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spilledbeans116 · 6 months

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Just In Case

(Vegeta x Reader)

Vegeta x fem!reader -6,207 Words - SFW - No use of Y/N

Fan of Vegeta x Bulma? Find an alternate version here! (The first parts match up!)

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This fic is based on a headcanon I have involving the prince and his constant need to wear gloves. I'm putting this here as a side note, but the first chapter is a bit violent. I hope you all enjoy it.

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Nappa was smiling, as proud as a warrior-nanny could be given the circumstances. Vegeta had aced his first mission under Frieza’s rule without a single hitch, having wiped out an entire planet on his own in just a couple hours. They had hit three more after that, completing twice the work of an adult saiyan could have mustered up. And what, he was only 6? Never before had such latent power been shown in such a young saiyan; his power already rivaled Nappa’s own. On late night’s when the bar was full and Raditz and Vegeta were in bed, Nappa would sit and brag to the other soldiers of Frieza’s army how talented the kid was.

The bar was dim, the tables around having been emptied as all the patrons gathered around Nappa and listened to his tales. Among them were Ginyu, Burter, and Jeice, all three of whom were rolling their eyes at the display.

“You should have seen the way he shot through that thing! It was almost three times my size, maybe bigger!” Nappa hiccuped, taking a swig from his mug before slamming his fist on the bar’s counter-top. “It was incredible!”

From around the corner, a young saiyan who should have been in bed smirked. His smile quickly faltered however, as someone else spoke up.

“Psh, right,” Ginyu laughed, giving Nappa a shove. “Like a kid could take down one of those on his own. Even Guildo struggles with them!”

“No, Nappa’s being serious, I saw it myself!” Another soldier yelled, slamming his drink down on the bar. “The kid is a beast! A monster!”

Vegeta nodded, crossing his arms and leaning through the doorframe a bit to watch as the older men debated his feats.

At that Ginyu and Burter laughed, “please! He’s an ape!” Ginyu snorted. “You think that monkey could actually do that on his own? He’s weak, just like his old man. Maybe he got lucky, but nothing more than that.”

Vegeta clutched his cape and held it at his sides, his anger overtaking him as he fought not to run in there and sucker punch Ginyu in the face; he had already learned once that it wasn’t a good idea, and wouldn’t make an idiot of himself again. Ginyu didn’t believe he could do that? Didn’t think that Vegeta could fight his own battles or overtake a stronger opponent? Fine. He would prove he could; he would show everyone exactly what he could do. And he wouldn’t stop until they believed him.

—

Months had passed, but for Vegeta, time moved strangely. It felt fleeting and yet too long at the worst of times. Then again, he was still only a child. He had already gotten stronger, not that anyone but Raditz or Nappa noticed and he didn’t give a damn what they thought. Each day and night was the same, he was degraded by the Ginyus to his face and behind his back. His family was gone, his home was gone, and his race was all but eradicated. He was the last remaining saiyan royal and ruled over two; he wasn’t the strongest on the ship nor was he even close to beating Frieza… yet. That day would come, he reassured himself. Until then he was destined to be miserable, to spend everyday fighting to be better only to get no recognition from anyone. That much responsibility and pain weighing down on a child surely wasn’t healthy, especially not when they were forcing themselves to do even more than everyone else.

Vegeta couldn’t keep track anymore of how many planets he had slaughtered. Their cries of mercy fell on deaf ears. At night, he had nightmares about the faces of those that had met their end in his hands. He wondered who they were, what lives they lived. He was doing to them what had happened to his own home. He tossed and turned each night, enough for Raditz to complain to Nappa that it was keeping him awake.

Soon he turned 7, still a child in the eyes of a saiyan. After each fight he felt dirtier and dirtier, and visited the showers once, twice, three times a day. The soldiers on the ship joked that the prince was a germaphobe. He was too royal for their peasant germs. He was killing without purpose, without a fight and the guilt was eating away at him slowly, crumbling his sanity with each life he took. He was 8 when it happened.

Nappa was heading to the bar before he stopped. Something in him, some primal, strange instinct, told him to go to the boys room. He rushed down the halls and to their room, where Raditz was snoring loudly with his arm draped across his face. Vegeta, however, was gone. He couldn’t ask anyone else if they had seen him, as he’d surely be punished for roaming parts of the ship he shouldn’t without Nappa present.

Vegeta had gotten back late from a mission and decided to go take a shower. His body was covered in blood, none of which was his own. He watched as the red water swirled down the shower drain and slowly became pink, scrubbing his body with a bar of soap as he grunted to himself. Arms, chest, legs, feet, tail, and finally his hands. He lathered the soap between them, watching the bubbles form up and over his hands before rinsing them off in the water. To his surprise, the water revealed the blood was still there.

“Damn shit must have stained them,” he huffed, turning off the water and drying himself with a towel. He quickly wrapped it around his waist and made his way to the sinks, grabbing his toothbrush and lining it with toothpaste. Until he saw his hands again. No longer tinted red, they were coated in blood. The fur on the end of his tail began to spike as he stared at it, quickly flipping them around to see if he had any open wounds. He ran the water and shoved his hands under it, scrubbing at the blood to get it off.

“What the hell!” He snapped, watching as nothing changed. He began to scratch at it, trying to peel it off to know avail. He hissed as he turned the water up, the heat becoming blistering hot as he started to claw at his own hands in a desperate attempt to get the blood off of himself.

“Why isn’t it coming off!” He yelled, starting to get louder and louder as he grew more desperate. He felt filthy as his consciousness weighed down on him, his sleep deprived body and nightmarish life finally getting the better of him. “Get it off me!”

Nappa knew he had to be in the showers, as it was the only place the kid ever went to when he wasn’t in the dining halls or his room. With how late it was, the dining halls would have closed ages ago. As he made his way down the corridors of the ship he could hear something. It was quiet at first, but slowly became louder and louder as he got closer to the men's showers. He could hear Vegeta, screaming out in pain. Nappa shot off and slammed through the door to the bathroom, following the sounds of the hysterical screaming until he found the prince by the sinks. Vegeta was sobbing, hands burnt red from the water.

“The hell has gotten into you!” Nappa yelled, ripping him away from the sink. He was going to scold the prince when he saw the claw marks all over his hands. Vegeta tried to shove him away, crying out for Nappa to let go of him but it all sounded like gibberish to the older saiyan.

“What are you doing!” Nappa yelled at him as Vegeta slammed a hand against his face, trying to make his way back to the sink. “You’re hurting yourself, what are you doing!”

“I CAN’T GET IT OFF!” Vegeta screamed between sobs. “MY HANDS! THEY’RE COVERED IN BLOOD I CAN’T GET IT OFF!”

“Vegeta there is no blood!” Nappa yelled, grabbing his wrists and holding him still. “But there’s going to be if you keep tearing at your skin!”

“DON’T TOY WITH ME NAPPA JUST GET IT OFF ME! PLEASE I CAN’T- I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS PLEASE JUST GET IT OFF!”

Nappa grabbed the prince and his clothes, clamping a hand over his mouth as he ran out of the bathroom and back towards his room. Vegeta dug his nails into the flesh of Nappa’s hand, sinking his fang’s into Nappa’s palm as the older saiyan grunted in pain. Vegeta was still trying to scream but Nappa’s hand remained firm, refusing to let anyone see the prince like this. The door to Nappa’s bedroom slammed shut as he locked it and tossed the prince on the bed, who immediately tried to book it back out the door. Before he could grab the doorknob, Nappa was in front of him, blocking his escape in the dark room. Vegeta beat his fists against Nappa’s chest, trying and failing to shove him out of the way. Nappa knelt down, taking Vegeta’s hands in his before sliding a pair of white gloves over them.

“Look! There’s no blood! Now please Vegeta quit it!” He turned the prince’s hands over slowly, showing that nothing had seeped through. “See? You’re fine!”

Vegeta glanced down, a sniveling mess as he turned his hands over on his own and studied the gloves. They were white, pristine, new, and soft. They cooled his burning hands and the silken fabric felt nice against the cuts he had created. “Th-there’s no more b-blood?”

“None, Vegeta. There isn’t any blood. Okay?”

Vegeta nodded as Nappa stood up slowly, making his way to his cabinet and pulling out gauze and ointment. He applied it to his palm first after cleaning it with a towel, Vegeta’s fangs having taken quite the chunk out of his skin. Then he bandaged it, sliding his gauntlets on over after so the prince wouldn’t see the reddish hue that would seep out soon enough. After tossing the towel, he made his way back over to Vegeta, who had calmed down remarkably and yet was still standing in the same spot Nappa had left him. He was staring at his hands, eyes lidded as sleep finally began to overpower him. Nappa grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him over to the bed, setting him down and getting the ointment ready. As he began to pull off Vegeta's gloves, the prince started screaming again, kicking Nappa away and tugging them back down.

“NO!” He cried out. “NO YOU CAN’T TAKE THEM OFF!”

“DAMN IT VEGETA I NEED TO MAKE SURE THOSE SCRATCHES DON’T GET INFECTED!”

“NO! I’M YOUR PRINCE, I DEMAND YOU WILL NOT TAKE THESE OFF! EVER!”

“Vegeta,” Nappa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t keep them on forever you’ll have to-”

“I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!”

“Vegeta I swear to-”

“THAT’S AN ORDER NOW DROP IT!” Nappa didn’t say anything after that, handing the prince his pajamas and turning away. Vegeta changed quickly, grunting when he was done. Nappa frowned at the sight of the prince wearing gloves with his pajamas, but chose not to push it further. They’d deal with it in the morning and go to see the doctor then as well.

“Do you want me to walk you back to your-”

Vegeta was quick to cut him off, voice trembling as he ran his hands together in his lap. “Can I stay here tonight?” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as he refused to meet Nappa’s eyes. Nappa looked down at the prince, an ache in his chest as he stared at the child that was forced to carry so much; but he was just that, a child. He shouldn’t have had to do any of this, not until he was much, much older. He should have been in the palace right now, spending each day training under his father to be the next king, not turned into a killing machine by a freak that regarded them as nothing.

“Of course, your highness. You can stay here for the night.” Nappa quickly went and changed into his sleep shorts, scooting Vegeta over enough so he could fit along with him on his bed. The prince held his arm tight, body trembling as Nappa laid awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together whatever the hell had just happened. Even after Vegeta had finally dozed off, Nappa remained awake, unsure with what to do with the prince.

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As time went on, Vegeta learned to live with it the best he could. The cuts he had caused on himself that night healed over, leaving small scars to forever remind him of his own shame and guilt. The blood he saw on his hands never truly went away after that but he learned to pretend he couldn’t see it. With time he was able to remove his gloves, but only for short periods before he’d quickly slip them back on. Just long enough to shower, trim his nails, or give the gloves a quick wash.

After everything that happened on Earth, after what he did to Nappa, it was as if he were a kid again. The gloves would not come off. Ever. He had killed the man who gave them to him, who had tried to shield him from himself. For what? A power move? Now the gloves themselves were another reminder of his sins, but he found himself unable to swap them with a new pair. Now he was living in some Earth woman’s home after embarrassing himself in front of Frieza and a low level saiyan piece of scum. He slaughtered the Ginyu force, which was a bit of a two edged sword for him. Kakarot was gone at who knows where and he was stuck here, failing to do anything substantial. He had truly lost all meaning to his life.

The gravity chamber the blue haired woman had helped build was where he spent most of his time. It gave him a break from dealing with everyone, including you. You were the most confusing out of everyone that was on this idiotic planet. He could never get a proper read on you. You were too… upbeat. He didn’t like to dwell on what he thought of you, and unfortunately found himself thinking of you during training at the worst of times.

He had put his hand up to guard his face at the last moment as the battle bot shot at him, successfully blocking it but not without slight damage to his glove. There, on his right hand, was a clean tear.

“Shit!” He yelled. “Damn it damn it damn it!” He blew the robot to bits before it could do anymore damage, throwing on his shirt and making his way back towards Bulma’s house. He felt sick as he glanced down at it, the deep red shade staring back at him through the slit.

He made his way in through the back door, speed walking through the living room and down the hallway to where his bedroom was located. He didn’t have spares, he had never needed a spare. He searched around for anything that could be used as a makeshift glove. He ripped apart shirts and tried to cover it to no avail, too stressed to tie the knots properly with one hand. He shoved the fabric under the glove, only to rip it further. “Shit!”

He didn’t know how to sew, he was a prince for the Gods’ sakes. He felt sick at the idea of what he was going to have to do but quickly realized there was no other option. He was going to have to ask for help.

—-

You were sitting at Bulma’s kitchen table, waiting for your friend to get back from her date with Yamcha so the two of you could go shopping. You were sipping a glass of apple juice, the only thing in her fridge at the moment in terms of drinks. The coffee maker was on the fritz ever since Vegeta tried to beat the shit out of it to get it working. Apparently the glowing blue button wasn’t obvious enough for saiyans. You paused mid sip, wondering if perhaps he was partially colorblind. Your thoughts trailed off as he was suddenly standing in front of you, arms crossed and glaring in your general direction.

“Juice? Seriously? What are you, five?” he frowned, opening the fridge and looking around for something.

“Good morning to you too, your highness,” you grunted, raising the cup to your lips. “I was going to have coffee but for some reason the machine is broken.”

He huffed in annoyance but said nothing else. You could tell he had just finished training as he was a dirty, sweaty mess. The singe marks across his suit only proved your point further. “There’s nothing in here,” he frowned, slamming the fridge door shut.

“Yeah, I heard someone has been staying over and eating everything,” you replied, taking out your phone and scrolling through it. “I have no idea who it could be though.”

Either he didn’t notice your sarcastic tone or he didn’t care. “Tell the other woman to go get more food then,” he snapped. “It’s not my problem.”

“You could go get it yourself.”

“With what money?”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re a prince, aren’t you?”

He slammed a hand down flat on the table, leaning beside you to try and meet your eyes. “The hell do you mean by that?”

Without looking at him you opened your text messages, Bulma’s name quickly popping up. “What do you think?” He tried to glance over at your screen to see what you were going to text her before you shifted the phone away; it was like he was a child. “Do you mind?”

“Are you texting her? Tell her to get the vanilla protein powder as well, I won’t eat the chocolate one. It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah yeah sure,” you sighed, instead typing “his royal majesty is awake and grumpy. Please get here soon.” She replied by laughing at your message before sending a picture of her and Yamcha laughing in whatever breakfast restaurant they were in. For now, you were stuck with him.

“She’s with the beta-male, isn’t she?” He frowned. You nodded.

“They’re on a date I think? I don’t know, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at that. “True. However I’d say they’re made for eachother. They’re both annoying and a pain in my ass.”

“I’ll agree with that first part,” you giggled, setting your phone down and glancing over at him. You took another sip of your juice glass while he looked out the window. “Want me to make you a PBJ or something?”

“Sure. While you’re at it can you pour me some juice as well and put it in a sippy cup?” He grunted, turning to face you and making an effort to roll his eyes. You don’t know why you even bothered.

“Just trying to be polite.”

He seemed like he wanted to say something else before he looked down at his hand. He began to fidget with his gloves a bit, the white things worn to death. When Bulma had offered him new ones he refused, rather rudely you might add, so you chose not to mention them. When designing new training outfits with her for him, gloves were always discussed but never elaborated on. “When is the blue-haired woman coming back?”

You shrugged, “not sure.”

He sighed, and for a moment, he sounded relieved. You went to ask him what was up before he started talking.

“You’re a woman,” he grunted, pulling out a chair and sitting beside you. “You sew, right?”

Ever charming, this one. “Fuck you but yes, I sew.”

“I need you to fix my gloves,” he grumbled, continuing to mess with the one on his right hand.

“I can just make you new-”

“No,” he snapped, cutting you off quickly. “I need them repaired.”

“Fine,” you said curtly. “Just leave them by my door and-”

“No, you'll fix them now.”

You crossed your arms, “Vegeta I don’t just carry a sewing kit on me.”

He stared at you blankly before his eyes moved to your purse, which was resting on the back of your chair. “Then what the hell is that for?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and inhaled sharply as you chose to ignore his question. “Why should I help you in the first place? You’re not exactly-”

“Please.” The word was uttered so quietly, so pathetically, you were almost positive you had dreamed it. There was no way on Earth that Vegeta had said ‘please’ to you of all people. You skimmed over his face to find he was looking at the table. After a few moments and your lack of response, his eyes snapped up, his face flushing a bright red. “Stop staring at me like that! I’m not going to repeat myself damn it! It’s embarrassing enough!”

You blinked a few times, trying to hide the shock as you spoke, “come on, I have a kit in my room.” You placed your empty juice glass in the sink, beginning to walk towards the spare room Bulma had designated as your own.

The sound of his boots clicked across the wooden floor as he followed you. He was embarrassed to admit he found himself admiring your outfit. It was rare he ever saw you in anything besides casual or training clothes. Today, however, you seemed to be stepping it up. He felt his ears begin to heat up as he stared at your ass and hips before quickly looking at your hair. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Like what?” You frowned, glancing back at him.

His eyes briefly shot to yours before he glanced away. “You’re… dressed nice.”

You almost tripped when he complimented you, “oh, uh, thanks.” You said, clearing your throat. “Me and Bulma are going out later.”

“Why not wear your training gear? What if something were to happen?”

“Then I fight in this,” you shrugged. “My clothes aren’t what makes me a fighter, Vegeta. Plus with you guys around I’d only get in the way.”

“Sure, but you’re already weak enough as is. Extra protection wouldn’t hurt.”

You didn’t know if he was trying to make sure you were safe or simply making fun of you. “With how burned your suit is from the training bots, I don’t think armor makes much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.”

He simply grunted, watching as you grabbed the handle to your room. You opened the door and made your way to your desk, pulling out a drawer and rummaging around for your sewing kit. Vegeta stood in the walkway, staring at the floor before you pulled the kit out and set it on top of your desk. You tilted your head at him as you sat in your office chair, motioning for him to take a seat on your bed.

“I’ll stand,” he frowned, stepping in apprehensively and making his way over to you. He had never been in your room before; he never had a reason to be in it. It was very… you. He wasn’t sure how else to describe it. It had your scent and although he’d never admit it, he liked it. It made a shiver run down his spine.

“No, you’ll sit,” you countered. “I sew better sitting, and I don’t want you looming over me while I do it.” You flicked on your small lamp and smiled at him softly.

He grumbled under his breath, something about how he doesn’t ‘loom’ over people, before sitting on your bed carefully. He was trying to sit as close to the edge as possible to be somewhat polite. It creaked a bit as he did so, one of your plushies tumbling over and onto the floor. He sneered at it before you picked it up and set it back in its place.

“Alright, let me see it.”

He shoved his hand in your direction and you stared at him as if he were an idiot. “Vegeta you’re really starting to piss me off, give me the glove.”

“You can fix it as it is,” he snapped. “I’m not taking it off.”

You crossed your arms again and leaned back in your chair. “Are you trying to fuck with me? Is this a prank or something?”

“Why the hell would I do that!” He yelled, clenching your quilt in his fists. He heard the snapping of threads and quickly relaxed his hand. Whether from the glove or the blanket he wasn’t sure, but neither seemed like good options to damage. “This is serious! Do you think I’d ask you for help for fun?”

You wheeled your chair closer to him, motioning for him to place his hand in yours. He held it out hesitantly, palm facing the ceiling as you took it carefully in your own. A shiver ran up his spine once as he watched you trace the tear with your finger tips before he quickly looked away.

“I should be able to stitch it up, but I’m worried I’ll poke you with the needle by accident.” Vegeta didn’t say anything after that, face slightly pale and body tense. You squeezed his hand softly, “I need you to tell me what the deal with the gloves is. I won’t judge, and I won’t tell anyone else.”

“Like I’d trust you,” he snapped back as he ripped his hand away. “This was a mistake.”

You shook your head, setting his hand back in his lap as you began to thread the needle. “You don’t have to tell me I guess, but it would make everything easier. Maybe I can go get a spare glove from some-“

He was quick to cut you off, growing more and more agitated the longer he stared at the open slit in the fabric. “I should've just done this myself. God forbid you be good for someth-”

“Vegeta, I am trying to help you!” You yelled, finally having had enough. The prince seemed taken aback by your sudden outburst as you slammed the needle on the desk. “The first thing you do in the morning is belittle me, complain, and act like you own the place! Well you don’t! You treat me like shit, my friends like shit, and I still wanted to help you! Don’t get mad at me for trying to do something you asked me to do! If you want to do it yourself, fine, take my fucking kit and leave.” When you saw the look he was giving you, you immediately felt bad. His eyes were wide with shock, mouth slightly agape. It was the first time you had seen him make an expression that was anything like this.

You went to start apologizing before he ripped the damn thing off and tossed it at you. It thumped against your cheek before landing in your lap. You grabbed it and waved it at his face haphazardly.

“You didn’t have to throw it at me!”

“Just hurry and fix it!” He yelled back, crossing his arms and refusing to meet your eyes. His hand was shoved under his armpit as he tapped his foot rapidly against the wooden floor.

You quickly got to work, the prince growing more and more impatient as you fixed the tear. “Would you hurry up?”

“I’m trying! I want to make sure it’s done properly so I don’t have to redo it!”

He leaned forward slightly to watch you work. It was impressive how quick you were with it, precise as the needle wove in and out of the fabric with ease. He watched as you bit your lip and began to tap your foot just as he had. He watched as your hair slipped down from behind your ear before you quickly pushed it back into place. Your eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim lap light, and his heart began to race. For a moment and a moment only, he finally relaxed. Then you were pulling the seam closed, tying the knot and smirking at your work.

“Here, it’s done now you can-” He snatched it from you in an instant, struggling to put it on. You rolled your eyes, “a thanks would be nice.” He slid it on quickly, finally breathing a sigh of relief as he stared at the now closed seam. He could barely tell there had been a hole at all. He opened and closed his hand slowly to watch the fabric shift and ensure your work was good. Then he fell back on your bed and stared at the ceiling.

You wheeled over to him again, watching as he shut his eyes tight and laid limp against your mattress. “Thank you,” was all he mustered up.

“You’re welcome.” You replied, surprised he had even said anything. Your tone was soft when you spoke again, and he hated how it made him feel. “You can lay here as long as you need to.”

Your phone went off in your pocket and you pulled it out quickly, finding a text from Bulma letting you know that she was home and going to take a quick shower. You stood up to leave before Vegeta sat up quickly, grabbing your wrist.

“Can you stay?” He asked quietly, the glove soft against your wrist. You nodded, and quickly sat back down in your chair. He made his way once again to the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows against his legs as he clasped his hands together. He looked down at them, hunched over as he thought of what to say.

“Ever since I was a kid,” he started, voice so low and deep it sent a shiver up your spine. “I have been a killing machine. It’s what I was made for and it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You got up slowly and he paused before you nodded for him to continue. You shut and locked your door before walking back over to him and sitting in your chair. He nodded in thanks before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I don’t have many memories of my father, and the ones that I do have are… complicated. Nappa raised me, if you could even call it that. Raditz was more of a nuisance than anything. Our goal was to survive, and one day I wanted to become powerful enough to beat Frieza. What a joke” He scoffed, shaking his head and looking back to the floor.

“At first, taking lives was easy for me. I was doing nothing more than what I was assigned; I started to do more, go beyond what was required of me. The only one to praise me was Nappa, and even then it was never to my face. I was ridiculed and mocked, but it only pushed me farther, to do better. It was never what I wanted, but more so what needed to be done.”

He didn’t know why the hell he was telling you this; he had never told anyone this. And yet now it was as if he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t shut his mouth long enough to think about what he was doing. “What was once hundreds went to thousands, then millions. I was eradicating races in the blink of an eye. Soon they weren’t just obstacles to me, but people with faces and lives I had ripped away from them. I had so much blood on my hands; I still have blood on my hands. So much blood that I will never, ever be able to get off.”

He opened and closed his hands once more, the sounds of the fabric shifting in his grip. “I’m not a good man. Hell, I've never claimed to be one. But now Frieza is gone and it feels like everything I’ve done, everything I worked towards for years, was for nothing. The things I see in my sleep, what I feel when I’m awake, what I’ve gone through was for nothing.” He stopped for a moment, voice and tone becoming so quiet and serious you couldn’t believe it was the same person who had spoken to you just minutes ago. “I haven’t been able to look at my hands the same way since I was a child.”

He finally looked up at you, eyes lidded as he smirked. You realized he was on the verge of tears. “Do you know how sad that is? A beast scared of his own damned hands. I’m a damn disgrace to my people.” He laughed after that, wiping his eyes and setting his hands back down. “Look at me, a prince crying in front of a damn lower life form.”

You reached out hesitantly, tapping his hand with your fingers apprehensively. When he didn’t pull away you continued, scooting closer to him and pulling his hand up to lay between you both.

You carefully ran your hand over his, sliding your fingers up and under the glove before pulling away slowly. You looked at him again, waiting for him to react or move away, to tell you to stop. Vegeta shut his eyes tight but didn’t pull away, his face pale as you set his glove carefully in your lap. To your surprise, his skin was soft, with yours perhaps being even rougher than his. Then again, you suppose that made sense if the saiyan never fought without them.

You traced your nails gently over his palm, studying the grooves in his skin and how neatly trimmed his nails were. “Well,” you started slowly, his breathing coming to a pause. “I don’t see any blood now.”

Vegeta opened his eyes slowly, looking at your face carefully as you studied his hand. You were so delicate with him it made his breath hitch in his throat.

“Sure, maybe there was a lot there in the past, but not anymore. You can’t change what happened, but you can acknowledge it and move on, try to do better this time around.”

When Vegeta looked at his own hand, he almost gasped in shock. It was his hand, as normal as any other. He looked back to you as you ran your thumb over top of his, gently moving your hand back and forth from his wrist to his knuckles.

“You haven’t done good things, Vegeta. But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you need time and care to heal, and the first step towards that was acknowledging what we talked about today.” You paused, thinking carefully over your next choice of words before smiling softly. “I think there’s good in you. No, I know there is.”

He watched the way your hair tumbled down and around your face, and how gentle your stare seemed to be. You weren’t repulsed or disgusted, but caring and considerate. He felt a blush rise first to the tips of his ears and then his cheeks before he pulled his hand away and slid his glove back on. He stood up after that, walking briskly across the room without turning back. He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing to think for a moment. Then, he made his way down the hall, wondering what the hell had just come over him as his heart raced out of control.

A few days later he came home to find a second pair of gloves folded neatly on his bed along with a note, “just in case <3.” His face flushed as he went to crumple it up, but upon reading it just one more time, he found he couldn’t. He shoved it in the drawer of his bedside table, grumbling under his breath as he left to go train.

#vegeta #vegeta x reader #vegeta x fem!reader #dbz fanfic #dragon ball z fanfic #dbz #dragon ball z

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