from him but still offering him a cocky smile regardless. The store is CCTV protected and your manager will bust a vein if he found you being slightly ominous to any customer, even if you had a right to it. "Is there anything else you and your buddies want to order this fine evening?"

He doesn't seem at all fazed by the sarcasm dripping from your voice, if anything, his cheeks expand even more. "I like you; you're funny." Blondie casually remarks before he narrates his and his teammates' orders. He gets through five orders before he draws a blank, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he turns around and gets the attention of his friends.

"Jinyoung, what’s the order for today?"

Your eyes follow to where the other boys are situated and fall on the boy in question. A dark baseball cap sitting on his head, his eyes tear away from his phone and focus on Blondie and you. His voice comes out low and serene but at the same time loud enough to travel the path to your ears. You fumble a little with ringing up the total and Blondie snickers when you finally hand him the receipt. He sends you another wink, this time more playful than flirty before he makes his way over to his friends.

As you work your way through the requests, you wonder what's up with your luck these days. First, you get the scare of your lifetime by being thrown into a baseball game mid-pitch and now you're coming face to face with a pack of baseball players. Just your luck that the only name you can remember from the snippet is Park Jinyoung.

You found out over the course of the past two weeks, that Park and Jinyoung were among common names that came in the same package. Or at least common enough for you to be in class with four other namesakes. The only reassurance you had was that you were positive that if you ever came in contact with the Jinyoung from back then, you would know.

You also know not to get your hopes up. There probably is more than one Jinyoung in your university's baseball team. Moreover, you're not sure which baseball team your soulmate even plays for. It could be the university a few towns over, it could be pro-league... in fact now that you really thought about it, it could be any team on the planet. Well, aren't you fucked? You think to yourself solemnly.

You're so distracted by your thoughts that you almost burn your hand under hot water, but even then, your thoughts don't stop twisting and turning around in your head.

It takes longer than usual but once you complete their full order, you look up to grab the attention of Blondie but you're met with Jinyoung's intent gaze instead. It's not quite daunting but at the same time, it doesn't put your heart at ease. Head cocked to the side and his lower lip threatening to crack between his teeth; he looks like he's desperately trying to glue pieces of something together.

You raise your hand to wave him over and in an instant, he's standing to his full height and walking over to you. You'd naively thought that he would've sent Blondie to do the deed instead, this Jinyoung didn't strike you as someone that liked communicating with people unless he absolutely had to. You guessed wrong.

He takes long strides to the cashier and you try not to stare as he does so but your eyes have other plans. He has a boyish yet manly vibe to him, and even though he looks stoic in appearance, now that he's come close, you can see how his eyes differ. They hold something akin to warmth and you find yourself staring into them longer than necessary. Today just isn't your day, you tell yourself to justify how weird you've been acting. You do not ogle boys in the cafe. You simply don't.

"Thanks," he says, grabbing two of the trays. "I hope Yugyeom didn't weird you out? He does that a lot... sorry."

Not expecting him to apologize for his friends' antics, words die in your throat but you force a chuckle out of your lips at best, you refuse to be on the same level as a mannequin.

Jinyoung nods his head as if your laughter is a good enough response. The corners of his lips tilt up before he's hauling his way back to his pack and you finally let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Christ, since when did you get so weak? It wasn't like this was the first attractive person you'd ever met. Get it together! Your soulmate was out there. Probably a few thousand miles away, but out there nonetheless!

You flip your notepad to a new blank page and proceed to doodle on it. Little trees sprouting from the corners and swirling lines outlining the borders but soon enough you find yourself lettering Park Jinyoung along with those as well. You don't even know if this name belongs to your soulmate. You're relying on trial and error and now that you're thinking about Jinyoung, your eyes flick up and lock in on him.

You wonder if he's your soulmate. Probably not, but you wonder regardless. How would you know? It's not like the heavens are going to split open and a white dove will appear above his head. He isn't Jesus, you reckon, and you aren't either. You're about to disregard thoughts of him from your mind when you feel a familiar sensation wash over you.

Gripping the corners of the table you try to anchor yourself. It's a futile attempt because in an instant you lose your sight and by the time you regain it, you already know you've parted with your body.

The chatter is annoyingly loud, most likely because you've been thrown in the midst of it. To your sides sit boys on a baseball team. You're not as surprised as you ought to be when your vision connects with Blondie — Yugyeom. He's making a joke about hitting a home run and one of them, the loudest besides Yugyeom, laughs maniacally at that.

Your body freezes up as your eyes drift over and count how many of the boys you can see. Five. Five and none of them are Jinyoung. You can tell someone is drilling holes into you; desperate to grab your attention so you quickly raise your head. Well, if you're being technical, it's not your head. But that's easily understandable.

It's weird and honestly terrifying to see your own body looking at you. Not the same as looking at yourself in a mirror but not completely different either. Eyes wide and a tad bit glassy stare back at you in shock. A shock that you're sure is mirrored in your borrowed pair of eyes. You sit there staring at each other for what seems like hours until you're dragged out of your reverie by one of the boys tapping your shoulder.

"How do you feel about sporks?"

"Huh?" Your voice comes out deeper than you know and it shakes you to your core.

"Dude," the black-haired boy with a perpetual smile on his face, rolls his eyes. "Aren't you listening? Sporks, you know those things that double as forks and spoons?"

One of his friends rubs his hands against his face as he sighs out, exasperatedly. "Sporks are not a thing, Jackson. Jesus Christ, no one calls them that."

Jackson seems highly offended by the statement. "What do you mean? Everyone calls them that! You're so —"

You don't get to hear the ending of his rant. Jackson and the loudness of the table fade to distant chatter in an instant as you return to your rightful place. Damn, you don't think you'll ever get used to this. What are you supposed to do now? You'd thought finding your soulmate will automatically put things in perspective. But right now, as you barely stand at the back of the cashier and peer over at him, you can confidently say that nothing makes any sense.

It's not like you can walk up to him and demand the two of you run into the sunset together. Okay maybe that's a little extreme but that's pretty much what Nathan did if your memory serves you correctly. You can't really do much with this situation, truly. You don't want to introduce yourself to him in front of his teammates, imagining the looks on their faces already did the honors of turning your feet cold.

"Ah," you sigh out to yourself.

Maybe you should sneak him your phone number? No, no, no! Abort! Your brain waves a red flag. Not only is that the cliché of clichés, you are assertive the napkin will find its end in a nearby dumpster and not his contact list like you want.

You nibble on your bottom lip, deep in thought. None of the stories that you'd read prepared you for this moment. They'd all ended with the two soulmates [tearfully] acknowledging each other. Bells ringing in the distance and love blooming in their eyes. You snort. What a fucking joke. This is awkward. Awkward as fucking hell. And you have no idea how you are supposed to break the ice. Perhaps ask him about his take on sporks?

Maybe you should just wing it? And see how it goes? If the stars are bent on putting the two of you together, it shouldn't matter if you embarrass yourself a few times... right? Before you come to a conclusion on the matter, you hear scraping of seats and the thudding sounds of sneakers hitting the floor as the one group you've been avoiding eye contact with, gets up and begins trudging out.

"See you around sweetheart," Blondie calls out, winking as he does. "Maybe next time I'll win you over with my amazing skills?"

No, you think, but you're too distracted with trying to discreetly watch Jinyoung as his friends drag him out. He seems out of place, his body being pushed against his will. He looks at you like he wants to say something but then decides against it. You open your mouth to... call out to him? You're not sure. But you end up closing your mouth remorsefully, as the door to the store swings shut.

Well, there goes chance number one. If your luck was anything to go by, you probably wouldn't meet him again for weeks. You could always religiously jog past the baseball teams’ practice field but you figure that will turn out really creepy really fast.

Busying yourself with your closing routine, you quickly buzz through wiping tables and accounting everything for what they're worth. In the back of your mind though, you think about Jinyoung. How he looks without that cap shadowing his face. If he ever won that game. If he has any idea how the two of you are supposed to connect. If he can honestly feel the low strumming of wires been set ablaze under your skin, or maybe it's just you.

Once you've finished everything that needs to be done in the store, you lock up and make your way out of the university center. The time on your watch reads 10:12 and you wonder if you'll be able to make the last bus to your dorm across campus. Your boots crunch dirt under your path and you tighten your hoodie closer to your skin. It's awfully cold for April but you don't question the weather.

The weirdest thing you've come to understand about the soulmate euphoria is that no matter how life-altering or intense a feeling like that continues on for, so long as it happens within the constraints of your mind, nobody else knows.

Your skin might sheen over with sweat, your mind buzzing with incoherent words but nobody else in the world knows what's going on and sometimes not even you.

"Are you following me?" Your voice comes out tentative because what if you're wrong? Oh, the embarrassment.

There's a ruffle somewhere behind you and then a pair of white shoes come to a halt beside you. Two forceful coughs later comes out his reply.

"I wasn't following you, honest. I was looking at the moon."

"Why do I feel like you're lying?"

He shrugs, not bothered. "Do you usually accuse everyone you meet? Or is this a thing reserved for me?"

You decide to not answer. Instead, you pick up the pace and continue the walk to the bus stop. In five minutes the bus is going to vamoose out and you're going to be left with no other option than walking back home. It wasn't the worst, but it certainly wasn't the best or fastest.

It doesn't take him that much effort to catch up to you. In fact, you're afraid he barely has to huff out a breath to reach you.

"Hey, wait. Are you ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?"

You steel yourself from sparing him a glance. "No, it's not you per se. But the bus waits for no one and I hate walking."

"Really? I like walking. Feels good. Also, you use the bus?"

"You do play baseball, it'll be more of a shocker if you didn't." You say finally looking at him. Nervous energy emits from him, his fingers wringing around one another repeatedly. "Cars are expensive and well, buses are cool... kinda."

There's no plausible reason why the two of you are engaging in this conversation other than the fact that you're both trying to break the ice.

"So," you make an attempt, the butterflies in your stomach making house. "Do you usually come to the cafe? I've never seen you there before."

He shakes his head. "First time. I lost a bet and Yugyeom wouldn't stand for me chickening out."

"What, you're too good for coffee or something?" You hope there's a joking tint in your voice because you're not being snobby, you're trying to joke around. Oh God, no one ever prepared you for this.

Luckily, he understands and he laughs aloud. Your heart calms down at this, you feel strangely accomplished.

"I hate coffee but since I lost, I didn't really have a say."

"What bet did you lose?"

He bites his tongue in uncertainty and you wonder if it was okay for you to ask. The two of you haven't even exchanged names and you're already prying. You feel your body heating up, for more reasons than one.   You're ready to tell him that it doesn't matter when he says:

"I got struck out by the pitcher in my last game. I told the guys that I was gonna hit a home run but uh, you know that thing happened and..." his voice trails off.

You add two and two together, not like it was any hard. You had totally missed that swing that time. Damn, as if it wasn't enough that you'd went and lost, you'd also helped him lose a bet? This soulmate thing was supposed to be o' so rosy and beautiful, wasn't it? You are beyond mortified and the only thing saving you is that you've arrived at the bus stop.

However, the last bus is nowhere to be seen and your heart sinks into your chest as you turn around to face Jinyoung.

"I'm so sorry,” you focus your eyes on his nose. “I really thought I had that. Is there a way I can make it up to you?"

He waves away your apology with his hand. "It's no big deal. I mean it's not like either of us had it coming, plus you must have been terrified. That guy has one of the fastest pitches in the bracket. I was surprised I didn't walk out with a black eye."

"That bad?"

Jinyoung nods solemnly but the light in his eyes eases the elephant stomping on your chest. "Don't sweat it. Anyways," he takes a look around. "I don't think your bus is still here."

He is right. Just thinking about the ten-minute walk to your dorm is enough to put a damper on your mood. It sucks but it's what you get for being so absentminded all day. One good thing came from this though... and he was standing right in front you.

"Seems like I'll be walking. How about you? Are you heading straight?" Even though you want to continue talking to him [you feel like you could listen to his voice for forever], you know better than to push your luck with these things.

"Yeah. You?" He asks as he readjusts the strap of his Nike duffel bag on his shoulder. It looks ridiculously heavy and you wonder what's inside it.

Fate, you guess, is having a field day. You nod your head in agreement, allowing your hair cascade around your face in a bid to hide how giddy your feeling. The awkwardness is still there but something more is pushing it to the back of your mind until it lies dormant. You want to enjoy this feeling. The fact that Jinyoung hasn't gone running the opposite direction is enough faith to have you willing to test this whole soulmate thing out.

The two of you, without much words, fall into step next to each other on the way to your respective destinations. You play a game of kicking the stray stones on your path, playing footsie with yourself. You bite your lower lip, asking your inner gods for strength.

"So," you start a new conversation. "How long have you been playing baseball?"

"Since I was ten," Jinyoung replies as he raises his cap and runs a hand through his inky black hair. You're in awe at how chiseled his face looks. Beyond what you are expecting but you're not exactly complaining. "Twelve years." There's unabashed pride in his voice.

"Ooh," you clap your hands together in astonishment.

He takes a mock bow and you laugh at him. He's actually pretty cute now that you think about it. At first, you had been intimidated by how intense he looked at you but as the moments' tick on you're beginning to warm up to him or maybe he is warming up to you? Either way, you're finding it harder and harder to contain the heat seeping through your body and you're sure he can tell the effect he's having on you.

"How about you? Do you play any sports?"

You clear your throat. "Well, of course. I'm exceptionally skilled in the arts of procrastinating and crying about said procrastinated work when I accidentally miss a deadline. I'm self-taught and a professional."

Jinyoung's laughter lifts weights from your chest and frankly, you're surprised when he doubles over, clutching his sides. You like him already. Anyone that can put up with your lame jokes is a keeper in your books. You don't mean to compare but Nathan had never once cracked a smile at them. Okay so maybe you do want to compare, Nathan can suck it.

"Tell me more about this sport of yours," he says after he has regained his breath and his chest isn't threatening to explode.

"It usually ends in regret and soon after that I'll vouch to never procrastinate again but as expected, I never listen."

He chuckles lightly at that but lets the conversation die. This time the silence is comfortable and you don't feel the need to fill it with words. However, you do want to ask him for his phone number and maybe if you're daring enough, ask him to hang out tomorrow after your shift; to get to know him better. It's one thing finding your soulmate, it's another actually bonding with them. You wonder if he's thinking along the same lines as you are or if he's a go-with-the-flow kinda person.

Before you know it, you've arrived at the front steps of your dorm. Lone college students stream out of it, probably on their way to a frat party or maybe they enjoy the cool night air? Who knows. You turn your gaze back to Jinyoung, steeling your resolve. If you don't ask him now for his contact then when? Unless he drops by the cafe sometime later or if you indulge in perpetually jogging around the baseball's practice field in hopes of seeing him again, you doubt the universe is going to give you another chance.

"Do you mind if —" you begin just as Jinyoung says, "Should we exchange —"

Your lips lean upwards and you do nothing to stop the laughter bubbling up from your ribs. You motion for him to say his words first and you snort [internally] as you watch him fiddle with his mobile phone, nervous.

He clears his throat. "Should we, uh, exchange numbers or something? Only if you want though."

Instead of answering him directly, you reach into your back pocket and produce your mobile device and hand it to him. As he swaps his phone with yours, your fingers brush against each other and you swear you can feel your nerves expand and burst... if that's even possible.

The pair of you make quick work with inputting your data and you're about to hand him his phone back when you see him raise your phone to his eye-level and take a picture. Ah, profiles. You filter back to edit your contact and do the same. The lighting is bad and your hair is a mess but your smile is bright. Brighter than you imagined. And after fruitless attempts to rein it in, you hand Jinyoung his phone in optimistic silence.

He takes one glance at your saved contact before he stuffs his phone in his pocket. "You can call me whenever you want... Even if you don't have a reason to."

"Okay," you say. "You too. Maybe we can meet up sometime?"

"Sounds like a plan."

You're about to head up the steps and fly to your room when you finally remember that you haven't introduced yourself to him yet. You whip your head back and push a palm out. "I'm [y/n], by the way."

He gives you a lopsided smile that kind of melts your insides as he grabs your hand, his wrapping yours in its entirety.

"Jinyoung."

It feels like the two of you have created a pact. You're definitely attracted to him and to God you hope this soulmate system is actually something to swear by. But if the butterflies in your stomach are anything to go by, this — whatever it is — is something good. You manage to utter a goodbye before you're dashing up to your room, afraid to turn back because you know he'll be able to tell that you're three steps away from falling headfirst over him.

Althea and BamBam are the first things on your mind. Right now you just want to scream out in joy. And even though three is a crowd, three is also company. Company that you’re sure will lose their shit along with you by these turn of events.

You're almost in the safety of your room, already pulling open Snapchat when your phone chimes with a new message.

Park Jinyoung >-< » by the way, I got tongue tied earlier [10:42 pm]

Park Jinyoung >-< » but you are so very cute, my god [10:42 pm]

A/N: woo! i hope people like this and tell me what they think. thank you very much for reading!

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2017 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

#princejinyoungday #got7 #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung imagines #kpoptrashtag #got7snet #bang7net #kreativewritersnet #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 jinyoung #jinyoung park #jinyoung park scenarios #got7 fake texts #jinyoung texts #jinyoung smut #jinyoung fluff #got7 fluff #got7 smut #got7 angst #got7 meme #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop texts #jinyoung scenario #high-on-food #kpop angst #boyfriend!jinyoung #soulmate au

[scarletraven1001]

Worth

Bulma is drowning in self-doubt following her break-up with Yamcha, but comfort comes from the strangest of places as her seemingly insensitive Saiyan house guest reminds her that she is worth much more than she believed herself to be.

A three-year gap fic. One-shot.

My entry for @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Day 3: Just This Once

Also on Ao3.

Hi there! Mind if I join the DB fandom? :)

This is my first fan work for this fandom, in spite of being a fan of the series and an avid Vegebul shipper for literally decades. Why did I decide to do this now? Nearly all in-universe fics I have read so far have painted Bulma as a sexually-experienced woman. I wanted to explore the possibility of her being the innocent one in her relationship with Vegeta. I thought that perhaps this TPTH prompt would be the perfect chance to explore that idea.

This is also my first fanfic after being dormant since 2005, so please be gentle with criticisms.

And yes, this is most definitely smut. Enjoy!

8-8-8-8-8 

Worth

8-8-8-8-8

She looked absolutely miserable.

Granted, Vegeta would never consider himself particularly perceptive regarding emotions, never mind human emotions. One glance at the woman though, and even one as emotionally-stunted as himself could see that the woman was unwell.

He had been too busy training for the androids to notice anything that went on outside of the gravity chamber. All he knew was that after the explosion that damn near destroyed him along with the ship, the woman had been even more… friendly towards him. Perhaps she felt a peculiar kinship with him after having watched over his bed-ridden form for several days. Or maybe she believed that he had gained a modicum of humanity from his humbling experience and wanted to help him ease into their world.

Or maybe, she had always been like that, and he had just never realized it until then.

He had always treated her as just another pawn thrown into his life to help him attain a goal. A tool, if you may, to aide him with his mission to attain the legendary. A tool wrapped in a sinfully beautiful face and a body that could make lesser men weep, but a tool, nonetheless.

Regardless of his opinions of her though, even he could not deny that things had changed. He was more tolerant of her, more open to spending time with her, for reasons not even he himself could fathom. Somehow, whether he liked it or not, the little witch had grown on him.

The woman had the audacity to sit with him during his post-workout meals. She fuzzed over his minor injuries as if they were life-threatening, despite all the data she had regarding Saiyan physiology that showed that nothing short of a hole through his entire torso would have any lasting damage on him. Some of the said data came from samples he had allowed the silly woman to take from his own body, just to placate her into allowing him to train in peace.

He recognized her intellectual capacity as being far superior to those of the other beings living around her. She had inventions so advanced that they had to be kept in top secret facilities as the concepts were so far beyond their time that they had to wait for specialized parts to be invented or custom-made.

She was fiery, with a quick wit and temper matched only by his own. She would allow him to vent but would only take so much abuse until she decided to fire back at him. Their arguments were always epic, a volley of insult after insult, but he derived a perverted sense of satisfaction in watching her cheeks turn red with her indignation, her chest rising and falling aggressively with her deep, angry breaths.

It did not take a huge leap for him to imagine her in other situations that would make her flush and pant so powerfully.

But she had a mate, the weakling that often stayed with her, and Vegeta accepted that he had no business fantasizing about her.

That right there was another problem: he had been celibate for far too long, and the woman was too physically appealing. Especially when she was worked up, glaring at him fiercely, a harsh insult on the tip of her tongue.

Which was why her melancholy mood from the past few days struck him as strangely disconcerting.

He started to walk past the female’s forlorn form, seated on a barstool in the kitchen. Her hair, currently a straight cut that fell past her shoulders, shielded her eyes. She had not noticed him there yet, he could still make a run for it.

‘I shouldn’t interfere,’ he told himself. ‘This is none of my business. It is absolutely not my concern if the woman drives herself mad with whatever benign issue she has in mind.’

But damn, if he didn’t miss their quarrels… Her resistance to fix the bots he ruined. Her anger had become one of the highlights of his days, but she had been so out of touch recently that she had simply sighed and walked quietly to the gravity chamber the last time he demanded she repair his bots.

He refused to believe that what he felt was concern.

She heaved a dejected sigh that was so out of character for her that he had to pause and reassess.

‘I will approach her,’ he thought, wondering where this sudden streak of compassion had come from. Whether he would regret this lapse in judgment later…

‘I will approach her,’ he asserted to himself as he began to walk towards her. ‘I will get to the bottom of this nonsense and have the vitriolic harpy back into proper form. I will indulge her human propensity for talking about her problems, but… never again. It will be just this once.’

8-8-8-8-8

“Woman.”

The rough voice startled Bulma out of her self-imposed isolation. She was so focused on her misery, on blaming herself for how things had unfolded, that she didn’t realize that her ridiculously powerful Saiyan house guest was only a few feet away and seemingly intending to sit on a stool across from her.

She watched as he sat down gracefully, then his vivid eyes settled directly on her.

She looked around and noticed that he did not set out any food for himself, which was strange. He normally only ever went to the kitchen to eat, but here he was, seated almost primly before her, not a scrap of food in sight.

‘Maybe he wants me to make some for him,’ she mused. After all, she had done that for him for quite a few times. God forbid he tried to use an oven on his own.

She started to get up to find him something to eat, when his voice, and the unexpected words said in that voice, nearly made her fall off the chair completely.

“What has been bothering you?”

She gawked at him, completely unprepared for the question. ‘So he had noticed?’ she wondered as she righted herself again, still looking at him in surprise.

“Umm… I beg your p-pardon?” she stammered.

He sneered at her before he bit out, “You have been acting like a fool for several days, and I want to know why. Your morose mood may affect your ability to enhance my training room and I want you back in form. I will ask again, and you will answer me properly this instance: What. Has. Been. Bothering you?”

Bulma didn’t know if she should be offended or be touched by his question.

She mulled over it for a bit. What brought this on? Why did he want to know? Was he actually concerned about her?

She considered him her friend, after all. Perhaps he was finally beginning to accept her as his, as well.

Her thoughts had probably started to reflect themselves on her face, as he quickly barked out, “Don’t look at me like that! I just demand to know why my brilliant scientist is suddenly behaving like such a dejected fool.”

She bit back a smile at his words. ‘My scientist?’ she thought with a chuckle, knowing that he was probably too flustered to realize what he had said.

She tried to school her features into a blank mask as she looked back at him, mulling it over. ‘He’s gonna call me an idiot if I tell him. But he did ask.’

Taking a deep breath, she whispered one word, “Yamcha.”

A raised eyebrow was all she got from the Saiyan. “What about him?”

“We broke up.”

“What exactly did you break on him and why has that made you act the way you have been acting?”

She burst out laughing, the first time in days, a kind of cathartic release from the pain that her break-up had caused her.

Vegeta snarled in confusion, and just as he was about to yell at her, she started speaking.

“Vegeta, breaking up means that he is no longer my boyfriend. We are no longer together romantically,” she smiled at him, some of her earlier grief evaporating as she watched him scrunch his face up in confusion.

“Is that the reason why I have not seen his pathetic hide for several days now? I was under the impression that he was your mate,” Vegeta asked, genuinely confused.

“Mate?”

“A lover, a life partner. Like your father and your mother.”

“Oh no, Vegeta! Not like that!” she laughed sadly. “My parents are husband and wife. Yamcha was my boyfriend. It is not the same as being a married couple, but…” Bulma looked down at her hands before continuing. “It entails a certain level of commitment. One that we no longer have, now.”

“Well,” he began slowly, seeming to weigh her words. “If this is what your problem is, why don’t you just ask the weakling to come back?”

She sighed. “It’s not that simple, Vegeta. You see, Yamcha, he… He left me.”

“He was the one who chose to abandon you?” he sounded incredulous.

She nodded. “Yes. He cheated on me. He found someone else,” she laughed bitterly before she snarled out, “Someone who fulfilled his needs.”

A low growl from her alien house guest had her looking back up, and Bulma was startled to find an enraged look on Vegeta’s face. He looked nearly insulted, indignant, and she realized that he was angry on her behalf.

“The ungrateful weasel,” he hissed. “How dare he. Have you not given him everything?”

She was surprised by the level of hatred in his voice as he kept talking, “No self-respecting man, Saiyan or not, should ever be unfaithful to his chosen woman.”

Bulma stared in astonishment as apparently, her words touched on something that was a sensitive topic for the prince.

“I am staying in your home, in your debt, I recognize this fact,” he started again, surprising Bulma further, “But I intend to recompense you by defeating the androids. That fool, on the other hand, has taken from you, and he repays you by betraying you with another female?!”

Bulma felt tears spring to her eyes, touched by his words. Vegeta seemed genuinely enraged at the concept of Yamcha leaving her for another woman.

“You are a highly desirable female on this planet. You have given him your food, your time, shelter. You have given him pleasure, your body, and he dares-”

Her thoughts screeched to a halt at those words, and without thinking, her face redder than a ripe tomato, Bulma sputtered out, “No!”

Vegeta stopped ranting, looking at her in confusion. “No?” he asked, pausing to let her clarify.

She blushed even deeper, before she looked him dead in the eyes, “Vegeta… I never slept with Yamcha.”

“Tch,” he sneered. “Don’t lie to me woman. As loathe as I am to admit it, I can hear the sounds of your copulation through your bedchamber walls. He, specifically, can be disgustingly loud.”

“But you don’t hear me, right?” she asked, the flush refusing to leave her cheeks as she forced herself to keep her gaze on Vegeta.

The look he gave her then was so absolutely mystified that she had to choke back a laugh in spite of her debilitating embarrassment.

“Vegeta, we have… Umm… fooled around. But I have never had actual penetrative sex. Not with Yamcha, not with anyone. Ever. So yes, he may have gotten some pleasure out of me, but I never…” she stammered, before covering her face with her hands and whining, “Why am I even telling you this?”

The Saiyan sat back in his chair, silently mulling over her words. He was looking at his crossed arms, and appeared to be blushing a little as well, but Bulma was far too embarrassed to even think about needling him about it.

When he finally looked back up, he had a confused look on his face again.

“Why?” he whispered, almost too low for her to hear.

“Why what?”

“You were together for over a decade. You told me this. Why then did you never fornicate?”

Her humiliation vanished, replaced by guilt and sadness once again. “I… I don’t know. I honestly don’t understand it either. I mean, I loved him. I guess I was just never ready yet. I wanted to be ready, but I just couldn’t.”

 A sob broke out of her then, and she watched Vegeta tense in front of her, obviously uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken.

“I knew what he wanted. I wanted it too, at some point, but I just can’t. I always froze up and stopped him before we started,” a sardonic laugh escaped her as she shook her head, looking away from his piercing dark gaze. “I was always such a flirt too, you know, back when we were younger. I’ll bet he never expected me to give him a decade-long case of blue balls.”

A hint of bitterness entered her voice as she kept talking, “I tried to fix it. I agreed to touch him, to get the edge off, as he put it. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

She couldn’t stop her next words, as she had been thinking them repeatedly over the past week. “I should have just let him do it… This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have made him wait so long. It was just sex after all, and I could have just -”

“Woman, shut up,” her eyes widened as she snapped her eyes back to Vegeta, and was surprised by the anger that had sprung back into his eyes.

“Shut up. Stop thinking this way. This is not your fault.”

A gasp escaped her as what he said sunk in. She was about to refute him, but instead, he raised a hand to stop her self-pity party, his eyes still hard, but the softest she had ever seen them, and trained directly into her own.

“Listen woman, and listen well, for I will only ever say this once, and if you repeat this to anyone, I will deny having said every single word. The most valuable conquests are always those that you have waited for and worked hard to attain. The measure of a man can be counted only with victories that were hard-fought. You are a woman of worth. The wait and the effort he would have put into courting you should have challenged him to prove himself worthy of your surrender. If the weakling was foolish enough to indulge in inferior liaisons with other females as he grew impatient waiting for you to be ready to give yourself to him, then you were right to have never given in because he was clearly never man enough for you. You are not to blame for his infidelity. Never think that his indiscretion was due to your misgivings. You cannot, and must not, force yourself to lay with anyone if you do not want to. It is your body. Your mind, your life. For such things, you must never, ever compromise.”

His eyes grew even more intent on hers, “Now pull yourself back together, Bulma. He is not worth your misery. No man should be worth your tears.”

Bulma was stunned into silence. Vegeta, the alien prince who had spent his life exterminating countless civilizations, had just told her that she was not to blame for her break up. The biggest alpha male she had ever met was now sitting across from her, telling her to never compromise her body, and a cloud of happiness surged into her chest at being told that she did the right thing, to have stood up to Yamcha and not slept with him until she was sure and ready. Tears began to fill her eyes again, but this time with relief that someone else believed that what she did was right. And he had said her name.

Vegeta looked away from her dampening eyes, then slowly stood up and began to walk out of the kitchen.

“Vegeta,” she called, her voice hoarse with her unshed tears. “Vegeta, thank you.”

He nodded at her once, then walked away, his silent steps letting Bulma know that he was headed once again to his training room.

Her heart beat faster, hope blossoming in her chest as her eyes trailed after Vegeta long after he had left her line of sight, and in the back of her heart, a part she was yet unaware of, the name of the proud prince quietly started taking root.

8-8-8-8-8

Weeks passed quickly within the walls of Capsule Corp, and before she knew it, Bulma was buried in so much work that she had no time to eat, and even less time to dwell on her break up with Yamcha.

Vegeta certainly kept her busy: between all the broken bots and demands for more improvements to the gravity room, he always managed to find something for the blue-haired scientist to do. His latest demand: a set of armor to replace the last set that he owned, the one baring the holes that reminded him of his death on Namek-sei.

He was even bossier than before, but Bulma noticed that the man was also a lot more visible. Prior to their fateful conversation in the kitchen, she would sometimes go days without seeing him, but nowadays, like clockwork, he would be in the kitchen at midnight, impatiently tapping his feet while he waited for her to prepare (mostly just reheating what her mother had made) his dinner.

He routinely engaged her in petty little arguments that ended with them screaming at each other, but she could see a peculiar glint in his eyes that she at first could not understand. All she knew was that a side of her, the headstrong little she-devil as he liked to call her, enjoyed the verbal sparring, and she began to see that he did, too. After a few more days, she finally understood… He was doing it to distract her.

He was distracting her from her misery, and it was working. It was working very well. She would never acknowledge it since she just knew he would deny it, but she was unendingly thankful to him for what he was doing. She felt her heart softening more and more towards him, and though she could feel a change coming, she still, stubbornly, refused to name it.

And if his ultimate goal was distraction, well… Those glimpses of his perfect physique while he went about his business without a damn shirt on was definitely an even better strategy.

Physically pure she may be, but her thoughts, turning more and more lascivious at a frightening pace, were another matter entirely.

She had always acknowledged that Vegeta was very attractive. If she was being completely honest, that attractiveness was one of the reasons why she invited him to live with her in the first place.

However, it concerned her how easily she could daydream about touching those delicious Saiyan muscles nowadays, when she had previously been regarded as a prude by her ex-boyfriend. Her ex, whom she had loved for nearly 15 years. And whom she knew had also loved her.

Vegeta, on the other hand… She would be reaching if she even claimed that he may care. Or was she?

Tossing away her improper thoughts, she huffed, blowing her bangs away from her face, to concentrate on fixing the latest casualty of Vegeta’s ridiculous training regimen.

8-8-8-8-8

He knew what he was doing. He didn’t dare dwell on the why’s, but he damn well knew what he had been doing. Didn’t mean he was doing it willingly, and he cursed himself poignantly for his ridiculous actions.

Bulma was now a single woman. And he had unconsciously started moving in on her now that she was unattached.

He was furious with himself. The woman should be allowed time to heal, not to have a monster like himself suddenly trying to siddle in.

It had begun as him trying to, for once in his life, make things more pleasant for another. He wanted the spitfire woman to be back to normal, and he had an idea: He knew that he, personally, always managed to stave off any feelings when he had something to focus on, and he had begun piling work onto her, hoping it would have the same effect… And it did.

The woman worked with a single-minded intensity that amazed even him, barely stopping for breaks even when he could tell that her fragile human body was close to giving out.

He didn’t wish to go as far as bringing her fucking food to her, so he found a way to get her to eat. He started finishing his training at a fixed time, demanding that she make him some food, then giving her some of the said food so she had some sustenance. A couple of weeks later, a routine had been established: they would both stop what they were doing at midnight, head to the kitchen, and she would cook while he waited, then they both ate in increasingly comfortable silence.

He wanted to blast his own face apart with his Galick Gun, livid at his perceived hypocrisy. The Prince of all Saiyans, trying to cozy up to a human woman, whom he knew was probably still nursing a broken heart. He felt like a fiend.

And worse of all, he did not understand why he was doing it, and being the coward that he currently thought himself to be, he adamantly refused to analyze his own motivations. At first he thought he was doing it to get into her pants, but he realized he was wrong when he started thinking less about what she would look like naked, and more of what else he could do to erase the haunted look lingering in the edges of her eyes.

“Fuck!” he screamed in irritation, hurtling a tremendous ki blast at a bot, only for it to dodge, with his blast ending up frying the gravity room’s control panel. The emergency lock down that Bulma had installed after the old ship blew up engaged, and he flew up and crashed harshly into the domed ceiling as the 450g gravity stopped weighing him down.

The woman’s face, smudged with what appeared to be axel grease, was immediately on the communication screen, the lockdown sequence also alerting her that something had gone wrong.

“Vegeta, what-”

“Woman, I am fine,” he flew to levitate in front of her image, quickly cutting off her rising panic. “I missed a fucking bot and blew up the controls. Now you need to fix it.”

“Dammit Vegeta, I told you to be more careful with the room! No amount of reinforcements can protect the sensitive control panel from you!” She rubbed her forehead in agitation.

“I can’t fix it today. I used some of the special spare parts on a machine that locked up in the main engine room, and I need to wait a couple of days for the parts to be delivered. You’re gonna have to find another way to occupy yourself, in the meantime.”

“Woman,” he growled threateningly. “That is unacceptable. Another day I waste not training is another day I do not get strong enough to destroy the androids. We only have less than two years to go and I have not ascended yet!”

“And I still can’t fix that thing today! I don’t have the components!” she shot back, before an idea seemingly came to her and a smile lit up her face.

Vegeta just stared at her brilliant eyes, then angrily shook himself out of whatever-the-hell-that-was when she started speaking again.

“I know! Come down into my lab and we can test out your armor!” she enthused, and he immediately perked up at the mention of his Saiyan attire. She had been working on it for weeks, saying she needed to figure out some compounds to toughen up the material while keeping it malleable enough to wear comfortably.

“Have you finished it?” he asked, barely managing to hide his own enthusiasm at seeing Bulma so animated.

“I think so. I have been testing out my prototype and it has managed to stand up to the strength tests. Your ki blasts are stronger than any artificial energy I could produce though, so I would like to see if it could withstand your ki. It is also soft enough to wear now, unlike my first failed attempt,” she laughed, and Vegeta smirked as he too recalled the unfortunate first suit that could indeed stand up to ki blasts, but was also so tough that he could not put it on.

“You will fix this infernal machine once the parts arrive?” he asked again, just to clarify.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I will fix my beautiful creation that you destroy again and again, once the parts arrive.”

Nodding once, he shut off the communication link before exiting the gravity room, heading for the woman’s personal laboratory.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma was practically vibrating in excitement as Vegeta entered her lab. He was sweaty and a bit haggard, but like his gravity-defying hair, he stood proud and straight, looking around her lab expectantly.

Bulma inwardly groaned as she realized that her mind was currently squealing about how handsome he was, standing there in his tiny lycra shorts and those droplets of sweat clinging to his amazing body, honed and toned by years of hard work.

“It’s in here!” she called out, pointing to a box on the table beside her.

He approached her silently, peering into the box that she had opened, pulling out the blue battle suit and the white breastplate. She handed him the breastplate first, and she watched as he pulled it onto his torso, testing the elasticity.

She noted how the armor hugged him perfectly, nodding in satisfaction as it became apparent that the breastplate was now wearable.

Next, they had to test the strength. Vegeta took the armor off and held it in his left hand, then pulled back his right hand and gave it a solid punch. His punch was strong enough to start tremors within her lab, and she grinned proudly when the armor didn’t even budge.

Vegeta looked up and caught her eye, an impressed smirk on his lips. He then opened up his fist, clearly intending to try a ki blast, before he stopped and regarded her again.

“Woman, you may want to stand back,” he said softly, and Bulma nodded, going behind him to shield herself with his strong body.

He released a small ki blast, and Bulma shrieked in excitement when the armor simply absorbed the energy. Vegeta then used more energy on another blast, and another, slowly increasing intensity until he stopped, turned to face her, and to Bulma’s eternal shock, he grinned, a genuinely happy light entering his obsidian eyes.

“Great work, woman,” he remarked, and Bulma was so ridiculously happy about her success that without thinking, she laughed giddily and grabbed Vegeta around his neck in a big hug.

She felt him stiffen, dropping the armor in his hands to the floor. Realizing what she had done, she moved to release him…

Or at least, she tried to, but his arms, far stronger than her own, suddenly wound around her waist. She looked down at his arms in surprise, not quite believing the sensation of his embrace until she saw it with her own eyes.

A choked sound escaped his throat, and she looked up at his face, her own flushing at the intensity of his gaze.

He was staring at her, piercing her soul with this eyes, and before Bulma knew what was happening, she felt his lips against her own, and her heart burst in elation as his lips moved firmly, demandingly, coaxing a strangled moan from her as she heatedly kissed him back.

His hands roamed her back, caressing her arms, clutching at her sides, as his kiss dominated her, her mouth desperately keeping up with his urgent but gentle movements. She heard him groan against her lips when she moved one hand to clutch at the hair on the back of his neck, the other moving down to greedily grasp the hard planes of his chest.

He wrenched his lips away from her mouth, only to turn his attentions to her throat. She moaned deeply as her hands moved to grasp his forearms, finally feeling the ridges that she had previously memorized with her eyes.

Her sounds seemed to spur him on, as he suddenly grabbed her by the waist with his two large hands, lifting her onto her desk as she impulsively wrapped her legs around his hips. He kept kissing her, becoming more forceful, even as her nails began to rake almost painfully across his muscled back.

A near animalistic growl reached her ears and she found her blouse pulled roughly down her shoulders, trapping her upper arms against her as he continued to ravage her neck, quickly going lower, and she felt his rough tongue lapping nearly at the tops of her breasts. She cried out in delight, clutching his head with her hands, egging him on.

However, as suddenly as he started, Vegeta suddenly reared back, panic in his eyes as he held her back at arm’s length.

“B-Bulma…” he stammered, eyes wide, and she tried to reach for him, to pull him back to her, but he was suddenly gone, the only sign that he was ever there was the breeze left behind by his speed, in his haste to leave.

Numb with shock as what just transpired finally registered in her brain, Bulma slowly adjusted her top, noting that the seams had been torn by his forceful pulling. She stared down at the armor on the floor, reeling from the chaotic thoughts crowding her mind.

But the foremost thought screaming at her from inside her head, was asking just one thing…

‘What the hell just happened?’

8-8-8-8-8

It has been three days since Vegeta fled Capsule Corp, seeking the calming refuge of a quiet wilderness. He had proceeded to systematically decimate the said wilderness, and when no structure or living thing remained standing, he had morosely sat down in the center of the wide span of land, his mind in chaos, his hands itching to either do more damage or cling to the woman that he had run away from.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, lifting his hand and sending a ki blast onto something that moved in his peripheral vision. He was a mess, he knew, but he had no idea what to do to fix this debacle that he just foolishly thrust himself into.

What had he been thinking?! He was a horrible person and should not dare to touch a woman whose hands were unsoiled by death

But she was so soft, and she smelled so good, and he had been thinking about her so much in the last few days that when she touched him, he lost his damn mind and let himself ravage her.

He thought many times about just leaving Earth altogether, so he could gather his wits about him, but something held him back. He still couldn’t identify it, this damned feeling in the back of his head, that made him impulsively touch her.

She was broken, lonely, and most likely still hurting. And he, a career assassin who never felt anything more than irritation over killing off entire races of beings, felt like an absolute ass about taking advantage of her this way.

But then he realized, he was lonely, too. He always had been. And in Bulma’s loneliness, he started seeing her as a kindred spirit who could complement his own solitude.

He needed to go back.

He blanched at the idea of going back to Capsule Corp, but he steeled himself, mentally protesting that he was no fucking coward and he can go and face the heiress whenever he pleased.

8-8-8-8-8

It was past midnight, but Bulma lay awake, unable to sleep. He was back. She knew he was back, the moment he stepped into her home. She didn’t know how, she had no ki control or detection skills to speak of, but she just knew. She felt it when he went in to take his shower. Knew his routine, that he always washed himself right after coming back from any venture, or right after his nightly meal.

And she was going to speak to him tonight, whether he liked it or not.

When he left three days ago, she realized that all the misery, loneliness and self-blame that she thought she had gotten over had all suddenly come back. Vegeta, brash and uncouth as he was, was the one keeping her sadness at bay, in ways he didn’t even seem to realize.

She didn’t know what it was about him, but she wanted to reach out to him, touch the loneliness she can feel in his heart and heal it with her own. She wanted to hold him in her arms and give him the same comfort and reassurance that he had given her when he told her all those weeks ago that her break up was not her fault.

But mostly, she wanted him here, to help her figure out why, why, she felt this way about him now, and just what this feeling was.

She had been in love before, and she knew what love was. But being around Vegeta was something different, and she couldn’t tell if it was just an intense longing or an even stronger emotion that she absolutely wished to not put a name to just yet.

He was confusing her, and she was sure she was confusing him.

But mostly, she was appalled at what she discovered as she picked up the pieces of herself after he ran off right after kissing her.

She knew, that if he had tried to have sex with her then, she would have let him have his way with her.

It made no sense, how she was so, so ready for him now, in a way she had never been ready in a previous relationship that lasted 15 years.

She was terrified, but in her mind, she knew that this awakened need would not go away until she found a way to make him touch her. She knew that her virgin sensibilities had flown out the window the moment he clutched her close to his body, and she knew that, her inexperience notwithstanding, she truly, undeniably, wanted him.

She started walking towards his room, the one he had selected when he first came to earth to live with her and her family. And as she came closer and closer to the door, she also came to the realization that she didn’t really have any plans regarding what to do or what to say to him. All she knew was that she needed to see him.

She stood outside his door, nerves frazzled as she quickly tried to come up with a way to start a conversation, to have an idea even, of what she was actually doing there.

She ran out of time when he suddenly opened the door, looking at her through narrowed eyes, his body language taut and seemingly ready for flight.

And just like that, she knew what she had to do.

8-8-8-8-8

Vegeta stared at Bulma with trepidation, stepping aside to make way for her, in a silent ascent to let her into his sanctuary. She walked in with a tiny smile, letting herself sit at the corner of his bed, gazing at him through her bright blue eyes.

He felt exposed, standing before her in only his wet hair and loose sweatpants, berating himself for feeling exposed when he knew for a fact that she had seen him wearing much less.

The woman was wearing a thin blue sleeping gown, a thin robe covering her further to protect her from the chilly night air. She appeared unsure of herself, looking everywhere but at him. She then seemed to steel herself, and she looked straight at him, finding her words before he could even think of what to say.

“I fixed the gravity chamber,” she began, her smile widening slightly. “I made some adjustments to the control panel, too. I placed a specially crafted fiberglass material over the controls. It is made from a polymer that I derived from the components I used to make your armor, as that seemed to withstand your ki blasts well enough. I’m not sure it can withstand a direct hit from you, but it can easily stand up to stray blasts. I hope it works well enough.”

“Hnn,” he nodded, uneasy at her cheerful tone and news. He was anxiously waiting for her to begin screaming at him, either for kissing her, or for disappearing without a word.

She surprised him, yet again, when her lips curved into a full blown smile, and she whispered conspiratorially, loud enough for him to hear, “Also, I enjoyed that thing we did in my lab, and I really wouldn’t mind if we tried that again.”

His jaw dropped in shock, reminded that he had initially thought her a “vulgar woman”.

“What?”

“Oh come on, Vegeta. You heard me,” she blushed deeply even as she grinned widely. “I liked it. I wish you hadn’t stopped.”

“W-woman, are you insane?” Vegeta raged, but Bulma stayed seated, seemingly nonplused in the face of his ire. “I took advantage of you there. Why aren’t you angry?”

She just smiled at him, and a blush stole across his own cheeks as he snarled, “Stop smiling! Are you messing with me?”

Her smile dimmed slightly into a more placating stretch of her lips, rather than the earlier almost tauntingly wide, full toothed grin.

“Vegeta, I am not kidding. I really did enjoy it. And I want you to continue where you left off.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded, his guilt at what he had done gnawing at him as he bit out, “Woman you are mad. You ask me to continue? Do you know how much farther I would have continued if I hadn’t caught myself?”

Bulma stood then, walking towards him with her eyes locked onto his, hips swaying tantalizingly, reminding him of how those thighs felt as he clutched them against his waist on that day in her lab. Oh, how he remembered, and now his body remembered it as well. He could feel heat rising within his chest, his mind growing fuzzy as he smelled her delicious scent more strongly as she came closer, and closer…

“Yes, I know. And I want you to,” she whispered as she closed the distance between them, and he could hear her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her chest. She was nervous, he could tell, but she was also determined. “You told me not to compromise my mind and my body. I am not compromising it now. I want you, Vegeta. And I think, you really want me, too.”

He almost reared back, but her small hand, pressed softly against his abdomen, almost felt like a balm on his soul and could not move away. “Bulma,” he started, realizing his mistake when her mouth opened for a soft, pleased gasp, obvious delight filling her eyes at the sound of her name on his lips.

“I will not insult your intelligence by lying to you and denying that I do. I would very much like to have you in my bed, woman. But tell me,” he paused, searching her eyes, “You have not allowed any human male to taint you for as long as you have lived. Why would you decide to give in to a being like me?” he asked, desperately needing her to understand that her body, her beautiful, precious body, should not be squandered on a man like him.

He felt unworthy as he thought back to all the atrocities he committed, all the cheap fucks he had indulged in, and as he wallowed in self-disgust, a voice in the back of his head kept asking him why he even cared enough about this human woman’s welfare to attempt to turn her down on such a delectable offer.

She simply smiled beguilingly at him, her hand on his abs moving up to take purchase on his chest, as the dainty fingers of her other limb moved softly across his cheek.

“I don’t know why, my prince,” she all but cooed as her face started moving closer to his own, her lips barely a hair’s breadth away. “All I know is I want this with you, and I don’t care if you never wish to come near me again, but I need you… I need to know what it’s like… I am ready. And I want to do this with you.”

Something about the way she said that she needed him, wanted him, made something snap inside Vegeta, and he growled, wrapping one arm around her waist as his other hand quickly fisted into her thick hair, pulling her impossibly close. His eyes narrowed, his desire manifesting in his gaze.

“I am no good for you woman. But I will fuck you,” he rasped out, a gasp escaping her as he smelled her arousal like a thick perfume, clinging to each particle of air in the room. “And I need you to really feel, Bulma, because it will only be just this once.”

She sighed, sagging against him as her knees buckled, before she responded, “Yes, just this once.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma nearly fainted as the full intensity of Vegeta’s masculinity hit her, a seemingly tactile wave of pleasure that reached her even before his lips descended hungrily onto hers. He was so warm, inhumanly so, but in spite of his heat, goosebumps sprang up all over her body as his hands began to roam, his powerful legs quickly backing her up until her knees hit the edge of his bed.

It felt as if he was everywhere at once, his body wrapping her in its force as he hastily pulled her robe off of her so he could touch more of her flesh. Her thin, sleeveless night gown might as well have been gone for all the cloth did to keep her from feeling his hands as they skimmed across her stomach, winding around her back as he kissed her with even more fervor than the last time.

His lips crushed against hers, taking no prisoners as she gasped, and his tongue swept into the recesses of her mouth like he was starved and desperate for her taste. Bulma arched up, pushing her breasts against his hard chest and he growled against her as he pushed down and made them both fall onto his bed.

She could only hold on to his arms as he assaulted her senses, and she felt a peculiar wetness between her legs, something that she had not experienced with Yamcha. She still could not understand why she hadn’t felt this way for a man she had spent so many years with, and yet she felt so much desire for Vegeta, a man whose sanity and capacity to care for her and Earth were probably tenuous at best.

The Saiyan finally abandoned her lips, moving southward, lavishing her neck with wet licks and strong nips that she just knew would leave large bruises on her skin. His hands, previously holding onto her hips and waist, moved upwards, meeting his lips that had begun to taste the skin at the tops of her breasts.

She felt too hot, but she wanted more, and she found herself uselessly pulling at her night dress in an effort to pull it out of the way so she can have Vegeta touch her more. He seemed to understand, and he reared up, grabbing a hold of her dress, before he savagely ripped it apart, exposing her body in a quick second.

He stayed above her, kneeling as he looked down at her body, his eyes feasting on her nakedness. Bulma flushed deeply as he stared hungrily at her, and she almost moved her hands to cover herself, but a low, warning rumble sounded from deep inside Vegeta’s chest and she obediently kept her hands at her sides.

When he leaned back down again, Bulma was surprised when he gave her a gentle, probing kiss instead of the hot, urgent kisses from earlier. She sighed deeply, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders as his hands continued exploring her form, until his questing hands reached down and cupped her right breast.

She gasped into his kiss, her eyes flying open as he began to squeeze her breast. Vegeta broke their liplock, leaving her to pucker her lips in desperation for more. He merely chuckled, before he began to lick and ravish her throat once again, going lower and lower until his sinfully soft lips finally reached her chest and searchingly wrapped around one of her nipples.

She arched her back, pushing her chest closer to Vegeta’s mouth as a sharp cry of pleasure flew from her startled lips. He sucked on her breast, moving to pleasure the other as he had done to its twin.

Bulma was shaking, the pleasure already too much, and he was only at her chest! She curled her fingers into his thick hair, unthinkingly calling out broken fragments of her lover’s name.

Vegeta’s questing hands felt like they were everywhere at once, and she suddenly found that he had already reached down and was caressing the inside of her thighs.

When had she even spread her legs?! When did she lose her underwear?

She was utterly lost in sensation, and she cried out when his large, calloused hand started edging closer to her center. When he finally cupped her there, she swore that she literally saw stars.

He started kissing her lower abdomen, and Bulma’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that he was about to look… down there. She had seen that place, and it was not very pretty. She didn’t know if she wanted to buck him off or egg him on, as every touch he had bestowed her with so far had been delightful, but she was nervous about letting him see her there.

He must have felt her trepidation because he stopped, his dark eyes looking up at her questioningly.

And suddenly, Bulma, strong, outspoken and sometimes vulgar Bulma, felt her tongue turn to cotton as she tried to speak.

“Ve-Ve-Vegeta,” she rasped out, a deep flush covering her face to her upper chest. “Down there, I…”

He simply smirked at her, “Woman, just take it, alright? I told you to just feel,” he said to her, his devastatingly handsome face distracting her just enough that she didn’t realize that his hand had again travelled down to her core, rubbing her nether lips lightly, making her quake with desire.

She watched as he moved down, eyes searching for her center, and she saw a pleased smile stretch his face as he murmured, “I have never seen a human female’s sex organ before. This,” he crooned, inserting one finger inside her, making her gasp, “is most definitely much more attractive than any other that I have seen.”

Bulma couldn’t even summon enough brain power to quip back at him, as his middle finger slowly began to inch deeper and deeper inside her. She let out a keening noise as another pleasurable shudder racked her body, but Vegeta, apparently as merciless in bed as he was on the battlefield, simply smirked lasciviously, and began pumping his finger in and out of her.

“You are soaking, Bulma,” he remarked, at once embarrassing and arousing her further.

She wanted to lurch forward, thrashing around wildly, but one strong arm placed across her stomach stopped her aggressive movements. She could only watch, helpless but frighteningly aroused, as Vegeta continued to fuck her with his finger, and she could feel a strong pressure start to build up from deep inside her gut.

He increased the speed of his pumping finger and suddenly added a second one, and Bulma felt a spasm begin from deep inside her core, washing over her body until she could do nothing but scream, shocked at the feeling rushing through her body as she shook, realizing quickly that the incredible feeling washing over her was an orgasm.

She was still reeling from her release when Vegeta suddenly pulled his fingers out of her body, and just as she thought he was going to give her a chance to catch her breath, he suddenly grasped her hips with two powerful hands, pulled her towards him, and gave her center a long, languid lick.

Bulma screamed in shock, both at the action and at the pleasure he caused her. She called out his name, not really sure why, but he proceeded to ignore her as he dove down and crushed his mouth against her core. She could feel him kissing her, licking her, his tongue entering her there the way he had pillaged her mouth, and Bulma thrashed about, her arms desperately searching for something to hold onto. Her hands found purchase in his spiked hair, and she curled her fingers into the thick strands as he continued to pleasure her with his mouth.

The now familiar pressure started to build in her again, and Bulma cried out, closing her eyes as she tried to fight off the near hysteria she felt as her climax started taking over her body again.

Vegeta licked her again and again, before suddenly giving a sharp nip to the hard nub above her opening, and the pleasure that washed over her then was so intense that the scream she had been about to release got stuck in her throat, leaving Bulma a gasping mess, barely able to breathe.

She had tears standing in her eyes and she couldn’t quite believe that Vegeta, of all people, was this amazingly good in bed.

He started to crawl up her body, and for the first time, Bulma noticed that he was already naked. She had to wonder when he took his pants off, before her eyes traveled down to fully take in the glorious sight of a fully naked Vegeta.

He was, in a word, magnificent.

His body was absolute perfection, well-muscled and without an ounce of extra fat. Each muscle was well defined, covered in delicious caramel skin.

And when she looked down between his powerful thighs, oh! He was as thick, hard and perfect down there as the rest of his body was.

She reached down, wanting to touch him too, as he had given her so much pleasure and she wanted to give some back. She knew how to do this, as she had reluctantly done this for Yamcha before. But Vegeta’s hand on her wrist gave her pause, and she saw his dark eyes narrow at her before he wordlessly pushed her back to lie down onto the bed.

She didn’t resist when he moved to cover her with his body, his powerful hips cradled between her thighs, his erection pressed snug against her lower abdomen. She thought he was about to enter her, but instead, he planted his arms on either side of her, then he hunched down and kissed her soundly once again, his lips even gentler now, and as he coaxed sighs out of her with his lips, she felt him align himself against her entrance and start to push in.

She stiffened, nervous about the intrusion. He looked impossibly big to her, and despite all of her knowledge on human anatomy, she suddenly had the irrational fear that he might not fit.

His right hand started running up and down her left arm in a soothing caress, seemingly trying to wordlessly reassure her that he was going to take care of her. His tender manner in bed, so unlike his usual gruff self, made tears spring to Bulma’s eyes, and she kissed him passionately as she felt him finally enter her.

A short, sharp pain shot through her, and then…

That was it. She wasn’t a virgin anymore.

She found that she had no regrets, and as Vegeta gasped above her, she looked up into his face and was astounded at how beautiful he was right in that moment.

She was having sex with Vegeta. And it was glorious.

She felt as he pulled back slightly, then pushed back in slowly, and she looked into his eyes as he stared into her own, both gauging what the other was feeling. Bulma then smiled and reached up, stroking his cheek tenderly, before she arched up and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Vegeta took that as his cue, and he started pumping in and out of her body, at first slow and gentle, and gaining speed as they went. She tried to keep up, raising herself to meet his thrusts, and soon, they were writing against each other, mindless in their pleasure.

Soon enough, Bulma was lost again, gasping incoherently as Vegeta took her breath away with each movement, each delicious pull and push into her wanting core. Her hands reached around him to clutch his back, his buttocks, clinging to him desperately as he drove them closer and closer to completion.

Vegeta was groaning now, his eyes closed as he rested his forehead against her own, his hips growing more and more desperate as he too started chasing his own completion.

Right as Bulma felt the climax creeping onto her again, Vegeta opened his eyes, his  gaze unwavering, refusing to let her look away as he continued to pleasure her. His hands had started getting restless, and he stroked, caressed, and squeezed each part of her he could reach as his steady rhythm started to falter, as her cries kept growing louder, and both knew that the other was oh, so close.

And suddenly, Bulma’s peak came, crashing over like a tidal wave, and in her moment of ecstasy, she felt Vegeta lose himself within her as well, her name spilling from his lips in a mix of a groan and a sigh, the sound of which, Bulma will remember for the rest of her life.

He collapsed then, half on and half off of her, his breathing hard and labored, and Bulma tangled her hands again into his hair.

She sighed, content, amazed at what sex was like, or at least, at what sex with Vegeta was like.

Tomorrow, her doubts would surface again. She would again analyze and over analyze everything that took place tonight until her head ached, but for tonight…

Tonight, she would rest and be careless. Just this once.

8-8-8-8-8

END

#tpthvegebulsmutfest #day3justthisonce #october 2017 smutfest #vegebul #vegeta #bulma #fanfic #dragon ball #i am so nervous about posting this oh god #scarletraven fanfiction #fall 2017 smutfest #Convergence fic series

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (80/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[6 May 234 Before Age.  Planet Saiya.]

"You really expect me to believe that?!"  Luffa shouted.

They were standing in an abandoned laboratory hidden in the lower levels of Planet Saiya's capital city.  Luffa and Zatte had come to this planet at the invitation of King Rehval, believing that he was an old enemy of Luffa's mother, and an accessory in the forced termination of Luffa's unborn child.

Instead, Rehval now claimed that these were the actions of his father, the previous king, also named Rehval.  It was such a brazen denial that it could only be a pathetic, desperate lie... or a simple, extraordinary truth.

"Are you telling us this has all been a case of mistaken identity?" Zatte asked.  "You don't look old enough to have ruled Planet Saiya thirty years ago, but..."

"The Saiyan people age very differently from what most species would consider normal, Ms. Zatte," Rehval explained.  "We remain in our prime for most of our lives, so a septuagenarian looks almost exactly like a young adult."

Zatte looked at Luffa, as though considering the implications of this.

"The Rehval Dynasty began with my grandfather," he went on.  "It was Rehval The First who settled this planet and named it Saiya, after the mythical world where the Saiyans first evolved.    When he died, my father, Rehval the Second assumed the throne.  He reigned for over half a century, before I was forced to put a stop to him."

"You killed him?"  Luffa asked.

"Are you so surprised, Luffa?" Rehval asked.   "Your mother taught you that he was a tyrant.  Your father was plotting against him as well.  My father made many enemies in his lifetime.  I was simply the last, and the one in the best position to act against him."

He pulled a wooden stool out from under a recess in one of the lab benches, and sat down.

"As the crown prince, I looked up to my father.  He was devoted to forging the Saiyan people into a great and powerful nation, as opposed to a disparate tribe of marauders.  But in the final years of his reign, I began to learn just how far he was willing to go to achieve his goals."

He waved his hand at the arcane symbols scrawled on the wall.  "This laboratory was just the tip of the iceberg.  He conducted all sorts of secret alchemical research, but he also dabbled in genetic engineering, witchcraft, necromancy, and a number of other un-Saiyan practices.  His dream was to discover a way to unlock the ultimate potential of the Saiyan race.  About a year ago, I learned he was using live Saiyans in his experiments.  I had no choice but to kill him, though I told the public that he had died of an illness.  I couldn't risk jeopardizing my grandfather's accomplishments by exposing my father's crimes."

He pointed to an urn on a shelf of chemicals.  "That, ladies, is all that remains of Rehval II's body.  "Unfortunately, his legacy, casts a much longer shadow.  Once I consolidated power, I studied my father's records, and learned of his experiments with Saiyan fetal tissue.  And that was when I learned of his role in your ordeal, Luffa."

"How did he find out about it?" Luffa asked.

"Through your husband Kandai," Rehval said. "I never knew the full story, but from what I gather, your father was trying to find a way to increase his own strength.  Somewhere along the way, he succeeded.  Instead of hiring himself out for obscure mercenary work, he was carrying out bold raids on the frontiers of the Camelian Empire.  As I told you before, whenever a Saiyan causes trouble, word reaches Planet Saiya very quickly.  The Camelians complained to our ambassador there, and an investigation revealed it was Orij, an old malcontent who had married your mother, an anti-royalist.

"My father promised the Camelians that he would deal with Orij, but privately, he wished to learn the secret to his sudden power increase.  He eventually made contact with Kandai, and plied him for information.  Kandai was eager to make a fresh start, and it wasn't difficult to loosen his tongue.  He told my father about the Tikosi, and their technique for isolating the biological factors that made one Saiyan stronger than another.  He told him that the Tikosi were making you stronger, and then duplicating that power increase in Orij.  I assumed the Tikosi's eventual goal was to apply the same treatment for themselves.

"This piqued my father's interest.  He planned to eliminate Orij to placate the Camelians, then conquer the Tikosi and claim their research for himself.  But first he wanted to see what he could accomplish with his own alchemical techniques, so he struck a bargain with Kandai.  In exchange for certain rewards, your husband returned to the Tikosi Planet and obtained... well, he took your unborn child.  Then he brought the fetus back to Saiya for my father to test.

"And what did that accomplish?"  Luffa asked bitterly.  "Other than ending a Saiyan boy's battle before he had a chance to fight?"

"In the end, very little," Rehval said quietly.  "My father's notes were very unclear on the matter, but from what I could make out, he didn't make much progress after receiving the tissue.  He wrote that he intended to crush Orij and invade the Tikosi planet, but he never got the chance.  A scouting party found the planet abandoned, and Orij's remains lying near a large crater.  Soon after, reports of a Super Saiyan on Bigreen began to circulate, and it didn't take long to piece together what had happened."

"Is that why your father sent that team of assassins after us?" Zatte asked.  "Did he think Luffa would come looking for revenge?"

"It was a test," Rehval said.  "You have to understand, Luffa, that there are a lot of conflicting reports about just who and what you are.  Most Saiyans believe you're a fraud.  A number of early Super Saiyan sightings turned out to be Orij's activities on the Camelian frontier.  People believe you're man, a woman, a ghost, a goddess, a Saiyan, a mutant, and any number of other things.  My father wanted to make certain that you really were Orij's daughter--that you had survived the Tikosi and that you really were as strong as the rumors said.  The team of soldiers was sent to either kill you or take your measure."

"Well I hope he was pleased with the result," Luffa said.  "He should have just approached me himself, or did that little demonstration make him lose his nerve?"

"He was obsessed with you after that," Rehval said.  "He sent ten of his strongest warriors, and none of them survived.  He knew you were strong, but after that incident he realized that you were unstoppable.  And then the Shockmaster invaded the Federation, and he proved to be at least as powerful.  My father was withdrew to his research, determined to find some way to match your level of power.  When you defeated the Shockmaster, he became even more worried, since there was no longer a power in the galaxy that could counterbalance your own.

"While he was plotting against you in secret, the work of running the kingdom was delegated to the crown prince: me.  One day I needed to consult with him on a matter of state business, and I found him down here, lost in some demonic ritual.  He was a shadow of his former self-- half-starved, sleep deprived,driven mad by his obsession.  When I realized what he had done and what he planned to do, I knew I had no choice but to kill him and take his place."

"Then you invited Luffa to come here in order to make peace," Zatte concluded.

"In my arrogance, I believed you were aware of my accession to the throne," Rehval said.  "You never threatened Saiya or its interests, but neither did you make any overtures toward us.  After a year, I decided it was time to clear the air, and this string of Saiyan murders seemed like a sensible topic for us to discuss.

"Luffa, I sincerely apologize, both for my father's actions, and for my flippant tone at dinner.  If I had known that you thought I was Rehval II, I would have approached our meeting very differently."

"Would you, now?" Luffa grumbled.  "I guess you would have told me the same story you're telling me now, only from a safe distance, right?"

She walked to the shelf containing the urn of Rehval II's remains, and ran her finger along the shelf, the  looked at the dust that had accumulated on her fingertip.

"It's all very convenient, Rehval.  I suppose you can prove all of this.  You don't seem like the type to leave any loose ends."

"My father's death was certified by his physician," Rehval said. "He's a Grujon running a practice on Eldon IV, with no ties to the regime.  As for the rest, my father kept extensive records on his dealings, many of them in his own handwriting.  You're welcome to examine them to your satisfaction."

"Very thoughtful of you," Luffa said.

"I don't blame you for being suspicious, Luffa," Rehval said.  "I understand if we cannot be friends, but I have no desire to be your enemy.  I'm willing to do whatever it takes to assure you of that."

Luffa turned and glared at him.  "I'm glad you said that, Rehval, because there is a way you can convince me," she said.

"Name it," Rehval said.  "The royal archives are at your disposal."

"Records can be falsified," Luffa said as she walked towards him.  "And even if they're legitimate, that would only prove that your father's crimes.    They wouldn't tell me whether or not you were involved."

"I see..." Rehval said.  "Then what do you have in mind?"

"The question is: What do you have in your mind, Rehval?" Luffa said darkly.  She raised her hand and extended it towards him.  "I want to know what you knew and when you knew it.  Your story might be mostly true, but I wonder if you might be leaving out a few things that might make me... angry with you."

He remained seated, but pulled back slightly as she reached for his face.  "I can read your mind, Rehval.  It won't take long, but if you've been lying to me, I will find out."

"Proceed then.  I have nothing to hide," he said confidently.

Luffa had already planted both hands on his face.  "This will only hurt if you resist me," she warned.

"I underst--" he began to say, but Luffa had already begun, and he gasped with amazement at the experience.

One minute and thirteen seconds later, Luffa released him.  She stepped back, and breathed deeply, as if relieved to be finished.

"Are you okay?" Zatte asked.  "I've never seen you spend that much time on anyone before.  Well, except for me, when you and I--"

"I'm fine," Luffa said, mostly to cut off the rest of her statement.

"A remarkable experience," Rehval said.  He looked around the room, as though pleased to be back in the real world.  "I had no idea Saiyan telepathy could advance to such levels."

"Well, what did you find out?" Zatte asked impatiently.

Luffa looked at her and then back at Rehval.  "I took my time because I needed to be sure, she said.  "But I couldn't find any hint of deception.  At least, not about Kandai or his father.  He's... he’s telling the truth."

Rehval nodded in agreement.

******

Rehval had offered them a room in his palace, but Luffa had declined, preferring to head back to her ship for the night.

"So now what?" Zatte said as she curled up next to Luffa on her bed.

"I don't know," Luffa said.  She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling of the cabin, a sheet half-heartedly draped over herself.

"You said it yourself," Zatte said.  "If he's telling the truth, he's not our enemy."

"I still don't like the guy, Zattie," Luffa said.  "Even if he's on the level, I don't like the idea of a Saiyan King.  I never have."

"He seems to respect that," Zatte said.  "He invited us to stay a while."

"There's nothing here for me," Luffa said.  "And I'm not about to start dressing in blue and kneeling to that pompous...!"

"We don't have to live here forever, Luffa," Zatte said.  "We can leave right now if that's what you want.  But where do we go?  The Federation practically runs itself, and no one like the Shockmaster is likely to threaten it anytime soon."

"I know..." Luffa said.  "That's why I'm so disappointed.  I was hoping Rehval would give me some sport.  Beg for mercy... try some last-ditch plan to kill me.  I don't know, something."

"You wanted another Kandai," Zatte said.  "Someone you could hunt down and pour all your frustrations into."

"Not that he really satisfied me either," Luffa said.  "It's just as well.  If Rehval's daddy were still alive, I would have just killed him by now, and then  I'd be right back where I started."

"It's like you said before," Zatte said.  "Settling things with Rehval was the last connection you had with your son.  Everyone who took him from you is gone now.  There's no one left to chase, or even think about chasing."

"So..." Luffa said.  "Now what?"

"I asked you first, buster," Zatte said.

Luffa sighed.  "Maybe we could go to Yetitan, pay a visit to Wampaaan'riix and Dewbie.  Might even invite Dr. Topsas along if he's free."

"What brought this on?"  Zatte asked.

"I was just thinking about my mother," Luffa said.  "Aside from you, those guys are the closest thing to family I have left."

Zatte put her arm over Luffa and squeezed her gently.  "Don't be so sure about that..." she said.

*******

[7 May 234 Before Age.  Planet Saiya]

Far removed from the citadel which served as the planet's capital was a small village of crudely shaped houses.  There were a number of modern conveniences--paved roads, food storage devices, and a water tower--but otherwise the settlement appeared to be a throwback to some primitive age.    In one of these houses, a Saiyan  woman named Arracash heard a knock at her door.

She immediately readied herself for a fight.  The King had alerted everyone about a mysterious Saiyan-hunting killer, so naturally she had this possibility in mind, but she had lived on this planet of bloodthirsty warriors for most of her life, and she hadn't lasted this long without being prepared.  She moved along the wall, careful not to avoid being spotted from the view offered by the windows, and paused in front of the door.  She silently counted to five, then swung the door open, making sure to keep her body out of the doorway.

Nothing happened.  Arracash took a quick look, and found two women, a Saiyan and an alien with blue skin and red hair.

"We're looking for... for Arracash?" the alien said.  She seemed distracted for some reason.

"You found her," she said.  "What's this about?  And don't tell me it's King's official business.  Not while you're wearing that getup."

She was pointing at Luffa's bright yellow pants as if they were on fire.  "You want food, go catch some game in the mountains.   Lousy vagrants.  Everyone acts like I'm the village cook."

"Records at the palace said you had a son named Orij," the Saiyan said.  "That right?"

"So what?" Arracash said.  "He's old enough to fight his own battles isn't he?  I'm not responsible for his blunders."

"Luffa, this can't be Arracash," Zatte said.  "She's supposed to be in her mid seventies--"

"Luffa?" Arracash asked.  "Then this is some kind of shakedown!  You think you can pretend to be some impostor freak and I'll cower under the bed while you help yourselves to my loot?!  Who the hell do you think you are?"

She tried to shut the door, only for Luffa to catch it with her hand and hold it open.

"I think I'm your granddaughter," Luffa said.

NEXT: The Foxy Factor

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #rehval #zatte #arracash #planet saiya

[aaronbleyaert]

Anonymous Asked

“What are your thoughts on "leagues" in the romantic sense? As a 17 year old guy who's struggled with self-image issues and who still has very little self esteem even though I've been hitting the gym and all that and looking better than ever, the whole concept of leagues pisses me the fuck off and I don't believe in it because it seems like people (ones I consider good friends) are just putting me down for a reason I cannot comprehend when they say "she's outta your league..." I’m not saying that I don’t care about looks at all but I believe that it’s what’s inside that counts way more. I don’t know if that’s a pathetic way of rationalising the fact that I do suck and I am out of many leagues with myself and giving me some sense of hope, or if it’s everyone else who’s misguided. Being told that I’m not good enough from time to time and being reminded of it in a gazillion little ways every fucking day (from my friends getting into relationships to me overhearing them talking about the “hot guys” who are, by my standards, so much better in every single way than I am to seeing the way they treat more attractive people with less disdain than they do to me ) is really annoying as fuck, but it’s great motivation in the gym. At the same time, I’m trying not to make the mistake of doing what I do for anyone else other than myself, though it’s kinda confusing too because I can’t really draw the line between what I want for myself and what I want in order to appeal more to others. So yeah, I’m lonely, pissed off, feeling like I’m worth less or even worthless on bad days, and I’m not sure whether or not I can hang on to the hope of finding someone special one day. Just wanna hear your thoughts on this. Thanks Bley“

I’ll start by saying that I think you’re pretty perceptive and self-aware for someone who’s 17 - and that, friend, is going to help you immensely as you continue on through life. So kudos to you - you’re already way ahead of the game. 

The next step for you - and this is a hard one, so don’t get down on yourself if you don’t get it right away - is to take that self awareness and weaponize it: To use it as a hammer and flame with which to forge and shape feelings of happiness and satisfaction of who you are and what you can do.

Being happy is a choice. Being confident is a choice. For some stupid fucking reason, the majority of people believe that happiness and self-confidence are just these clouds that float around and sometimes happen to touch you if you’re lucky. That’s just not true. Are there things that happen that make me happy? Sure. Seeing my nephew at Chuck E Cheese was awesome and made me giggle like a little school girl. But day to day, I CHOOSE to see the positive things in life and CHOOSE to be happy. Same thing with being confident: Can I find things that I hate about myself? HA HA HA. Yes. Of course. I got gray hair when I was 14 - three years younger than you are now - so I’ve felt like an outsider and a weirdo forever. And you know what? Every time I meet someone new - girl or not - the fact that I have gray hair flashes through my mind. And then you know what I do? I choose to not think about that any more and focus on other things I like about myself. This is your new task: ACTIVELY CHOOSING TO LIKE THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF AND TO ACTIVELY CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY. 

Here’s one thing (out of many) that sucks about being a teenager: All your friends are teenagers. Teenagers, for the most part, are not as self aware as you, but they all hate themselves equally as much as you do. When they are telling you someone is out of your league, they are saying that just as much to make themselves feel better as they are anything else. Because if she WASN’T out of your league, then YOU would be out of THEIR league. And by and large, teenagers are not emotionally mature enough to lift others up out of the kindness of their hearts (some are, but mostly they’re still too much in their own heads). And that’s okay. That’s just what it is. But it’s important to realize that what they’re saying really isn’t about you. It’s about them. 

On that note, I think you hit the nail on the head when you said ‘I’m trying not to make the mistake of doing what I do for anyone else other than myself, though it’s kinda confusing too because I can’t really draw the line between what I want for myself and what I want in order to appeal more to others.’, because that’s really at the core of all these feelings of insecurity you’re feeling (and, by the way, at the core of why most people in this world feel the same insecure way you do).

I’m glad you recognized that, because it’s important - and it’s something that most people, teenager or not, never actually figure out. A lot of people spend their ENTIRE LIVES living to appeal to other people. (Los Angeles is packed full of people like this, by the way.) But it’s a losing game; there are always going to be people who are smarter than us, richer than us, better looking than us, etc. If you’re living your life to appeal to others, you will constantly be failing. However, if you live your life for yourself, you will be constantly improving yourself - and you will spend your life constantly succeeding. So live your life for yourself, and to appeal to yourself - not to appeal to anyone else. And here’s the trick: By choosing to be as happy as you can, and as self confident as you can (it’s a constant struggle, but you can do it), YOU WILL APPEAL TO OTHERS. Think about it: Which kind of girl is more attractive to you - someone who has her own hobbies, who is fun to be around, who doesn’t care what other people think? Or a girl who is constantly worrying about how she looks, only does what her friends think is cool, and who finds fault with everyone around her? I don’t know about you, but Girl #1 sounds way more attractive to me. And that’s how the opposite sex will see you when you do some work on yourself and live your life for you, not for anyone else.

To answer your question directly: No, I don’t believe in leagues. Are there women out there who are Are there women who are beautiful and successful and smart and funny and travel in circles I could never ever break into no matter how hard I work and how long I live? Yes there are. But who’s to say that those women wouldn’t want to grab a drink with me? Who’s to say that those women aren’t looking for someone fresh and new, someone outside of the usual people they know, someone who does different things than they usually do, who is happy with themselves and doesn’t care what others think? Let the girl tell you herself that she’s not interested in you. Don’t just take yourself out of the running because you think you know who she is. You have no idea who she is - and that’s no being fair to her. Maybe you’re her perfect guy. You literally have no idea until you give it a shot; and by the way, if you DO give it a shot and it doesn’t work out, that’s totally fine, too - you want to be with someone who wants to be with you, not someone who you have to constantly keep trying to impress. 

Anyone who tells you that you aren’t good enough, that you suck, - any of that shit - is a fucking asshole. You asked me "I dont know if that’s a pathetic way of rationalising the fact that I do suck and I am out of many leagues with myself and giving me some sense of hope, or if it’s everyone else who’s misguided” and I can tell you that it is everyone else who is misguided. 100%. Friends do not tear each other down. You’re a good dude at a tough place in life surrounded by dicks. That’s it. Don’t let those fuckheads make you think that you’re anything other than The Man. I know it’s tough, but find shit you like to do and that makes you happy and do it. Try to not be around people who don’t make your feel good. You’re 17 and you’re already starting to recognize that - it took me til my mid-30s to realize it, so again, you’re way ahead of the game.

I know hot girls who are super insecure. I know hot dudes who are super insecure. I know EXTREMELY FAMOUS AND HOT PEOPLE who are fucking messes inside and just want to find a normal person to date. At the end of the day, everyone is the same. It’s okay to feel lonely and pissed off. But don’t lose hope, friend. Life is long, and that person is out there. But for now, just concentrate on constructing a life that makes you happy with friends who you can make feel good and who make you feel good. Good luck, my man. You got this.

#advice

[warsofasoiaf]

You talked about the loyal primarchs, what about the rebel ones? What flaws do each one have that may led them to betrayal?

One of the big things I see with the Traitor Primarchs is their self-absorbed nature, and their arrogance believing themselves to not need caution or restraint. They also often succumbed to desires of personal satisfaction and gratification, even the most petty sort. I’ve made some notes here, and I’ve highlighted what I think to be excellent pieces of villain crafting.

Fulgrim is one of the worst, obsessed as he was with perfection to the point of embracing anything that would improve him. In the legion’s sense, this drive was off-putting for the other legions and led to egotists like Lucius gaining rank over humbler, effective officers. In the personal sense led to falling under the sway of the Laer Blade, paying no heed to the warnings. His ego led him to be easily susceptible to flattery and manipulation by Horus, as well as trying to convince stubborn, loyal Ferrus because he believed he couldn’t possibly fail. When Ferrus and he came to blows, his ego led to his possession, and his refusal to own up to his killing of his brother and best friend led to his possession. Fulgrim is the unhealthy fixation on narcissism weaponized into ego, to the point where he murders people for not being sufficiently awed by him.

Perturabo’s casual brutality is often at odds with his desire to be an artist, architect, and craftsman. His self-control is very poor, as he frequently lashed out in rage by killing completely uninvolved people. Resigned to drudgery, Perturabo increasingly resorted to brutal pleasures to derive satisfaction from his unfulfilling life. His perfectionist drive was not as bad as Fulgrim’s, but he still decimated his legion for failing to live up to his standards when he first met them (thus, they didn’t know what standards they were failing). Certainly, Perturabo was crapped on and disrespected for performing vital but unglamorous jobs in warfare, but his pettiness in his affairs were his own doing. This resentment built up to the point where the Iron Warriors became the drudge that Perturabo feared, throwing men at the walls and refusing to take advice either from his brothers or sons like Warsmith Dantioch. Finally unable to rein in his hate, he ravaged his own planet and believing that he would never be forgiven, joined Horus and indulged in every sort of petty revenge seeking that he could.

Konrad Curze is interesting because while he did betray the Emperor, he did not embrace the Chaos Gods and even during Angels of Caliban, believed that he was acting within his nature, and there’s no reason to believe that he was not telling the truth. Whether or not that’s the case, Konrad was always the way he was, brutal and terrifying. Konrad is the man who sees no problem with visiting atrocity upon the atrocious, with bringing evil to evil. The problem of course, is that he takes it upon himself to be judge, jury, and executioner. Certainly, Konrad is a more unique case, given that his visions showed him all of the horrors of his later life including his own death, which did not do his sanity any favors. Konrad seemed to bring the torment within his own mind out, hunting, harming, killing, terrorizing, all crimes were deserving of the same brutal punishment. Konrad is an altogether insidious twist of martyrdom, sacrificing the self by becoming the monster in order to stop other monster, but Konrad ultimately became worse, and viewed the Night Lords not as an army to achieve objectives, but a scourge sent to punish anyone for failing to live up to impossible standards.

“What would you know of struggle, Perfect Son? When have you fought against the mutilation of your mind? when have you had to do anything more than tally compliances and polish your armour?” […] “The people of your world named you Great One. The people of mine called me Slave. Which one of us landed on a paradise of civilization to be raised by a foster father, Roboute? Which one of us was given armies to lead after training in the halls of the Macraggian high-riders? Which one of us inherited a strong, cultured kingdom? And which one of us had to rise up against a kingdom with nothing but a horde of starving slaves? Which one of us was a child enslaved on a world of monsters, with his brain cut up by carving knives? Listen to your blue-clad wretches yelling of courage and honour, courage and honour, courage and honour. Do you even know the meaning of those words? Courage is fighting the kingdom which enslaves you, no matter that their armies outnumber yours by ten-thousand to one. You know nothing of courage. Honour is resisting a tyrant when all others suckle and grow fat on the hypocrisy he feeds them. You know nothing of honour.”

Angron is one of the best-characterized of the Traitor Primarchs and his weakness is on full display in Betrayer. His speech to Roboute Guilliman (above) was one of the finest pieces of characterization I’ve seen in the Horus Heresy novels because of how well it explains Angron’s personality and ultimately, how pathetic he is. Angron is everyone who blamed other people for the misfortunes he had in life, who hates and resents everyone and believes that they did not work hard or strive to earn anything that they have. While it is certainly true that he was enslaved and forced to fight for the amusement of the aristocracy on his homeworld, he spits at Guilliman and believes that Guilliman never had to put effort into the 500 worlds of Ultramar. Similarly, he doesn’t think Sanguinius, who grew up on a radiation-blasted hellscape hunted by packs of mutant cannibals, or Lion El’Jonson who grew up for ten years alone being hunted by demons, ever had to struggle in their lives. Similarly, while he rails against the forcible implantation of the Butcher’s Nails into his brain (a great injustice certainly), it didn’t stop him from doing the same to his own legion. More than any other Primarch, Angron constantly blames others for circumstances they had no control over, or for problems of his own devising. Angron is a great warrior but a weak man whose fall to Chaos was largely borne out of his refusal to believe that despite his rough circumstances, he was still accountable for his own actions.

Mortarion’s social Darwinism, contempt for civilians, and arrogance certainly wouldn’t endear him to many, and his bigotry of psykers made Leman Russ look like a rational if suspicious guy. Mortarion’s resentment of E-Money saving his life killing his adoptive father was fairly bog-standard, and on its own, almost certainly was not going to cause him to fall to Chaos. Mortarion’s bigotry and greed appear to be the chief motivators of his fall. He considered the Emperor to be a massive hypocrite for being a psyker and for using Warp-tech to create the Primarchs, but he was hoping for the Emperor and Horus to kill each other so he could take the top job, as Jaghatai Khan calls him out on when they speak on Prospero in Scars, just as he called him out for corraling the psykers only to be on the side who embraces psychic powers, rampant mutation, and uncontrolled warpcraft.

Magnus’s chief flaw was his massive ego that he believed he didn’t require caution. He made pacts with Tzeentch from the beginning to save his Legion from the Flesh-Change, studied much in the ways of the Warp, continued psyker studies in secret after Nikaea, and broke down the Imperial Webway, all out of the belief that he knew what he was doing, that he could control what he was doing, and that he thought out all the possible angles. This sort of pride was Magnus’s downfall, because he never took measures to ensure that should things not work out, that he could mitigate the damages. It’s always a mistake to believe that you will experience no setbacks or make no mistakes, and so when Magnus did, he couldn’t handle the problems.

Horus’s fixation was ego, pride, and jealousy. He was suspicious that mankind itself would be leading the Imperium that he had fought for, rather than accepting civilian control (or even in making an effort to transition himself to a non-military leadership role the way Rogal Dorn or Roboute Guilliman did). Convinced of his own exceptional nature, when the Emperor did not divulge any information about the Webway to him, Horus took it personally and acted out of spiteful jealousy. Horus is the villain who gets angry when being shut out, angry that other people have different ideas, angry that people won’t see everything his way. His egocentrism made him take every time he was not included to be a specific slight, and this is a fantastic trait for villains and secondary antagonists alike.

Lorgar’s flaw was that he was so desiring to have faith in something, that he never bothered to wonder whether or nor that something was worth having faith in. Having his faith shattered by the Emperor was a big blow, but for all the Emperor’s brutality, rigid dogma, and inability to relate to humanity, the Chaos Gods are concepts taken to such immortal extremes that they can’t be done by humanity either. Lorgar wanted nothing more than to devote himself to something greater, but along the way of his desire for meaning, he forsook the idea of “greater” being “better” to simply being “larger,” largely out of a desire to feel validated in his service.

Alpharius is different, because of the whole “aid Chaos to destroy Chaos” plot. He may or may not have been a secret loyalist, because he attacked his own allies as much as the loyalists, and complicating matters even more is whether Omegon believed in the same ideology. So unfortunately, we don’t know what Alpharius’s goals were, given that Rogal Dorn killed him near Pluto in Praetorian, and whether Omegon is merely pretending to be Alpharius, has actually assumed Alpharius’s goals, or is seeking only to survive. Given the de-centralized nature of the Alpha Legion, the fact that many of them have wholeheartedly joined Chaos is not an indicator of Omegon’s allegiances as it would be for the other Primarchs.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#warhammer 40k