Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What the fuck was I thinking?

When they had talked about this in hypotheticals, as some distant, future thing, she had been able to compartmentalise it. Take the very concept of going on a reality dating show and lock it away into some easily ignored part of her mind. That’s Future Bulma’s problem, not mine!

“Selfish bitch,” she muttered under her breath, before mentally slapping her forehead. It was easy to forget she was already mic’d up. The black glass of the camera lens just off to the side of her and Yamcha seated on a bench overlooking the ocean flying behind them almost had a life of its own as it captured her error with glee. 

“You say something, boo?” Yamcha asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

She tilted her head to the side, letting it rest in the muscled crook of his neck. “Nothing important. Just… thinking.”

His free hand rested on top of her own. Warm. Settling. She sucked in a deep breath of the fresh salty air whipping around them as the catamaran sped across the open seas, a foamy path scarring the blue behind them.

“That’s always dangerous,” he teased. She let out a half-chuckle. “We’ll be ok. This is a test of willpower, and if there’s anyone I know who is stubborn enough to not break, it’s you.”

She stilled. Gulped. He sensed it, thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

And just as she went to speak, to remind him that they were not here to test her willpower, or her commitment, he raised the back of her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss. Right over her bare ring finger on her left hand. Despite her fair skin, she could still just make out the smallest tan line.

“Alright couples!” the seedy old man producing the show cried out, “It’s time to cheers to your futures!”

Yamcha immediately leapt off the bench and raced over to the waitress serving mimosas. Bulma fought back a glare. He was just being nice. Smiling. Thanking the waitress. She was young. Younger than Bulma. Bleached blonde hair. Plump, glossy lips.

Bulma stormed over, planted herself right between the two of them, and snatched a mimosa from the bitch. The cameraman nearly tripped over racing behind her to capture the scene.

Crap.

That wouldn’t come off well. She’d have to be careful of that. Her poker face was bad at the best of times, let alone with a bloodthirsty producer and cameraman waiting in the wings to film her worst moments.

And she would eventually have to face it all without Yamcha by her side. For the first time since they were teenagers. Well, kind of. If you ignored all the times they had broken up. But even then, she had never actually been without him. Still in her thoughts, her dreams. Still part of her heart.

With that in mind, she found a new surge of confidence. They kind of had done this before. And they had been fine. Great. Better even!

Oh gods, why did she agree to do this then?

Bulma raked her eyes around the circle, seeing similar fears laying quivering beneath the surface of the other couples.

She locked eyes with a woman across from her – dark hair, even darker eyes. Beautiful, sweet-looking, a little younger than Bulma. But there was a delicate fire behind those eyes. One that looked ready to be stoked at a moment's notice. And fear. Familiar fear. Their eyes met, and for a moment Bulma felt a little more settled. She smiled nervously, and so did the woman. Her partner was an impossibly tall man. Bald, built. He seemed incredibly serious. When they all held up their glasses and cheered, he refrained. They sipped their alcohol, and he simply held his drink.

Bulma rolled her eyes.

What a buzzkill.

She glanced at the other two couples. A blonde with piercing green eyes who necked her mimosa in two large gulps, before tapping her glass for a refill. Her partner was another bald man, who seemed almost ashamed of her behaviour. Another woman with blue hair, although hers was lighter. Bulma grimaced at the sight. She always stood out for her striking hair colour, and never liked having another around. Her partner was a short guy and… fuck, another bald man? She looked over Yamcha’s thick, shaggy mane. A jealous twinge caught her heart. If the single woman vying for the boys’ attention were as shallow as she assumed they would be, they would all be beelining for the only man with hair.

Bulma threw back the last of her mimosa. The tangy juice went down like acid.

—

Once they had stepped on the shores of the island, they were greeted by the host. A blond man with perfectly coiffed hair, a perfectly pressed linen suit, and a perfectly knowing look in his eyes. He was famous for delighting in the dramatics and seeing through the lies.

“Welcome,” he started with a blinding smile, gesturing to the beach and forest surrounding them, “To Temptation Island!”

He held his pose for a moment. Chi-Chi blinked, waiting for more to happen, until she realised they would be editing in clips of the island. That was going to be hard to get used to.

The presenter continued. “Here, you arrive as couples. Your love, however, will be put to the test. You will learn more about yourselves, and your partners, than you ever thought possible. You're looking for that lightning strike moment. Love at first sight. Or, an affirmation of love with your partner.”

Chi-Chi glanced out to the vast ocean beside them. The sun was finally beginning to set. Rays of gold painted the sky and seas. It should have been beautiful. Instead, she was filled with bubbling anxiety. What a stupid idea this was. And it had been her idea! After a year and a half of dating Piccolo, he was no closer to proposing to her. The man barely spoke as it was, but she had hoped he’d at least find the courage to say those four fateful words.

He hadn’t. So as a last ditch, insane effort, Chi-Chi had signed them up for this monstrosity. Maybe if he saw how much of a catch she was, he could see that he should have popped the question months ago.

“Couples, are you ready to meet the singles?”

There were a couple of murmurs of assent.

“No,” a quiet voice hissed from beside her. 

Chi-Chi snuck a glance. It was the blue-haired woman she had noticed on the catamaran. She was a little older than her, but something told her she wasn’t wiser. She seemed a fiery spirit. Outspoken and devastating. She met Chi-Chi’s eyes and softened slightly. Chi-Chi decided to take a chance on a possible support system and whispered, “You regretting this too?”

The woman chuckled dryly as they were led off the beach and onto a winding path through the lush tropical forest. “How could you tell?”

“You looked like you were two seconds away from slapping the waitress on the boat.”

She seemed to fight back a snarl as she muttered, “Should’ve done it too.”

Chi-Chi flicked her gaze over her shoulder to Piccolo. His eyes were focused on his feet, placing careful steps along the stone path, measured and purposeful. As everything he did was. She sighed. Hopefully this would spur him into something off-plan for once.

—

Krillin had agreed the second Maron asked him to go on the show. How could he not? They had been together for three years, and he could count on one hand the amount of times he had said no to her. It had been the one time, when she asked if he liked her. He had said, “No, I love you.” She had giggled and kissed his cheek, before dragging him into the next store for a new pair of stiletto heels.

She had told him it would be a great chance to meet new people, and to learn more about themselves. To grow.

The reasons didn’t matter to Krillin. What mattered was his sweet, sweet Maron getting what she wanted.

But… there was a little bit of doubt.

He’d be a fool to deny it.

Even just amongst the other three taken men, he could see how little he had to offer. How much she deserved that he struggled to provide. He wasn’t the tallest. Wasn’t the smartest. Wasn’t the most attractive. He just… was. The epitome of average. And Maron? She was the stars above. The sunrise. The very air he needed to breathe. 

And now she was heading into the lion’s den. Or rather, villa.

Krillin gulped as they took their seats on one side of a grand pool. He spied at least two hot tubs, lounge chairs on a shallow ledge in the water, a small nook tucked around the corner of the ridiculously lush villa the show had hired for filming. The sun had finally set. All the villa lights were on, along with bright spotlights from the balconies overlooking the pool, blasting onto the sandstone porch. It was like something out of a frathouse wet dream. He tried reaching a hand out to grasp Maron’s, seeking her as a buoy in the tumultuous ocean of his mind, but she simply gave him a small pat on his palm before resting her hands on her lap.

“Uh, honey?” he murmured, a bead of traitorous sweat trickling from his brow. “W-we’re going to be ok, right?”

She giggled, that light, tinny sound that always rang symphonic in his ears, now felt almost mocking. “You worry too much.”

She didn’t even look his way.

“Alright couples, it’s time… to meet the singles...”

Krillin gulped.

Chi-Chi tensed.

Bulma rolled her eyes, ignoring the steady rise of bile up the back of her throat.

The lights in the villa went out. Including the spotlights. They were plunged into near total darkness, save for the film lighting on them.

And then.

Movement from inside the villa.

A group of people, making their way forward through the darkness.

Krillin gulped even harder.

Chi-Chi tensed impossibly further.

Bulma latched one hand onto Yamcha’s bicep and dug her nails in.

The lights came up.

Bulma swore she had never seen so many fucking attractive people in one place. It was like they had snatched up the top 1% of OF models and dumped them right here. Her nails dug in harder. Yamcha winced, but didn’t say anything.

“Twelve women. Twelve men. All here to find love,” the announcer explained. Chi-Chi felt Piccolo scoff next to her. It only made her more confident this was the right decision. He needed this. “But enough from me… I’ll let them introduce themselves.”

There was silence, except her pounding heart.

And then heels on stone. A steady step, step. One of the women moved from the group of single ladies. She strode forward and into the spotlight.

Bulma’s jaw dropped.

She was fucking stunning. Tall and slim, she towered over everyone. Her smooth hair was dark. Her eyes darker. Similar to that of the woman of the couple next to her, but there was nothing sweet in her eyes. Only hunger. She raked those almond eyes across the couples, before settling onto Yamcha. Bulma nearly broke the skin of his bicep.

“Hi boys,” she purred, “my name is Mai. I’m a model, but don’t let my waist size fool you. I’m a total maneater.” 

She then sauntered back to her place amongst the ladies.

But not without a devilish wink. Straight. At. Yamcha.

“What a fucking bitch,” Bulma hissed, loud enough that everyone could hear.

“Babe,” Yamcha hissed right back, finally wrenching his arm from her vice grip. She immediately latched back on with force.

A chorus of ooh’s and aah’s sounded from the singles, which only served to piss Bulma off even more. She even heard one asshole guy snicker and say, “Someone’s jealous,” and another, deeper voice, quietly responded, “Wouldn’t you be?”

She couldn’t tell who stuck up for her, but at least someone did.

One of the men came forward. He was impossibly tall and well-groomed, his long, dark hair swept back into a loose braid cascading over one shoulder. His eyes seemed to sparkle golden, even under the harsh lights above. Krillin sensed Maron shifting beside him.

“Good evening, ladies. My name is Zarbon. A yoga instructor by day, a lover by night. I can help you release the tension in all your chakra’s.”

He strode back. Krillin scowled at his retreating form. “That didn’t even make sense,” he muttered.

“I’ve always wanted to try yoga,” Maron said, ignoring him in favour of watching Zarbon return to his spot.

Another woman sauntered forward. She seemed dressed in a bit more casual wear than some of the others, in a denim skirt, combat boots, and a black and white striped shirt. Her smooth blonde hair was swept over to one side, leaving her icy gaze open to fall upon the couples. Krillin felt something twist in his stomach, though he couldn’t quite place it. When she spoke, cool and measured, that something twisted even further.

“My name is Lazuli. I’m a professional soccer player, and I always know how to strike.”

Though her words were meant to be humorous, she said them with an air of boredom. That helped settle Chi-Chi’s nerves. Just a little bit. Maybe some of the ladies weren’t there just to try to steal their men. Maybe they just wanted a free holiday to Temptation Island.

The next man came forward. A tall, muscled guy, with hair as mischievous as his grin, spiking out in all directions. His button-down was fastened incorrectly, but dipped low enough to show just how taut his pecs were. There was a childishness inherent to that smile that would normally make Chi-Chi roll her eyes. But there was also a warmness. Something kind. Open.

“Well, hiya! My name is Goku! I’m a martial arts instructor, and I really like food.” He chuckled and ran a large, veiny hand through his thick locks. “Uhh, I think I was supposed to say something else but I forgot.”

Everyone laughed. Except one of the single guys, who just glared at Goku, and Chi-Chi. She just watched him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He was attractive, sure. But not enough to make up for his immaturity.

Another woman. She looked eerily similar to the last one, except her hair was darker. Pitch black. But those same eyes gazed out through her middle part, scanning the group of couples with eerie precision. If Chi-Chi noticed the sharp shift in Piccolo’s ever-present frown, she didn’t say anything.

“My name is Lapis. My pronouns are they/them. I am also a professional soccer player and I will defend my territory.”

“That’s right, boys,” the leery producer cackled from behind the cameras, “Twins!”

No one laughed.

The next man strutted down to meet the couples. He was the tallest fucking man Bulma had ever seen. The only thing that rivalled his height was the length of his hair, a wild mop that reached the back of his knees. He stopped at under the spotlight and flashed a smirk he clearly thought was charming.

“Ladies. Fellas.” He waggled his brows at all the couples. “The name’s Raditz. I'll answer your question – yes. Everything is that big.” He flexed his stupidly large biceps, which immediately ripped the sleeves of his fluro pink Hawaiian shirt.

“Oh my,” the blonde woman next to Bulma sighed, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. Her partner scowled at Raditz, and placed his hand on her knee.

She's going to be a troublemaker.

Another woman stepped forward, some redhead, but Bulma couldn't listen to anymore of these tarts who were set on stealing her man. Her eyes wandered to the group of single guys to prepare herself for the fuckery she'd be putting up with for the next few weeks.

There were some objectively attractive guys, sure. But none that made her stomach swoop. That sent her heart racing. Zarbon was cute, but his intro was cheesy. Raditz was also a troublemaker, and Goku seemed too innocent to even understand what they were doing here. The other men barely even seemed worth her time.

And then.

Lightning.

Strike.

A black, sharp scowl met her curious gaze. The guy was on the shorter side, about her own height, though with her heels she would stand above him. His arms were crossed over his chest. Guarded. Muscles bulging tight again his deep crimson button-down. He was one of the few wearing jeans, black and slim, hugging ridiculously thick thighs and calves. His hair stood high above, a black flame of locks that left him seeming larger than life. Or perhaps that was just his aura. Imposing. Dominant. Totally arrogant. She didn't know if she wanted to slap the smugness off him or…

Bulma gulped.

The man smirked.

Her stomach swooped.

Her heart raced.

Her grip on Yamcha's arm loosened. Just slightly. He didn't notice.

The man stepped forward. His boots echoed on the sandstone tiles. And in her chest.

Damn.

He reached the spotlight.

“My name is Vegeta. I don't say much, but everything I do say, I mean.”

And then he walked back to his place.

“What a dweeb,” Yamcha sneered, “Right, babe?”

Bulma couldn't agree. Not out loud at least. She just nodded, her eyes never leaving Vegeta's.

Vegeta smirked, and Bulma realised with absolute certainty that she was in big fucking trouble.

—

After their introductions, the singles left the villa. Bulma avoided looking at any of them. Especially one of them.

The host took his place in front of the couples and assumed his perfectly open-yet-rigid stance.

“Well, couples. There you have it. From tomorrow, you will be living with the singles and finding yourself there. Tonight, however? You will spend the night without your partner, sleeping in your own bed alone. It's time to get used to spending time apart from each other.”

Bulma's hand nearly broke the skin of Yamcha's arm once more. She wasn't ready. No way was she ready. Even though they'd see each other the next day, this was the first step of everything changing.

“It's ok, babe,” Yamcha winced, wriggling out of her grip to stand up. She joined him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hey, we still have tomorrow, ok? We'll be fine.”

It's too soon.

Don't go.

She didn't say any of that. Just nodded into his chest and repeated, “We'll be fine.”

“Guys, I'll take you to your villa now.”

Yamcha untangled himself from Bulma and kissed her forehead, before joining the other men as they followed the host around the pool, through the house and out the front door, cameras in tow.

And then, it was just Bulma, the three other women, a handful of cameras, and silence.

Bulma bit down hard on her bottom lip. She refused to cry on the first night.

“What now?” the dark-haired woman quietly asked, looking to Bulma for guidance.

“Now, we get a good night's sleep.”

She walked inside with a hell of a lot more confidence than she felt, the ladies following suit behind her. Every step she took, the faint echo of boots on sandstone rang thunderous in her mind.

Chapter Text

It wasn't the first time Bulma had woken up alone, wondering what was going through Yamcha's mind. Whether he was thinking of her. Whether he missed her already. 

But it was the first time she had woken up and the first thing she saw was the flashing red light of a camera, mounted in the top corner of her room.

Fuck.

It wasn't a dream. They were really here, about to be split up for weeks, while gorgeous women tried to steal Yamcha from her.

And it had been her idea.

Bulma glared at the camera.

Well, if they were going to do that, then she would have to make herself look so fucking hot that Yamcha wouldn't even be able to blink without the image of her branded across his eyelids.

She threw back the doona and ran to her still-packed luggage to find her sexiest outfit.

—

Chi-Chi woke with a pillow held close to her chest. Tight. Suffocating. This had been her idea. Hers. She wanted to push Piccolo to see her. But now they were here, and she didn't know how she was going to cope not being able to see him.

And then there were these brutish men they were going to be lumped with! They all looked immature, messy, and would be trying to paw at them the moment they had a chance.

She groaned and rolled over, burying her face into the pillow.

She'd have to dress nice but conservative, enough to show Piccolo how stunning she was without leaving herself open to leers from the single men.

A sundress and a pair of sandals would do.

Chi-Chi threw the pillow across the room and dragged herself from bed, leaving herself a mental note to make it before she left.

—

The bed was too cold without Maron there. Too empty. Krillin was used to not taking up too much space, making sure to keep himself pressed to the edge so she could stretch out every limb in every direction.

He sat up and stared at all the empty space beside him. The sun filtered through the glass doors, illuminating the crisp white sheets. Reminding him just how lonely he was without her.

He sighed and pulled himself from the bed with a great amount of effort.

This was going to be more difficult than he thought. And that was saying something.

—

Launch knew three things in life to be certain.

First, she loved Tien. She did. Things may have changed drastically for them over the past year, but she did love him.

Second, problems in life could simply be solved with either alcohol, food or sex. Despite Tien’s best efforts to convince her otherwise. 

And third.

Grief was fucking never-ending.

Her head pounded as she woke up to the sound of her bedroom door being pummelled by a fucking jackhammer or something.

“The fuck?!” she croaked, chucking one of her pillows at the door opening.

“Oof–!” Bulma yelped as she was hit square in the face with a plush pillow. “Jesus, what was that for?!” She threw the pillow right back at Launch who caught it on her cheek.

“Wh’ time is it?”

Bulma crossed her arms over her plush lavender dressing gown. “Time to be ready.”

She raked her eyes over Launch. The dirty blonde hair. The bleary red eyes. Dry, cracked lips. Is she fucking hungover?

“Gimme five minutes,” she grumbled, rolling out of bed to all fours.

Bulma left Launch crawling into the bathroom.

She missed the silent sob as Launch scraped her knees along the wooden floorboards. Silent, but lung-emptying. A heavy ache from deep within.

Yep, Launch thought as she emptied her guts of bile into the toilet. Fucking never-ending.

—

Bulma tugged down the edge of her scarlet bodycon dress. It hugged tighter than the last time she wore it. Every curve fought against the fabric. And every imperfection. She crossed her legs and wriggled on the leather couch, trying to find the right position that would surely knock Yamcha's socks off. Legs crossed. Back arched. Tits pushed up to the heavens. Just enough makeup to accentuate without looking trashy.

The other women were dolled up in their own way. Chi-Chi was demure in her floral maxi-dress, though even Bulma could see how banging her body was under all the layers of fabric. Launch had scrubbed up surprisingly well considering she had looked half-dead twenty minutes ago. She sported a pair of denim shorts with a light green crop top that really showed off the ethereal colour of her eyes. Or it would have, if her eyes weren't so bloodshot.

And then there was Maron.

If Bulma was going to jaw dropping, Maron was going for jaw breaking. She wore what Bulma assumed was a dress, though it looked more like scraps of fabric held together by the flimsiest strings she'd ever seen. Her heels were even taller than Bulma's, to the point she wasn't sure how she would stand in them. Her young face was caked in layers of makeup that she really didn't need. It would be a shame, except every time she opened her mouth, Bulma found a new reason to want to sock her square in the jaw.

Especially now. Because she was staring right at Bulma, curiously, but in the way you might look at a bug on your windshield to try to figure out what had just been smeared by the wipers.

“Can I help you?” Bulma asked after a moment, as politely as she could muster.

Maron giggled. Bulma felt her fist clench in her lap. “Oh, I guess I'm just confused. I thought this was a show for young couples.”

“You did not just fucking–” 

Bulma was halfway through taking out her first silver hoop earring, ready to finally unleash all her pent up everything on this bitch, when Chi-Chi’s hand found her wrist.

“Not worth it, Bulma. Not worth it.”

She took a breath. On the exhale, the room came into focus. The crew. The boom mics. The gleeful grin on Launch’s face. The cameras. Damn it, these fucking cameras!

The announcer stepped into his marked spot, drawing the ladies attention away from the drama.

“Ladies. I trust you slept well?”

“Ugh.”

“I guess…”

“Not fuckin’ likely.”

“Best sleep of my life!”

They glared at Maron. The announcer continued.

“Unfortunately, this is a part of the process that you'll need to get used to. But I have something that should cheer you up. Your men are here!”

Bulma perked up at that. Seeing Yamcha was just what she needed to settle the bubbling energy beneath her skin.

They all turned to the front door and waited for their partners to walk in.

Bulma's foot shook nervously, dangling across her other leg.

Any second now.

Yamcha would be there.

—

I'm sure you're thinking by now, “How the fuck did Vegeta end up here?”

It would make sense that you are.

Because he was wondering the very same thing.

It would be more exciting if it was some grand ruse to swindle a show out of its prize money. But there was no prize money. The prize was love. Apparently. He scoffed at the thought. Finding love in less than thirty days, with a chick already in love with someone else? He was pessimistic by nature, but that took the fucking cake for him. What a farce.

No, it was a stock standard tale for a twenty-something bachelor with a group of dumbass friends.

Vegeta had lost a bet.

Actually, Vegeta had lost a handful of bets.

Over the course of one night drinking, which he rarely did, Raditz had won nearly every hand of poker, fleecing him for nearly everything he owned. It wasn't until the harsh light of morning that he realised he had handed over the keys and pink slip to his father's motorcycle. The only thing he had left him.

Vegeta had tried threatening Raditz. Hell, he had even made good on some threats, beating him to a pulp numerous times. Raditz wouldn't budge. One night he stole the motorcycle back. Raditz called the cops on him. A low blow to do to someone with a juvie record. But he didn't know just how low it was. Vegeta couldn't bring himself to tell him why the bike was so important. About who it reminded him of.

So, according to Raditz, there was only one way he was getting that motorcycle back.

It wasn't just going on the show.

Hell, it wasn't even just lasting a few episodes.

Vegeta had to win.

“Make it to the overnight date and the bike is yours, muchacho.”

In reality, Raditz just wanted a wingman as he lapped up his free holiday on Papaya Island with a bunch of hot single guys and taken women. It was his literal dream. And if he got to also witness Vegeta attempt to be a human being with real emotions in the process, that was the cherry on top.

“You ready, pal?” Raditz clapped his hands hard onto Vegeta's shoulders, digging his thumbs in. Hard.

“Fuck off,” he snarled and shoved Raditz off, sending him straight into one of the other single guys.

“Watch the shoes,” the guy - Zarbon - hissed, “There's not a single scuff mark on these, and if you ruin them acting like apes then you'll be damn sure paying for new ones.”

Raditz brushed the shoulders of Zarbon’s white linen shirt with the back of his hands. “Easy there, tough guy. It was an accident.”

“Get. Your hands. Off,” Zarbon hissed quietly.

Before a premature brawl could break out before they had even entered the villa, the great, hulking producer tasked with babysitting the single guys started to count them down to enter. 

“Five. Four.” He mouthed the last few numbers, then started waving at them to go inside.

Vegeta fought the urge to roll his eyes. He needed to be on his best behaviour while the cameras were rolling. 

He pushed the door open and led the men in.

The villa was larger than he remembered from the night before. Large, lush, stupidly expensive. They would never have been able to afford this in their wildest dreams.

Raditz was in heaven.

Vegeta was certain he had stepped into his own personal version of hell.

At least, until all certainty was rocked from his being.

The ladies were all in the main living space on one of the couches. They seemed surprised to see the men filing into their designated positions in front of them. Maybe disappointed? It was hard to tell. They were all so guarded except for the annoying one in the skimpy dress at the end, who clapped with joy as she watched the last guys slide into place.

Vegeta barely noticed her.

Barely noticed any of them.

Except her.

The fucking knockout with impossibly blue hair and impossibly bluer eyes. 

He schooled his expression to one of confidence, a small smirk just for her, even as he swore his knees were about to fall out from under him.

She blushed, almost as deep a red as her dress (and fuck, that dress). Then scowled, like she was furious at him for making her blush. Which only made him blush.

“I'll let you all spend a bit of time to get to know each other,” the announcer said. There was a knowing tone to his voice that set Vegeta on edge. Like he could see exactly how this would all play out.

Raditz grinned, ravenous and wild.

“Who's ready for a drink?”

Launch launched to her feet, smiling wide enough to rival Raditz's.

“Now we're talking.”

—

Bulma half-heartedly joined in on the cheers, before quickly beelining for one of the white and navy lounge chairs surrounding the pool. She laid down and put her sunglasses on. The sun burned high above. She nursed her sparkling wine, the condensation already building on the glass. A camera followed her. She tried to ignore it. Tried.

If the guys were here… that meant the ladies were with their men. With Yamcha. 

Bulma wasn't insecure with herself. She knew she was hot. Smart. Funny. She might have been a little spoilt, or “high-maintenance” as Yamcha called it, but she saw it as being assertive of what she deserved.

No, it wasn't that she didn't trust herself.

It was that she didn't trust Yamcha around other women.

Which he was right now.

Which could mean–

“You're thinking hard, there.” 

Bulma snapped her head to the side and immediately fought the urge to drop her jaw, instead choosing to grit her teeth. Because Vegeta was standing there, wine glass in hand, dark brow quirked like he had her all figured out. The sleeves on his forest green button-down were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, tanned forearms that looked stupidly muscled. His jeans were dark and once again, stupidly tight. He looked stupid. Hot. Fuck. Bulma turned away and sipped her wine to give her mouth something to do except drool.

“Can I sit here?”

She shrugged. Nonchalant. Indifferent. “Free country.”

He frowned, but just for a moment, like he was annoyed with her or something. But then he smirked once more, before sliding onto the lounge chair next to hers.

“As I said, you're thinking hard about something.”

“Gee, I wonder what,” she grumbled, taking a far larger swig of her bubbles than she probably should given it was barely noon.

“Wondering what the boyfriend is up to?”

“How'd you guess.”

Vegeta eyed her in his peripherals. She was even more beautiful up close. Fair skin that seemed to glow luminescent, even under the golden summer sun. She had pinned her hair up, with loose, curled tendrils framing her plump cheeks. Though her sunglasses blocked her eyes, he still remembered them from before. The way they sparkled, even through the sadness that seemed to plague her. Maybe not sadness. More fear, perhaps. Fear of being hurt by her partner? Or being ashamed by him on national television?

Something surged through Vegeta at the thought. It was too soon to call it rage. He didn't know her. For all he knew, she could be fucking certifiable. Whatever this unknown feeling was, it made him clench the glass in his hand a little harder as he spoke.

“So, why are you both here?” 

Bulma rolled her eyes hard enough for him to see through the shades. She sat up straighter and lifted her glasses to the top of her head. “I’ll tell you what pal, I'm not here to wet your dick or whatever. I'm here to see if my boyfriend can be faithful when dumped into a pressure cooker of hot babes. I plan on leaving here with him, not some random hot brooding stranger.”

She threw back the last of her wine and laid back once more. She sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils, and exhaled through her lips. The alcohol burned through her chest. It felt nice.

Vegeta couldn't take his eyes off her. Every breath giving her life expanded her ribs, lifting the heavy swell of her chest barely contained by that fucking dress; a steady rise and fall that he begged his eyes not to gawk at.

He couldn't think of anyone else he'd handle attempting to make a connection with, however false.

He had hoped coming in and starting a simple conversation would be enough. Simple, boring. She wouldn't see how furious and broken he was. He wouldn't see how inevitably disappointed in him she would be.

But… it looked like she needed more than that. 

It looked like she needed a friend.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the chair, facing her. He held out one hand for her to shake. She eyed it suspiciously. Probably with good reason. He pressed on with his new tactic.

“I wasn't kidding in my introduction. My name is Vegeta. I don't say much, but I mean what I say. So hear me when I say this: you sound like you need a friend. I can do friends.”

Bulma's heart flipped and turned and pounded in her chest. Her eyes darted from his strong outstretched hand to his piercing gaze.

Could she believe him?

Did it even matter?

Even if she didn't, if he was just using this as an opportunity to get in her pants, she had the power to say no. She wasn't at risk of being tempted. Not by him. Not by any of them! But like, definitely not by Vegeta.

She shook his hand.

Blistering heat emanated from their palms pressed together. It was almost painful. The warmth surged through her veins, pooling low in her belly. She crossed her legs tighter. He tensed, then released her hand. 

Vegeta laid back on the lounge and crossed his legs, angling his hips away from her slightly. He wasn't hard, but… there was a risk of it happening. Especially if he kept looking at her. If he kept noticing the pink blossoming across her chest.

“My name is Bulma, by the way.” She lowered her sunglasses. It was easier to sneak a glance at him that way.

He seemed totally unaffected. Which was… good. It was good! It meant he might have been telling the truth; that he just wanted to be friends.

“Bulma.” She fought a full body shudder at the sound of her name said with his quiet rasp. “So, hot and brooding was it?”

She barked a surprised laugh. “Did I forget to mention arrogant?”

He shrugged. “I'll take it.”

“Asshole.”

“You don't know the half of it.”

Bulma chuckled. For the first time since arriving on the island, she felt almost… relaxed.

Nope.

Definitely not at risk of being tempted by Vegeta.

Chapter Text

Krillin had never been so miserable in his entire life.

How was he supposed to get through the next few weeks without his love?

The other taken guys seemed to feel similarly (barring Yamcha, who looked like he could flirt the pants off of anyone), but at least they were able to make small talk with the single women. At least the women wanted to talk to them. Krillin knew his place in life. He was damn lucky to have swept up Maron. Lightning didn’t strike twice. Not for guys like him.

Conversations surrounded him. Pleasant and warm. He couldn’t stand to be around it. He wandered outside, watching some birds soar across the clear summer sky. At least they were free. Happy. Lov–

“Need some peace and quiet?”

He turned around. The blonde woman – Lazuli – had followed him out. She was dressed fairly conservative compared to some of the other women. A simple white sundress. Krillin felt that familiar twist in his stomach. A nervousness he couldn’t quite name. He squashed it down.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah it’s getting a bit rowdy in there.”

Her eyes were so piercing. Almost unblinking. He could barely look at her for more than a few seconds before he would have to turn away. They were blue in a different way to Maron’s. While his loves were so pale they bordered on grey, Lazuli’s were like ice. Cold and calculating. But honest. Terrifyingly honest. And they were watching him intently.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said quietly after a moment. “But you know where to find me if you’d like some peaceful, quiet company.”

She strode away, but not without a final glance back at him. She turned her head. Looked at him over her shoulder. Tucked her hair behind her ear. And smiled. Soft and sweet.  

Krillin tore his eyes away the moment she was out of sight.

He looked up to the summer sky once more. All he could see was ice blue.

—

Dinner that night was a blessing. Chi-Chi had spent her day surrounded by idiots. Just absolute neanderthals that seemed to care more about partying than they did about even getting to know the ladies. It didn’t help that Launch and Maron spurred them on, though it looked like Launch was more interested in the alcohol than the male attention. Bulma had nearly immediately ditched her, and just when she thought about joining her outside, she had been snatched up by one of the only men that looked like he could hold a conversation.

And then it happened. One of the buffoons got a little too rowdy and sent his wine glass shattering onto the floorboards of the living space. Chi-Chi glared at the floor, the shards of glass everywhere. And then, he had the audacity to put that hand behind his scruffy mane and chuckle . Like he thought he was cute or something! Nevermind the fact that he was an objectively attractive man. It looked like he was two seconds away from ditching the mess and leaving it for someone else to clean up!

Chi-Chi wasn’t having that. She launched into a furious tirade about the mess, taking care of other people’s property, about how she would not be spending the next few weeks mothering a bunch of manbabies.

The man – Goku – chuckled once more.

“Sure, Cheech,” he said, smiling warm and bright in the face of her fury, “Whatever you say.”

He cleaned up the mess on his hands and knees, hunched over with a dustpan and brush. Chi-Chi watched, making sure not a speck of glass was left behind. Every so often he would look up at her through those long lashes and smile. Again warm. Again bright. She fought her own smile. When she was satisfied with his work, he stood up. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, clinging to some stray hairs that had escaped his wild locks. Still he smiled.

“What do you think?”

She scoffed. “I had to tell you about spots you missed multiple times.”

“I’ll just have to do better next time then.”

“Or, just don’t make the mess at all.”

He shrugged and placed the dustpan on the counter.

“Sometimes accidents happen, Cheech. Especially when you’re having fun. Lighten up. Embrace the chaos.”

And then Goku winked, flashing her another sunbright grin, before he ran over to the single guys as they were being escorted out by production.

“Embrace the chaos,” she softly repeated. “Absolutely not.”

She had been reunited with Piccolo at dinner and had latched onto his arm immediately. He was stable. An actual adult. Sure, he could be a little too serious sometimes. He was very internal, keeping his emotions guarded. Even happiness. But he knew how to use a sponge and soap, and apparently that was more than some guys could handle. She never had to worry about him missing spots when cleaning up. Because there would never be a mess to clean up.

“Couples,” the announcer greeted them, this time in a cream linen suit. “I hope you have enjoyed dinner.”

Yamcha wrapped his arm around Bulma’s shoulders. He seemed… fine. Not at all distressed by the fact this might be their final moments as a couple if something were to go wrong.

“It’s time to say your final goodbyes. Possibly…” he paused, eyes slowly making contact with each couple. “For good.”

Producers directed the couples to their own spaces. Cameras were set up. Boom mic’s held in place.

Bulma held back tears. She was not going to cry. She was damn stronger than that.

She held Yamcha’s hand. He held it back and smiled.

“Yamcha. Just… remember that I love you. I’ve been there for you. Remember us.”

His smile faltered for a moment, before widening once more.

“I’ve got you, B. I’ve got you.”

He pulled her into his chest. She tried to ignore the erratic beating of his heart, and instead chose to believe him.

—

The singles had officially moved in. While the ladies all had their own rooms upstairs in the villa, equipped with ensuites and balconies, the men were shoved into tiny rooms downstairs, jam-packed with bunk-beds. Normally, Vegeta would have fought back about sleeping on the top bed, but he had found himself shoved into a room with Raditz, Goku and Zarbon. Goku wanted to be on the top bunk. Zarbon didn’t want to share with Raditz or Vegeta. Raditz was too big to go on top (though he made sure to explain in great detail that this was one of those rare moments where that was the case). So he begrudgingly accepted his place on top, but not without warning Goku that if he spoke then his jaw would become very good friends with his fist.

And then they waited in the living room.

Vegeta nursed a beer, tapping his boot on the wooden floor.

His plan had formed in his mind over the past few hours.

Be her friend.

Get the first date.

And another.

Another.

Be someone she could trust enough to spend the night with. As a friend.

And then…

He hadn’t gotten that far.

He needed to get through each date stage first.

The front door opened. Vegeta shot to his feet. The ladies walked in, almost shocked to be met with a chorus of cheers from the men. Bulma glared at them all. She seemed shaken, upset, though she held it all back. It came out in those eyes. Shimmering. Fearful. That is, until they met his own. Her pinched brows lifted slightly. Then relaxed. She strolled over to him and snatched the bottle right out of his hand, wrapped her lips around the tip to throw back a swig of beer.

Vegeta clenched his jaw and pointedly ignored the thought, the realisation, that her saliva was touching his own right now. Her lips were pressed to the glass his had been moments before. And she was still wearing that godforsaken dress.

“That bad, huh?” he barely got out through gritted teeth.

“He seems fine. Totally ok. Normal.”

Vegeta gestured for her to follow him. They went to the kitchen. She gulped down the last of his beer and gestured for another.

“Forget that swill. What’s your poison?”

She eyed him curiously. “Are you a bartender?”

He rifled through some cupboards, pulling out different liqueur options. “Bartender. Bouncer. Begrudging midnight therapist.” One of her eyebrows quirked up. “I own a bar,” he explained.

Those eyes said it all. Any fear seemed to wash away. Instead, there was something he couldn’t quite place. More curiosity. Softness. Heat. If he wasn’t so certain of her love for her boyfriend, he would have said she was turned on.

By him.

She seemed to catch herself just as he realised, eyes widening, then averting away. She perched herself onto a barstool at the breakfast counter and started unpinning her hair. Curls cascaded down, falling loose over her shoulders.

“Aperol spritz,” she ordered, running lithe fingers through her hair, stretching the curls into soft waves.

“Figures,” he scoffed.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gathered the bottles he needed; Aperol, prosecco, an unopened bottle of soda water from the fridge. And a bottle of elderflower liqueur. A twist he personally enjoyed. Something told him she would too.

“A bit sweet. A bit sour. Bubbly. Some bite. Very you.”

He plonked a large ice cube into a whisky glass then poured out the shots of orange liqueur on top.

“I feel like I should be offended.”

A shot of the elderflower liqueur.

“Are you offended by honesty?”

She shrugged. 

“Depends how it’s delivered.”

Vegeta poured the prosecco, the soda water. He snatched an orange from the fruit bowl on the counter, and carefully sliced a piece with the sweet flesh, and a piece of the skin. He twisted the skin, releasing a spray of juice into the cocktail. With a spoon in one hand he gently stirred the glass, and the other he carefully placed the orange slice onto the rim. Once satisfied, he slid the glass over to Bulma.

“How about delivered with alcohol?”

Some juice lingered on his thumb. He placed it in his mouth, sucking the sweet-sour liquid straight off his skin.

Bulma’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull.

The sight of Vegeta’s lips wrapped around his own thumb made her stomach swirl uncomfortably hot. She picked up the cocktail and focused her attention on that and only that. It was darker than spritzes she had before. She hesitated, wondering if she should trust him. She snuck a glance back at him. He was using a teatowel to wipe up the counter, having already put the alcohol away. She nearly laughed; he really was a bartender. Bar owner.

She took a risk, and brought the cocktail to her mouth for a sip.

Her plump lips wrapped around the rim of the glass.

Vegeta tried not to look. He did. But his eyes found hers, just as the drink hit her tongue.

Her eyes widened with surprise. She swallowed and placed the glass on the counter. Her tongue darted out, collecting stray drops that lingered on her lips. Vegeta really tried not to look.

“Is that… elderflower?”

He shrugged. “Thought you might like it.”

“It’s delicious.” She took another greedy sip. “Holy shit, this is good. You really shouldn’t have shown me this, I’m going to have you making it all the time.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck off,” she chuckled, light and airy. “I’ll ask nicely when you–”

“Wa-hooooo!” was the last thing they heard before there was an almighty splash from outside.

They both leaned towards each other over the counter to try and see the damage. It looked like Raditz had thrown both Launch and Maron over his shoulders and leapt into the pool with them, shrieking and giggling.

Vegeta barely noticed.

Not with Bulma so close. Her exposed shoulder just brushed the cotton fabric of his shirt. He fought a gasp at the contact. The scent of orange and elderflower danced under his nose as she huffed a laugh. Her hair fell forward as she kept laughing, hunching over slightly. Delicate blue waves waterfalling in front of her face. Her shoulders shook.

Vegeta finally dared to actually look at her.

She wasn't laughing.

She was crying.

A silent sob into her drink.

Vegeta gulped. He thought about placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. Or patting her head. Or… damn it, he didn't know what to do with tears. So he did nothing. Just stood there and let her have her moment of weakness.

After a moment, she spoke. Quiet. Fragile. Very unlike her. 

“He didn't say he loved me.” She lifted her head, eyes watery and shimmering, reminiscent of the ocean lit by moonlight. “Our final goodbyes, and he couldn't even bring himself to say it.”

Bulma threw back the rest of her drink. It wasn't made for drinking in such large gulps, but she didn't care. Vegeta tried to think of anything he could say to make her feel better. Anything. That's what friends did, right? Maybe something about her shoes? No, that felt superficial. Her devastatingly beautiful smile? Fuck, no. That was too romantic.

“I–” he started, not knowing where his words were going. “I think–”

“I'm going to bed.”

She didn't look his way. Just walked towards the doorway leading to the stairwell. He stared at her empty glass, the ice barely melting.

“Hey.”

Vegeta looked up to see Bulma standing in the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the frame. Her arm held her middle, her hand holding her free arm. Despite the tears stained by her mascara painting her flushed cheeks a sheer black, she smiled.

“Thanks.”

He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the counter. “For what?”

“Being a good friend.”

Bulma waved her free hand. A small wave. A blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of wave. And then she disappeared upstairs.

Only when he couldn't hear her heels on the hollow floorboards of the stairs did he release a shaky breath.

No one had ever called him a good friend.

Especially no one that looked like that.

His traitorous heart stuttered. This felt a bit too… something. A bit too real.

Despite this, he picked up her glass and sipped up the dregs of alcohol still lingering in the melted ice.

It tasted of orange and elderflower and her.

Chapter Text

Bulma wriggled in her stool. They had been sitting in the garden of the girls’ villa for twenty minutes waiting for production to be ready, and it was like they purposefully made the stools as uncomfortable as possible so they would be on edge. She nearly scoffed at the thought. She didn't need help in that department. 

Not today.

Today, they were picking their first dates.

But not just picking them in front of all the singles.

In front of their partners too.

Bulma leaned forward, trying to catch Yamcha's attention. She just needed him to look in her eyes. To reassure her that they were ok. She had no idea what had happened the night before in the guys' villa, but if it was anything like what happened in theirs, there was alcohol and partying galore. Which was Yamcha's kryptonite.

He didn't look her way.

Just kept mumbling and laughing with the guy next to him.

Bulma straightened her spine. Frowned. Patted down her dress; a pastel pink halter neck that flowed to her knees when standing, though it creeped up to reveal her thighs when seated. Her fingertips clung onto the hem scrunched up in her lap. Twirling the fabric. Pinching it. Yamcha had always said he liked this dress.

Clearly not enough.

Oh gods, she felt tears coming on again. It was bad enough that she had cried in front of Vegeta (and the cameras) last night, let alone crying in front of everyone here. She blinked rapidly, fighting the sting prickling her eyes.

And then she found Vegeta, standing amongst the single men. Staring. Almost scowling. Not at her. At Yamcha. Like he was a fool. An idiot. A tentative warmth blossomed from her chest. Something she couldn't quite place. It felt… nice. Like Vegeta was silently sticking up for her.

As a friend.

A great friend.

The best.

It was why she had decided to ask him on their date. She couldn't imagine going into this situation with someone else. Most of the guys seemed like total douche bags who just wanted to party or get in their pants. At least he wanted to try to get to know her.

“Couples!” the announcer greeted them, sliding into place. His linen suit was mint green this time. Production must've bought them as a twenty-for-one package deal or something. “I trust you had a lovely night getting to know your singles?”

There were a few unintelligible answers.

Except one.

“Absolutely,” a familiar voice answered confidently from where the taken men were seated.

Bulma's head snapped to the side so fast her neck cricked.

Yamcha had a light blush along his cheeks.

Fury coursed through her veins.

“Absolutely?!” she seethed under her breath, her fingers nearly tearing the hem still between them.

“Ooh, jealous much?”

Her head snapped towards the singles. She winced as it cricked in the other direction.

The leggy model – Mai, or some shit – was giggling to the girl next to her. Her dark eyes found Bulma's. She winked, and the only thing that held Bulma back was the steady pulsing red light from the camera, and the touch of Chi-Chi's hand on her wrist.

The announcer continued. “I hope you have all managed to start building connections. After all, that's part of why you are here. With this in mind, it's time to pick your first dates! Piccolo, why don't you come forward?”

Chi-Chi squirmed, refusing to blink for even a second. She watched Piccolo stride with purpose, right up to a redhead girl in yellow sundress. 

“Date?” he asked quietly. She giggled, followed him back down the path to his stool and stood behind him.

That girl was nowhere near Piccolo’s type. For one, she was smiling. She felt herself relax a little. Good. This was good. If he was going to go for someone not her type, then so would she. Easiest way to resist temptation was to not let themselves be easily tempted. Or… something. Chi-Chi shook her head slightly and eyed the suitors for her date.

Her eyes fell on the mess-maker from the day before. The childish man with the body of a god and the smile like the sun that seemed to never waver. Perfect. She would never be tempted by someone so reckless.

She left her stool and straightened up her long, flowy skirt and strode up to Goku.

With a lot more confidence than she felt, she crossed her arms, popped her hip, and asked, “Will you be my first date?”

Goku had sworn to himself that signing up for this show would be him making good on the greatest dare he had ever received. One of the teenagers in his class daring him to go on some reality dating show. Normally, he would have rolled his eyes and laughed it off. But then he heard that there was catering. And free accommodation. And a pool. And he knew he had to at least try to get on the show.

The dating part was never supposed to happen.

It’s not that he didn’t date. Kind of. He went to the movies sometimes. Got dinner a couple of times with other people. He… he knew women. Honest! But none of them had ever really made him want to do… more. He had even tried dating a few men, but it only confirmed that he was at least 80% straight. It was nothing on the people he dated, just something he assumed was wrong with himself. Some wiring gone wrong where he didn't want a relationship, didn't want sex; he just wanted to spar, eat, and enjoy life.

But here he was.

Being asked on a date. A first date. With a beautiful, uptight, demanding woman who seemed to scowl and yell at him any chance she got.

Goku swallowed thickly.

Oh gods, was he nervous? When did he ever get nervous? Her scowl was deepening now. Her foot tapping. All he could do was bring a hand behind his head and chuckle. “S-sure, Cheech! That sounds fantabulous!”

Her eyes narrowed. She turned around with a huff. He quickly followed, his words on repeat in his mind.

Fantabulous.

Fan- tabulous?!

That’s not even a word!

Goku fought back a groan as he stepped into place behind Chi-Chi’s chair.

He was a fool.

A damned fool to have let himself be talked into this by Maron.

It wasn’t enough that she would be doted on by all these brilliant men who deserved her.

Krillin was probably going to be the first ever contestant to be turned down by a single.

He eyed off all the beautiful women. Some stared straight ahead, hoping he wouldn’t see them. Some made awkward eye contact, before darting away. He sighed. Some things never changed.

But then he saw her. Lazuli. Making direct eye contact with him. She almost looked… hopeful? He nearly scoffed. Must be as great an actress as she is a soccer player. Still, she didn’t seem ready to reject him, at least yet.

So he made his move, walking up to her almost apologetically.

“Um, Lazuli was it?”

“Yes.” Her voice was cool, but not cold. A gentle breeze on a spring day, dancing dandelions in the sky.

He stammered, trying to find the right words.

“Would you–I mean is it ok–could we–”

“Yes, Krillin. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

If he really let himself, he could almost believe she was telling the truth. That the sparkle in her eyes, the tug on the corner of her lips lifting into a small smile, was all for him.

But it wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

He turned around and shuffled back to his seat. She quietly followed and stood behind him.

Maron practically skipped her way along the path to the waiting singles. He thought his heart was going to shatter into pieces or crack apart his ribs.

Which of these hunks was she going to choose?

Who would she inevitably leave him for?

His breath quickened. Erratic. Broken. Barely reaching his lungs.

And then he felt it.

A warm hand on his shoulder.

Krillin could barely bring himself to look at her hand. The pale lithe fingers that cupped his shoulder. The thumb rubbing light circles through the cotton of his button-down. Each circle settled his heartbeat a little more. It was the smallest act of comfort, but damn if it didn’t work. He was so focused on Lazuli’s support that he nearly missed Maron’s selection.

She tiptoed along the line of would-be suitors, who all salivated over her. She twirled her hair, hummed, relished in the drama of it all.

And then she pointed at the man she wanted.

“You. Will you be my first date?”

Bulma nearly blacked out. With rage of course. Just rage.

Maron had picked Vegeta.

The one guy she had made even a slight connection with, that she knew would at least hold a decent conversation, and Maron had picked him.

He seemed surprised by it too, his jaw dropping briefly before snapping shut with a clink so loud even Bulma heard it. His eyes darted to the side, locking eyes with a burly producer who just maniacally grinned and nodded. He frowned at the man, then frowned further at Maron.

Then he met Bulma’s pointed stare. His expression was unreadable. Could have been pained, could have been thoughtful. It didn’t matter. What did matter was the imperceptible nod he gave to Maron, agreeing to the date.

What a fucking liar.

Bulma crossed her arms, her legs, huffed, turned her nose up, dug her nails into her biceps, and begged herself not to look at Vegeta and Maron as they walked down the path. Her eyes had a mind of their own. First they found Maron, who winked at her like she had just won the grand fucking prize. Then they found Vegeta. He was still unreadable, which only pissed Bulma off more, until he mouthed one word at her.

Raditz.

Raditz? The oafish manwhore who looked two seconds away from a threeway with Launch and Maron the night before? Why would she pick him?

Maron and Vegeta reached their place; her in her seat, him behind her. His eyes were on Bulma. She lifted her brow, asking the question.

Why?

He nodded once, slow and purposeful.

A nod that seemed to say one thing.

Trust me.

Yamcha had moved from his stool along the path. Bulma tracked his every step, watching for some kind of acknowledgement of her. None came. Instead, he walked right up to Mai, held out his hand, and asked, “Would you have this date with me?”

She giggled. Flicked her luscious hair over her shoulder. And placed her hand on his.

“I told you last night, of course I would.”

Yamcha led her back to his place, hand in hers.

Bulma thought she might lose it. Get out of her chair and show that bitch who she was messing with. But it didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel… angry enough. Just deflated, like she had been expecting it. Because she had been. She knew from the moment Mai had stepped out to introduce herself on their first night that she would be the one he would go for.

She turned her attention to the single men. All looked wholly unappealing. Boring. Stale. Zarbon flicked his braid over his shoulder and winked at her. She nearly gagged at the sight.

Raditz smirked.

Bulma groaned.

She dragged herself over to the behemoth in his board shorts and Bintang singlet, and mumbled, “Go on a date?”

He threw his fists in the air and howled. “Woo! You beauty! Let’s do it, darlin’!” He threw an arm over her shoulder and guided her back to her seat, waving to the cameras like he was on the red carpet.

Launch saw fucking red.

Damn it!

The one fella she thought was easy on the eyes, and he went with her?

She snarled, already wishing this was over so she could at least have a shot or three. The hangover had been particularly brutal this morning. Instead she had to sit here and watch as Tien carefully walked along the path and kindly asked some black-haired bitch to be his date. Ever the respectful gentlemen. She wanted to barf. And not just because of the hangover.

There was only one other guy who had spoken to her since arriving; most seemed to think she was intimidating.

The yoga guy – Zippo? Zambo? Something. Whoever he was, he could at least look her in the eyes without running away. He would have to do. It was just one date. At least he could be a distraction from her thoughts. Pain.

She shot from her stool and over to Ziggy before she could back out of it.

“Zoltan. Date. Let's go.”

“My dear,” he started, racing behind her to catch up with her steps, “It’s Zarbo–”

“Zarbo, shut the fuck u–”

“Well, there you have it!” the announcer interjected, “Our lucky couples have all decided, and will head on their first dates tomorrow. Gentleman, I’ll take you back to your villa now along with your ladies.”

There was a bit of chaos as everyone started to move, cameras shifted, crew running around. Bulma leapt off her stool and tried to wave down Yamcha.

Just… just look at me!

He didn’t.

Bulma shifted on the spot, hands opening and closing, a twitch of action that she couldn’t act upon.

She turned around.

Vegeta was staring right at her. Dark. Unreadable. His jaw loosened slightly, a small opening of his lips like he was going to speak. Then it snapped closed.

She sighed, and left the group to go inside the villa.

Only once she reached her room did she quietly cry. She refused to dig deeper to figure out if she was crying over Yamcha or Vegeta.

Chapter Text

Vegeta glared up at the too-close ceiling. Some music pulsed from outside, while his roommates blathered on about nonsense as they got ready. He tried to ignore it all. He did. Tried breathing through it, focusing on the reason he was here. Make it to the end, get his bike back, then pummel Raditz into the earth.

Great plan.

Not much could go wrong.

Except he was going on a date tomorrow with a woman who he already knew he was going to despise.

Instead of…

He clenched his jaw.

Focus on the plan.

Make it to the end.

Get bike.

Pummel Raditz.

That’s all he needed to do.

“Hey, would ya tie this up for me?” Goku held out the ends of the white fabric tangled around his body.

Raditz rolled his eyes. The young fella seemed as dumb as anything, but at least he was willing to dress up, unlike his supposed best friend who was on day three of his “button-down and jeans” uniform. Even though he had hoped things might change coming to the island, he was still the same old Vegeta. Grumpy. Rude. On guard. The only time he had seen those impenetrable walls come down was a few brief moments with one of the ladies here. And wasn’t that something.

He grabbed the sheet and ripped it away from Goku’s body, only to reveal that he was completely naked.

“Dude! At least wear undies under the toga, my god!” he cackled as Goku unashamedly stood there.

“They were making my junk uncomfortable!”

“Jesus, try again and wrap it between your legs before you bring it up to your shoulders. Then I’ll help you.”

Zarbon shoved a naked, stumbling Goku out of the way to check himself out in the small standing mirror in the corner of the room.

“My, my, aren’t you handsome?” he purred to himself, smoothing out his perfectly tied up toga.

Raditz grinned. Wolfish and primal. Zarbon may have been a douche, but Raditz wasn’t blind. He was hot, flexible, and queer as all anything. He stepped up behind him, towering over the top of the already-tall man.

“I’m inclined to agree,” he hummed softly, eyeing Zarbon in the mirror.

He saw the moment Zarbon realised he was being hit on. His golden eyes widened, before he smirked, preening under the praise.

“I suppose you’re not as stupid as I thought,” he murmured, letting those entrancing eyes wander over Raditz’s reflection.

Raditz flexed his muscles, relishing in the way Zarbon licked his lips at the sight.

Oh fuck yes. It’s on.

Just as he was about to suggest they hit up the Confession Room and show the world just how flexible Zarbon could be, Vegeta leapt down from the top bunk.

“Where are you off–”

“Anywhere but here!” he roared as he stormed out of the room, escaping his personal hell to find anywhere he could be alone, just for a goddamned moment.

“What’s his problem?” Goku asked, scratching the back of his head.

Raditz sighed. “That’s just Vegeta.” He turned to Goku and groaned. “How? How did you get a toga upside down? It’s literally just a bedsheet!”

— 

Yamcha still couldn't believe he had been talked into this show. It wasn't that he thought he would be tempted; he had matured far more than his younger years. And the past few years. And the past year. He was mature now! He could easily resist temptation and propose to Bulma at the end of this. Again. And she would keep the ring this time. She would. They were Yamcha and Bulma! It was their destiny to be together, no matter what tried to drive them apart. Even his own mistakes.

Technically, they had arrived with no rules. He had made sure to double and triple check with Bulma that she meant it, and she swore she did. But he knew better than that. He knew that he couldn’t act out again.

Making friends, however, was a different story.

And Mai was being such a good friend.

She had approached him on that first day and promised to take care of him. And how could he say no to that? She had introduced him to the other ladies, and kept close and supportive as he made buddies with the other taken guys. 

When he had voiced his worries that he might pick the wrong woman to take on a date – one that didn't understand that he couldn't let himself be tempted – she had placed her hand on top of his and said, “Dummy, why don't you just take me then?”

Because she got it. She understood him and why he was here.

It also helped that she was–

The thoughts flew out his mind as a tongue licked a hot stripe along his abs. He twitched against the restraints and blinked his eyes as much as he could under the makeshift blindfold. There was a chorus of screams from the ladies. More chocolate sauce was poured across his chest. The tongue licked higher and higher, as his breath got sharper, quicker, until suddenly the tongue was flicking across his earlobe.

“You taste delicious,” Mai purred quietly, sending a shudder through his body.

These damn women. When they said it was a food party, he figured they were tasting different snacks together.

And then they pounced, immediately strapping him and Tien to chairs and blindfolding them.

It was some kind of wicked heaven. It felt so, so fucking good, but he knew these vixens were playing their role; to tempt them into doing something. Anything.

He clenched his fists tightly bounded behind his back and tried to think of anything else.

Bulma.

Nope, too gorgeous. It would only make him more uncomfortable.

The producers.

Ew, yuck. No, he still wanted to feel good. Just not so visibly aroused.

There was a soft whimper. Not light as he was used to. But a deep, breathy moan.

One of the women?

No, he could hear Mai giggling, as he could hear Suno near Tien. This was different. This was–

Tien?

He had become fast friends with the other man. They both enjoyed exercise – Yamcha with his job teaching BoxFit classes, Tien with running his gym. They both loved their partners. Good, healthy food. Morning runs. They were swiftly becoming great friends. Even better than him and Mai.

Mai who was now pouring chocolate sauce onto his neck, licking and nipping the sensitive skin, rubbing her bikini-clad chest against his bare one.

Another whimper. A moan. Deeper. More guttural. A hiss.

Another lick. Another nip.

Another moan.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He could barely take it anymore.

What was happening?

Finally, Mai removed his blindfold. Her cherry red lips were covered in chocolate, which she gleefully cleaned up with her fingers and tongue.

Yamcha dared a glance to the side.

Tien’s blindfold was still on. His fair cheeks were flushed crimson. His lips were wet. Fuck, he was still whimpering slightly, soft breaths coming out in quick bursts, his exposed, muscled chest rising and falling.

Suno took off the blindfold.

Tien turned to face Yamcha, but he looked away at the last moment, heat prickling down his spine.

What the hell was that?  

—

Bulma pinned the last of her curls high on her head. She eyed herself in the large mirror over the vanity and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She looked good. Great, even. As in, she didn’t look like she had been crying for the past few hours. Because that would be insane. Bulma never cried. Sure, she ranted and raved, hooted and hollered, but she didn’t cry. But since arriving at Temptation Island, she felt like she had barely stopped crying. This wasn’t her. She was better than this. Stronger.

She set her spine straight, lifted her toga slightly, and stepped into her golden, strappy heels. Bent over and buckled the clips. Stood tall and put in her earrings, waterdrop sapphires dangling from the golden chain. She rifled through her many bottles of perfume strewn across the vanity, before spying one she never really wore much. She liked the scent; bright, summery, with notes of orange blossoms. Yamcha never liked it, so she only wore it when he wasn't around.

Bulma barked a broken laugh.

He certainly wasn't around now.

She spritzed her neck and wrists, then made her way out of her bedroom. Launch and Chi-Chi were leaving their rooms too, donned in similar togas to her. Chi-Chi's hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her fringe held in perfect alignment across her forehead, whereas Launch’s furiously wild waves still refused to be tamed.

“Woah, Bulma, you look stunning,” Chi-Chi gushed.

“Good. That's what I was going for.”

“You're a straight up hottie.” Launch raked her eyes over Bulma in a way that made her feel simultaneously appreciated and slightly objectified.

Perfect.

“Is Maron downstairs?”

Launch scoffed. “What do you think. I’m sure she’s grabbed the first guy she can to grind on.”

Bulma started leading the ladies down the stairs. Chi-Chi whispered to them, “Why is she even here if she’s just wanting to hook up?

“Maybe she doesn’t know how to break up with her man,” Bulma shrugged.

“Poor guy. He seemed really nice.”

“Enough about him,” Launch said as they reached the bottom of the stairs, “Where’s the beer?”

She stormed past them towards the kitchen.

“Is she…”

“Ok?” Bulma finished off Chi-Chi’s trailed off sentence. “God no. She’s been struggling since we got here.”

They went to walk through the hallway to the kitchen, when the Confession Room door opened, nearly smashing them in the face.

Bulma was met eye to eye with Vegeta.

Chi-Chi immediately slinked by with a muttered, “Let you two talk.”

There had never been a person on this godforsaken planet that had ever made Vegeta’s heart stop. Save for the bout that ended his martial arts career. But no person worth talking about. No woman.

Not until now.

Not until Bulma.

Standing before him, adorned in golds and blues and shimmers and wearing nothing but a white sheet, and fucking hell he swore his heart’s engine stalled, shuddering to switch off. That is until she huffed, crossed her arms, and spat pure fire at him.

“You’re in my way, friend.”

Her words kickstarted his heart into overdrive. She went to walk past him, but he snatched her wrist before he could stop himself.

“I didn’t want to say yes to her, but we signed a contract. Taken person asks, we say yes.”

She rolled her eyes and wrenched herself from his loose grasp. “You’re acting like I care. I don’t.”

Vegeta snarled and stepped right in her path as she tried to leave again. “No, you’re acting like a spoilt brat whose frenemy just took her favourite toy.”

“Well, you’re acting like an asshole who doesn’t understand how hard this is! I thought I was going to at least start off chill, easy, with someone who could make ok conversation and even better cocktails! Instead, no thanks to you, I’m going on a date with the second biggest sleaze here!”

Vegeta’s hands found her shoulders as he resisted the urge to shake her. “I know Raditz. He’s one of my… he’s a guy I know. From outside here. He won’t do shit unless you want him to. You’ll just have a fun time, and then move onto the next date.”

Bulma felt her stomach swoop. Vegeta’s hands were warm. Strong. Clinging onto the bare skin of her shoulders. His thumbs ghosting under the fabric of her toga. He had stepped closer in his rant. Too close. She let out a shaky breath.

“You know him?” she whispered.

He swallowed nothing. Forced his eyes not to dart down to her lips. Kept them schooled on her eyes. “For years. He’s a flirt, but he won’t try anything.”

Feeling Bulma relax under his hands was almost too much. The tension melting away as he reassured her. Her soft skin. The slight aroma of sweet orange blossoms. It was too much. His heart raced, at risk of stopping once more. He released her shoulders, hands flinging off like she was on fire. Her lips parted a little bit, like she was about to apologise.

Then her brows furrowed deeper.

“Did you just call me a spoilt brat?”

He huffed a small laugh, although his heart still pounded in his ears. “You were acting like one.”

The punch she delivered to his arm hurt her more than it hurt him. He nearly smiled as she immediately grabbed her fist and hissed. “Fuck, are you made of steel or something? You owe me a drink for that.”

“You punched me!”

“And you called me a brat! Go bartender. Tend bar. Now.”

She stormed past him, her heels clinking on the floorboards. In the brief moment of solitude, Vegeta smiled.

“Now!” she demanded from the kitchen.

“I’m coming, woman!” he barked right back, forcing a scowl as he followed her.

—

The toga party was in full swing. People were drinking, laughing, playing too loud music, causing an absolute ruckus. Launch had found a group of guys to play flip cup with her. Bulma was arguing with Vegeta over something that was clearly not that big of a deal. Maron had been partying with a few guys but now she was nowhere to be seen. Which only meant trouble. All in all, it was chaos.

Chi-Chi wanted no part of it.

For the first time since arriving here, she was homesick. She missed her home. Her dad. Her job. She almost thought about cooking for everyone here, but there were so many gym junkies that she knew she wouldn’t be able to accommodate all the macros and restrictions. She already found it hard enough cooking decent vegan food for Piccolo. So she lazed in a little beach sofa nook around one side of the villa, tucked away from everyone else, swirling her glass of wine in her lap, waiting for this to get easier.

The stars in the sky were bright, but there weren’t as many as back home. It only made her miss the farm even more.

She bit her lip and blinked away a few stray tears.

“Cheech?”

Goku had never seen a girl cry before. Kids, sure, but not a grown woman. He didn’t think it could be so heartbreaking. 

Maybe it was just the fact that it was Chi-Chi.

She looked up at him in surprise, dark eyes shimmering like the brightest night sky.

“Hi Goku,” she sighed, looking down to her untouched wine once more.

“You crying?”

“No, I’m laughing.” He looked over her laying along the sofa. She wasn’t smiling. Definitely wasn’t laughing. Which meant she was crying, and was just being sarcastic. He wasn’t great at sarcasm. So he went with honesty, which was much more up his alley.

“You were crying. Which makes sense. It must be hard being away from everyone – your family, your boyfriend.”

Chi-Chi nearly smacked herself on the head. She hadn’t even thought that she might be missing Piccolo. She took a sip of wine, letting the warmth tingle her nerves, before she looked back up at Goku. He was smiling, though there was a touch of concern in his eyes. And damn, just so much kindness. She had never seen someone so unguarded. So trusting. It was equally disarming as it was comforting.

“Would you like to sit?” she offered, tucking her legs up to leave him space.

He chuckled, an infectious laugh that elicited a soft giggle from Chi-Chi. “Sure thing.”

He sat down on the other end of the sofa, soaking up the soft smile on Chi-Chi’s lips.

Damn, he thought to himself as his heart thudded wildly in his ears, what a beautiful smile.

—

It was late. Most people had already headed off to bed.

Cowards, Launch thought. Absolute cowards. Can’t even keep up with little old me.

The pool water was cool on her feet. Refreshing. Her legs swirled small circles, breaking the calm surface. A light under the water cast various hues of blue across the pool. Her eyes caught onto one. A dark blue. Familiar.

Her chest ached. Heavy. A chasm barely stitched up that threatened to spill open at any given moment.

The vodka helped. She swigged some back straight from the bottle, relishing in the burn searing through her chest, before numbing that chasm of grief nicely.

Music still thumped through the speakers, though there weren’t many people left to dance to it. Distantly, she could hear some light arguing from inside. Some giggling around one side of the house.

And then…

Some rustling.

The property was surrounded by bushes and trees, keeping out all that weren’t cleared by security.

It was coming from there.

She looked around.

Cameras were focused on the few inside and around the corner.

Interesting.

Launch leapt to her feet and padded around the pool towards the trees. As she got closer, she could hear the faint but unmistakable sound of moaning.

She took a swig of her vodka.

Very interesting.

She assumed this was where Maron had ended up. In some romp in the bushes with one of the singles, away from prying cameras.

Launch quietly chuckled and placed her bottle of vodka on the ground, slipped off her heels, and tiptoed into the bushes. She had to see which of these lowlifes she had managed to snag.

As she got closer, the moans got a little louder. Still hissed under breaths, but clearer.

Deeper.

She realised about two seconds too late what she had stumbled on.

Raditz was on his knees. Sucking Zarbon’s cock for all it was worth. His toga had been nearly ripped clean off as he jerked himself.

Oh fuck, that’s hot.

Launch knew she had a few choices. 

Run back and tell production.

Walk back and tell no one…

… There was another option though. A truly fucked up one.

She smirked and hid behind a tree. Lifted up her toga. Plunged her fingers into her underwear. And listened.

“F- fuck,” Zarbon hissed.

Her fingers found her clit and circled furiously. The alcohol in her system made her light-headed, messy, desperate.

There was a wet pop, then Raditz whimpering softly, “Down my throat, sugar. Down my throat.”

“You are such a fucking slut, huh.”

She threw her head back against the tree, that familiar tightness building low in her belly.

Raditz moaned, as loud as he could with his lips wrapped around a cock.

So did Zarbon. Deep. Almost too loud.

Launch covered her mouth and came with a shudder against her writhing fingers.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Stars danced behind her eyes. What the fuck was she thinking?

There was murmuring from the men. She heard one of them leaving. She tried to stay as still as possible, although her post-orgasm body still twitched in place.

Her hand left her underwear. Her wetness clung to her fingers.

“You weren’t as quiet as you thought,” a voice growled from behind her.

Launch whipped around to face a smirking Raditz. One of his tree trunk arms was resting high on the tree above her head.

Vodka spoke for her, cheeky and confident. “Maybe I wanted you to hear.”

He bit his lip, then grabbed her used hand and brought it to his lips. His tongue darted out and curled around her fingers. Cleaning up every last drop of her. Her cunt throbbed at the sight.

“Next time,” he murmured wet against her skin, “Come join in.”

And then he left her, striding back towards the villa with an arrogant strut.

Only once the sound of his footsteps disappeared did clarity sink in.

Launch, you are one fucked up broad.

She chuckled, dark and low, and left the bushes. She snatched the bottle and the shoes off the ground and threw back a large gulp of vodka.

“I always was the bad one,” she muttered, making her way back into the villa.

—

Chi-Chi’s head had found Goku’s shoulder. Their conversation had quietened, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… comfortable. Easy. Everything about Goku seemed easy. Like nothing could ever phase him.

“Ok, one more question before we hit the hay,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“Shoot.”

“What do you miss most about home?”

And wasn’t that a question. Her heart twinged as she thought of all she missed. Eventually, she settled on an answer.

“My job. I know that sounds crazy, but I miss cooking for people. Food has always brought people together, and when I cook it–”

She was cut off by Goku’s stomach grumbling so loud that she swore birds flew away squawking in fear.

“Uh, I–”

“Goku, are you hungry?” she asked as she tried not to burst out laughing.

“Um, how could you tell?”

God, and he wasn’t even teasing her, he was genuinely asking. She couldn’t fight it anymore, her laughter bubbling out of her. “C’mon, let me whip you up something before bed.”

She jumped to her feet and held her hand out.

Goku stared at it, almost gobsmacked. He had never held someone’s hand. He placed his hand onto Chi-Chi’s and used it to stand up.

They walked back to the villa.

Neither let go of their hands.

—

Vegeta slammed his glass down on the kitchen counter, ignoring the way his fourth – fifth? – whiskey sloshed over the edge.

“Now you listen here, woman, if there’s one thing I can be certain of in this life is that Pepsi Max is a damn fine better drink than–”

Bulma cried out a buzzer sound at the top of her lungs. “EH! Wrong! I’ve never met someone who can be so consistently wrong on things that they–”

“You can go fuck yourself if you think Coke has got anything on–”

“I’m sorry buddy boy, do you see people going around ordering a rum and Pepsi? ”

Vegeta’s drunken mind took half a second to catch up.

“Wh– no, but that’s–”

“What does that make it now, twenty topics I’ve been objectively correct on?”

She grinned smugly over the rim of her glass, those damned eyes shimmering with pure glee.

He grumbled, “Sober me could have won all of those. You took advantage of my state.”

“Aw Vegeta, are you a bit weak right now?” she teased, leaning in from her stool ever so slightly. Her makeshift toga had been placed precariously for the last half hour, but her movement made one of the ties on her shoulder drop, exposing her whole shoulder.

Was Vegeta weak right now?

He gulped, eyes tracing the delicate, fair skin now on complete display for him.

He was the weakest he had ever been.

She smirked in her victory. It only weakened him further. Dizzyed him. Damn, he even felt light-headed. He tried to take a step and stumbled to the side. She pinched her brows together. With concern, maybe? He wasn’t sure. The room was spinning. A lot.

“Ok, cowboy. Let’s get you to bed.” She circled the counter and grabbed his arm, directing him stumbling to the hallway.

“‘M fine, just need water.”

“You guys taking off?” Chi-Chi asked as she and Goku stepped into the room. Bulma noted that they were holding hands, but didn’t say anything. She would grill Chi-Chi about it in the morning.

“Yeah, lightweight bartender here needs to head to bed.”

“Make ‘em, don’t drink ‘em,” Vegeta slurred.

“Here, I’ll take him,” Goku released Chi-Chi’s hand to walk over and help. “He’s on the top bunk, you won’t be able to get him up there.”

“Are you sure? I was about to cook,” Chi-Chi asked.

Goku looked at her, debating whether to leave Vegeta. But he couldn’t leave someone in their time of need. “Another time, I promise.”

“Aww, you guys are in bunk beds? Like camp? That’s so cute,” Bulma teased, watching as Vegeta tried to squirm out of Goku’s insistent grasp.

“Shuddup, woman,” he half-heartedly bit back.

Goku managed to wrangle him out of the room, nearly losing his toga on the way.

Bulma let a couple of seconds pass before she spoke.

“So, holding hands?”

“Shut up, woman,” Chi-Chi groaned, though there was a faint blush on her cheeks.

Launch suddenly popped her head up from a couch in the living room, looking somehow messier than before. “Both of you, shut up! I’m trying to sleep here!”

Chi-Chi and Bulma looked at each other and sighed.

“Better get her to bed.”

It took ten minutes, a stupid amount of stumbling, and at least ten new swear words created by Launch, but they finally managed to wrangle her into bed. They had tried to convince her to have a shower because she was somehow covered in twigs and dirt, but she refused and passed out in bed still in her dirty toga. Chi-Chi turned her nose up at the sight, but Bulma convinced her to leave it.

They said their quiet goodnight’s, and it wasn’t too long before Bulma was under the steaming hot spray of her shower, washing off all the night’s alcohol. God, her and Vegeta had not stopped arguing. But it wasn’t like when she argued with Yamcha. That was always tectonic, world-ending, about everything that pained her and everything that frustrated him.

This was different.

This was almost fun.

A challenge of wits and smarts that kept her on her toes, even when she always won.

She left the shower, dried off, and curled up into the plush bed in her satin pajamas.

She closed her eyes. All she could see was Vegeta. Pinched eyebrows, dark eyes, somehow cool and rugged, even as he incredulously shouted, “Were you dropped on your head as a baby?”

She giggled at the memory. She had really got him riled up with that one.

Bulma fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

Production lined up the ATV’s for each of the couples and ran final safety checks, before setting up the GoPros and cameras.

Maron lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and used her hand to block out the sun. Gods, it really was a gorgeous summer day. Bright and warm. Nothing like the hunk she was about to ride with.

Veggie had that whole dark and mysterious thing going on that made her knees weak. Nothing like her guy. It wasn't that she didn't like Krillin. He was sweet. Kind. A full-on cutie. She did like him. But… she knew he was planning on proposing. She had found the ring a week before she had applied for the show. A modest diamond with a thin gold band. The thought of being tied down to one man for the rest of her life made her feel sick. And then when she thought about spending it with Krillin…

Again, she liked him. But love? She really wasn't sure. So to be around a whole bunch of singles vying for her affection was perfect. The best chance to have one last hurrah, to test the waters with other men to see if she could truly love Krillin. And he was such a damn sweetie, agreeing to the show. It was definitely a tick in the pro column.

The ATV’s were finally ready. Veggie swung a leg over and silently readied himself, slipping the helmet on. He didn't look her way. Maron let herself openly gawk at the jeans barely containing his thick legs, the arm muscles spilling out of his tight crimson button-down. Damn. He really was brooding sex on legs. She gleefully leapt onto the back of the bike and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her bikini-clad chest to his back. He tensed slightly, abs flexing under her hands. Probably excited. It only made her more excited. The engine roared to life, and Vegeta sped them away, leaving the other couples in a trail of dust.

Bulma ducked behind Raditz at the last second, letting him get all the spray. She then stormed over to their ATV, threw on her helmet, and kicked it into gear.

“Big man, you coming?!” she roared, louder than the engine.

Raditz laughed and slid in behind her, barely getting the helmet over his hair. “Let's go, little lady.”

They skidded off, Raditz howling like a wolf as they went.

Launch had already taken her place on the ATV. Her arms were crossed as she waited for Zab to get on there so they could get this over with. Despite the night before, she knew she wasn't going to enjoy this. He may have been kind of hot, but nothing could make up for that personality.

“Launch, darling, how about I drive and you can–”

“How about you suck my nads, Ponytail, and get on the back already?”

He scowled, but followed her orders and climbed on behind her. They sped away, although Goku swore he heard Zarbon squeal as Launch sent it into a higher gear.

And then there were two.

“Have you ever been on one of these before?” Goku asked, gently handing Chi-Chi her helmet.

“Uh, no. Definitely not.”

She pulled the helmet on. The tinted visor was still up. Dark, twinkling eyes looked up at him with unguarded worry. Goku gulped, his heart racing, but for totally different reasons. 

How is she still so beautiful with her whole face covered?

“I'll take it slow, ok? If you feel comfortable, you can tap on my shoulder twice and I'll speed up.”

She nodded. He fought a giggle at how goofy it looked, and quickly popped his own helmet on.

Through the open visor, he saw the corners of her wide eyes crinkle, her rosy cheeks lifting the helmet slightly.

And then she giggled. “These helmets look goofy.”

Goku let his own infectious giggle unleash, and together they laughed.

Chi-Chi couldn't remember the last time she was so damn happy.

—

Yamcha had never been snorkeling, but this whole experience had already introduced himself to new adventures, so he dived into the experience with gusto. Papaya Island was surrounded by intricate, rainbow coral filled with exotic fish, ancient turtles, and they even spotted a few gentle sharks.

It was interesting to do this with the other couples. All eight of them swam through warm, crystal clear turquoise waters. A few times, Mai would wrap her slender hand around his wrist and point to a strange fish.

His eyes would wander.

Not to her insane body.

To Tien’s.

Yamcha was always working to perfect his body, to discover the limits of every muscle and how he could sculpt to be stronger, more lean.

Swimming through the seas, he realised Tien had that body. His shoulders, his abs, his legs–every part of him was perfection, to be admired. 

It stirred something deep within his chest. A yearning. To be like him. He wondered what it would be like to study his workouts. How his muscles might move through a functional strength session, or a HIIT program. What would happen if Yamcha joined him for a morning workout? Would he help him gain more depth in his squats? Up his weight on his chest presses? Would his hands find Yamcha's shoulders in dumbbell bicep curls, ghosting over his lats, whispering to remind him, “Pull them back and down. Breathe. That's good…”

Yamcha was grateful to reach the surface and swim to the yacht. Away from Tien. Away from those thoughts that kept creeping in whenever he was around him.

Mai was close behind, along with some of the other couples. 

Production had set up specific spots on the yacht for each couple to have some drinks and food. Krillin guided Lazuli to their designated spot and handed her a towel.

It had been quiet. They'd barely spoken a word as they got their snorkel gear on. But he had felt her eyes on him. Those damn eyes. Wouldn't miss a thing. He thought it might make him feel on guard. Defensive. But he didn't sense any judgement or derision. She just watched.

“Are you going to sit?” Lazuli cut in from the picnic blanket, wrapped in the light grey towel.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

He wrapped his own towel around his shoulders and sat on the edge of the blanket. He could hear giggles and laughter from the other side of the boat. The gentle waves licking up the sides of the hull. His own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His hands clung to the ends of the towel like a lifeline.

“Did you want some food?”

“Hm?”

She gestured to the picnic basket between them. “Food. Want some?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Let me get it.”

He opened the wicker basket, lined with little red and white checkers. It was filled with crackers, cheeses, dips, sweet fruits and rich chocolate. He worked quickly to get it all laid out on the provided platter, working diligently to present it well.

Once he was done, he looked to Lazuli.

She was watching him again.

He felt… seen. Not just looked at, but really seen.

After a moment, he realised he had been staring, unblinking. A flush crept across his cheeks. He looked away. “S-sorry, I didn't mean to–”

“Why do you keep apologising?”

Krillin stilled. Turned to look back at Lazuli. She didn't seem annoyed with him. Just curious.

“I… I don't know.” It was an honest answer. He really didn't know why he was saying sorry. Why he always did.

“You shouldn't apologise unless you've done something wrong.” She picked up a ripe blueberry and popped it in her mouth. “And you've done nothing wrong.”

“Heh,” he huffed out, almost a laugh, “It sometimes feels like I have.”

Those eyes watching him once more. Like she was waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she spoke.

“Why?”

Krillin swallowed, a bead of salty sweat trailing down his forehead. “I… really don't know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you need to figure some things out. Is that why you're here?”

“Uh… no. I'm here because Maron wanted to do it.”

A sharpness fell across her features. “Do you do everything she says?”

He shrugged and reached for a cracker, scooping a dollop of hummus. “Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?” He put it into his mouth and chewed, savouring the salty taste, and swallowed before he spoke again. “Why are you here?”

She sighed and wrapped the towel around tighter around her. “I'm going to be honest with you. I'm–we’re–here because our manager thinks it'll be good to build our social profile. We have all the talent in the world, but brands don't want to sp–”

“Ugh, Laz,” a producer cut in, running his hand over his sweaty bald head, “None of that, just say you're looking to find love and move on.”

She scowled at the man behind the camera and rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

She unwrapped the towel and flung it behind her. Krillin felt his jaw slacken. He knew she was objectively attractive. But… wow. Her in that scarlet bikini, up close, now leaning back on her hands, stretching her long, muscled legs out.

She plastered a sugar-sweet, totally fake smile on her lips, and spoke with a ridiculously high-pitched voice. “I'm here to meet a cute guy and fall in love!”

Krillin immediately burst out laughing. It bubbled out quietly at first, before it became a full-blown guffaw. His chest, his stomach, everything cramped and twisted. She watched him, amused, and popped a grape into her mouth. After a few moments he managed to get a handle on himself, wiping a few stray tears from the corners of his eyes.

“There's that smile,” she said quietly. Krillin looked at Lazuli. She tucked her sun-bright hair behind her ears and matched his smile with her own.

He kept on smiling as the sun shone above.

And next to him.

—

It took about half an hour to reach the top of the mountain. Bulma tried to enjoy the view from the winding path, soaking up the lush vegetation, the colourful birds flying from tree to tree, but she couldn't focus on it. All she could see was the ATV ahead. The furious blue. The floral mini-sarong billowing in the wind. She tried to not feel so furious, really, but every time she saw Maron point to the side at something, she felt a flash of anger pulse through her.

She couldn't place why.

Or didn't want to.

Despite her reservations, there was something settling about Raditz's giant hands on her waist. They didn't move across the whole half hour, just stayed in place. It seemed Vegeta was right, he could be respectful. She'd have to find a way to navigate that conversation with Vegeta without admitting he was right.

The mountaintop was stunning. The path opened to a clear field filled with bushes of birds of paradise. Four picnics had been set up for each of the couples, spread out just enough that they wouldn't be able to properly hear each other. Each spot had a brilliant view of the ocean, of the golden sun making its slow path to the horizon.

Production directed Bulma and Raditz to their picnic. They sat down, got comfortable, and Bulma went to look at Raditz, but groaned as she caught something in her eyeline instead.

Vegeta and Maron were directed to the picnic next to theirs. When she looked past Raditz's ridiculously large shoulder, she could just see Vegeta’s face. His eyes met hers. In true Vegeta fashion, he was totally unreadable.

Raditz's face immediately popped into her view.

“Chin up, darlin’. Let's have a good time.”

She glared up at him. “I'm fine.

“Uh-huh. So, Bulma,” he started as he rifled the picnic basket. He grabbed a packet of crackers, leaned back onto one elbow, and popped a handful straight in his mouth. “What do you think your man is doing right now?” Some specks of chewed cracker flicked onto her cheek.

“Chew. Swallow. Then talk, oaf,” she snapped as she flicked the spittle off.

He swallowed, then showed his empty mouth. “Same question, go.”

“I'm trying not to think about it.”

“Then why so sad, little lady?”

Her gaze had drifted slightly. To Vegeta. He was staring out over the ocean. The sun kissed the exposed skin of his chest.

Raditz looked over his shoulder. “Ah, I see.”

Bulma snapped her attention back to Raditz. “You see nothing.”

“Mmhmm. Ok, new question. What do you want from this?”

He shoved more crackers straight into his gullet. She reached into the basket and snatched up the first thing she could find. Strawberries. Perfect. She bit into one, delighting in the sweet, tangy flesh exploding on her tongue as she chewed. After she swallowed, she answered.

“I want Yamcha to be able to stay faithful.”

“Let me rephrase… Forget about him. What do you want for yourself at the end of this?”

She had been holding a strawberry to her lips as he spoke, but she stilled as the question hit her.

Herself.

What did she wants for herself?

“I want to love my flaws,” she quietly answered after a moment. “I know my strengths, and I love them. Hell, I love myself. But when I think of everything wrong with me…”

“It's big that you can acknowledge you're flawed,” Raditz said. “Not many can do that.”

Bulma scoffed. “You're telling me.”

Raditz found a bottle of wine in the basket and unscrewed the cap. He took a swig from the bottle and handed it to her. She shook her head, and instead brought another strawberry to her lips. As he took another large gulps of the pinot noir, her eyes traitorously flicked back to Vegeta.

Instead, she saw the back of Maron’s head.

In front of Vegeta.

Close.

Like they were… kissing.

She threw the strawberry down and looked to the horizon once more. Her heart twinged, a wringing ache that she couldn't place.

Raditz noticed the pain in her expression. It was minute, a flicker of tension that she seemed to try to squash through shaky breaths.

He glanced over his shoulder once more. Vegeta was storming over to his ATV, Maron in hot pursuit. He looked furious. She tried to snatch his hand, but he wrenched it from her grip.

“What happened there?” Raditz asked, taking another swig.

Bulma just shrugged. “Who cares.”

She held her hand out for the bottle, which Raditz gave over. Bringing it to her lips, she washed away all that she couldn't place, couldn't name, in deep gulps of red until the bottle was completely empty.

Raditz chuckled. “Guess I'm driving back.”

“Guess so,” she muttered.

Her mouth tasted of strawberries, forest earth, and regret.

Over what, she wasn't sure.

Chapter Text

If they didn't already fucking despise their stepfather/manager before this show, this would surely have done the trick for Lapis. Being surrounded by the dregs of performative hetero society, watching as they fawned and lusted over men who were clearly here for an excuse to cheat on their partners, was their idea of hell.

Maybe that's why Gero did it.

Some sick punishment for his kids who could really never stop stepping out of line, even as adults. If you'd call having opinions or being authentic “stepping out of line”.

Everyone here was just so painfully boring.

Well, nearly everyone.

Piccolo was at least somewhat… interesting. Not necessarily entertaining, but there was something about him that Lapis kept finding themselves drifting towards. They never spoke. Never actually even stood together. It was just little moments of wandering eyes that somehow always found each other. And wasn't that interesting.

Lapis wasn't sure what to make of it.

At least they had Lazuli, even if she had found some kind of burgeoning friendship with Krillin that kept her somewhat entertained. Lapis watched them at dinner after their date. The quiet jokes. The stolen glances. A long-buried ache unfurled beneath their ribs. To be desired. Seen. Not even just as a romantic partner. As a person.

The thing with being a twin was, they were always compared. And Lazuli always won out. As children, she was the golden child. Blonde hair. A woman. Normal. As a player, she was the striker. Always the bringer of glory for the Androids. Coach Cell even labelled her his ticket to career perfection. Sure, Lapis was part of that ticket, but they were just the jumping off point. There was no perfection without Lazuli.

She knew this and hated it. All Lazuli ever wanted was for people to see how brilliant Lapis was. Beneath that quiet, cold exterior, the walls of defense built up over years of being labelled Other, was a fiercely loyal, caring, wondrous person. Lazuli looked up to them with every fibre of their being.

Just as Lapis looked up to her.

But it seemed adoration was not on the cards for Lapis.

Which is why the silent attention from Piccolo was… interesting.

And it's why they felt the need to address it.

Some themed party was in full swing; Suits and Ties, maybe? Lapis hadn't bothered to dress up. Neither had Piccolo. He was sitting on a wooden chair in the backyard, eyes closed, yet brows furrowed, arms crossed. He almost looked tranquil. At peace. Lapis approached his side, but nearly didn't want to interrupt. Nearly.

“You keep staring,” they said quietly after a moment.

Piccolo didn't move. Not at first. Just remained still enough for Lapis to consider walking away, but then he spoke with a deep timbre, barely above a whisper. “You interest me.” He then peeked open one eye and looked up at them. “Is that a problem?”

Lapis shrugged and shoved their hands into the pockets of their black hoodie. “No. What are you doing over here?”

He nudged at the empty chair next to him, an offer for Lapis to sit. They slid into the chair, knees barely brushing Piccolo's.

“It's easy to forget myself with all the cameras around.” He pointedly stuck his chin towards the two cameras currently capturing their moment. “But over here, under the sky, I feel like I'm back home.”

Lapis nodded. “Where's home?”

“Small property just outside Mount Paozu. A few animals, enough to be fairly self-sufficient when I want to be.”

Silence passed between them as the summer breeze glided by.

“That sounds really nice,” Lapis whispered after a moment, tilting their head back to look to the stars.

“Yeah,” Piccolo agreed, stealing a glance at Lapis beneath the silver moonlight. “It is.”

—

Chi-Chi had kept to her word and cooked up an absolute feast for Goku. Seared steaks, roasted vegetables, crisp herbed potatoes, paired with a wine Vegeta had begrudgingly suggested. Any time someone else tried to sneak a piece (including Goku), Chi-Chi would shriek at them to leave if they knew what was good for them. Goku watched each tirade from his place at the kitchen counter with warm affection.

It was a lush meal compared to the party that raged around them. Magician was the theme, with people dressed up in ridiculous tuxedos and capes. Goku had dressed up in nothing more than a bowtie and a pair of black slacks. When he had checked with Raditz, he had insisted it was what the magicians in North City wore for their residencies. “You're keeping true with the culture,” he had reassured him with a crooked smile.

Chi-Chi chuckled nervously when he told the story. “So, you're going to be shirtless the whole time?”

“Well if it's traditional to North City, I probably should right? I don't want to offend the magicians up there.”

She had peered at him so curiously, as if deciding if he was serious or not. Eventually she must have seen what she needed to. She smiled, shy and secret, then swiftly turned around to plate their meals.

“Ok, here you go.”

The meal smelled divine. Salty and savoury, with the light tang of fresh herbs, and the sweetness of the roasted carrots. Goku's stomach rumbled loudly as the plate slid in front of him. He sucked in a deep sniff through his nostrils. His mouth positively watered . God, this was about to be the best meal of his life.

Goku gleefully picked up his knife and fork and was about to slice into the tender meat, when Chi-Chi gasped.

“Wait!”

He couldn't fight the whine that escaped his throat as she snatched the plate back. 

“Aww, Cheech! I thought–”

“I nearly forgot the sauce!”

Chi-Chi picked up the serving boat and slowly poured the garlic butter sauce over the meat. He watched the care she took with the action. Pouring the butter with absolute precision. Her dark eyes narrowed as she focused intently on the task at hand. Her wine-stained bottom lip caught between her teeth.

What a sight .

“There,” she murmured, pouring one more large dollop onto Goku's steak. “Now it's perfect.”

She slid the plate over to him once more.

He was still ravenous, but he found himself slicing the steak with a quiet patience. Purpose. He wanted to savour every moment of this. Some instinct within told him this was one to remember.

Chi-Chi watched him intently, both hands resting on the counter, one finger tapping almost impatient.

The steak hit his tongue. He closed his eyes and wrapped his lips around the fork. An explosion of flavour burst on his tastebuds. Salt. Pepper. Tender meat. Bright garlic. Creamy butter. And something else. Something… lovely.

“ ‘mmygod ,” he moaned, chewing slowly. Not that he needed to chew much. It was so tender it nearly fell apart on the tongue. He swallowed. “You are magic.”

When his eyes opened once more, they found Chi-Chi immediately. Her cheeks were flushed red, rivalling only her shimmery dress beneath her apron. 

“Thanks,” she said with a twitch of the corner of her mouth, “It's been a while since I cooked meat.”

“Whad?!” he exclaimed with a much less dignified mouthful of steak. “Bud you're so good ad id!”

“Goku, so help me god you better swallow before you speak next time,” she threatened with a point of her steak knife. “My partner is vegan, so I don't cook meat around him.”

Goku gulped down his steak. “Again, you're so good at it. I'd be happy as a clam if I got to taste this every day. Hell, I'd even learn off you if it meant I got to eat this good.”

“I can show you sometime, if you keep these manners up.”

Goku grinned wide. “I'd love that, Cheech.”

She finally began to eat her meal, taking small bites, chewing with her mouth closed, never drinking with food in her mouth. Goku watched on, and tried to imitate as best as he could. To be better. For himself. And deep down he knew, for her as well.

—

Mai knew what she wanted in life. She wanted… well, everything. She wanted a modelling career, so she got it. She wanted the best wardrobe in East City, so she got it. She wanted good sex, and by the gods she would get it.

The Suits and Ties party was in full swing. They had turned the backyard into a wild dancefloor, and most people were on it, grinding and writhing to unknown beats. Mai spun in the middle of the dancefloor and kept her eyes on everyone, anyone who might be a willing partner for tonight, or other nights during this experience.

Another spin, and she found what she was looking for.

Tien's dark eyes found her, curious and hesitant. When she met his gaze, he blushed furiously from neck to crown and turned away to answer Suno’s question.

She sighed as she dropped it low, coming up with a slow grind. He wasn't ready yet.

Another spin.

That's better.

Yamcha was skirting around the edge of the ladies dancing, nursing a beer, bopping his head like he wanted to join in but didn't know how.

She could help with that.

Mai slowly danced her way through the girls, taking care to grind, touch, grip everything she could, her eyes never leaving Yamcha. He found her after a few moments. Those puppy dog eyes widened in shock, but he didn't look away. He was a little braver than his friend. She smirked and spun around one of the women so her back fell against her chest, bulging out of the skin-tight leotard she had selected for the night. Her hands drifted across the soft, exposed skin, goosebumps coming to the surface. 

Mai kept watching.

Waiting. 

C'mon, you want this.

Yamcha sipped his beer, splotches of red creeping up his neck. 

Mai spun the girl around again. Let her scarlet lips hover over her jaw. Yamcha looked like he was about to combust, his free hand twitching by his side.

And then Mai saw it.

It was a small movement of his eyes, darting to the side before they found her again.

Another flicker to the side.

Then back.

More splotches, furiously searing his skin.

Mai followed his wandering eyes and found Tien once more. Equally flustered. Shaken.

She grinned. Predatory. Victorious.

This just got very interesting.

With one finger she beckoned Yamcha to join her. He gulped. This seemed like a mistake. He couldn't join her dancing, could he? Maybe? Dancing wasn't exactly cheating. It was just dancing! It didn't matter that Mai’s leotard was so high-cut that her perky ass was entirely poking out. It was a costume, it was just dancing, it was fine.

He placed the bottle on a nearby table, shook his hands out, and entered the dancefloor.

Her hands found the back of his neck immediately. Her chest pressed to his. She was tall, enough that their lips were almost the same height. So close. Gods, they were so close. 

“You can use your hands,” she purred, “On my hips. To dance.”

He did just that, tentative, shaking, pressing his palms to the bone. She rewarded him with sway of them, a roll that promised a taste of what she could offer.

And then she leaned in. Impossibly close. Lips brushing over his own.

Yamcha flinched back. No. A kiss was real. That was cheating. Even he knew that. He started to remove his hands, to back out of this situation before it got worse, but she pulled him right back in.

“Let's just talk.”

She spun around and held his hands to her body, grinding against him so fucking hard that he could feel his arousal building. It was dizzying, distracting, but he managed to find his voice enough to stammer, “W-what about?”

Her head tilted back to rest on his shoulder. With her back arched, he could just make out the large swell of her tits below the fake, white bowtie she had worn as part of her costume. Despite himself, his fingers dug in deeper. Harder. Nails clinging to her skin for dear life.

“Whatever you want,” she finally whispered against his skin.

Yamcha gulped. “I–uh–do you–” Her hand found the back of his head, pulling him closer. “Do you have any pets?”

If the earth could have swallowed him up then and there, he would have been ecstatic. A beautiful woman was in his arms, and he was asking about pets?  

Thankfully she just giggled, amused but not turned off. “I do actually. Two dogs, Pilaf and Shu.”

“You'll–” his words were choked in a gasp as she held the wrist of his hand and guided it higher, brushing the exposed side of her boob. “You'll have to show me a photo sometime.”

“And you? Pets?”

“N-no.” Her nails dug into his scalp, sending tremors of pleasure down his spine. “I w-want a dog, but Bulma is a cat person.”

She hummed, and for a moment there was just the music and them, swaying to the throbbing bass. After a while, he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the moment. Tried to ignore the flashing red light in his mind warning him of his incoming doom. She moved her hand from his wrist, reaching forward for something.

Yamcha opened his eyes.

“Tien.”

His name slipped out before he could catch it. She must have beckoned him over too. Her hands found the back of Tien’s neck, slipping beneath the collar of his white formal button-down, pulling him close. He seemed totally lost, stepping awkwardly side to side. 

Yamcha could see he wasn’t wanted.

Until one of her hands reached back. Behind him. To his lower back. Pushing the strained fabric of his slacks against her ass. She leaned back to him once more.

“Show him how we dance.”

Yamcha gulped. He could barely handle this. Not with Tien there. But something tugged deep within, a pull below his belly button, drawing him further into whatever this was.

He met Tien’s eyes. Dark. Worried. Scared? Yamcha couldn’t have that. 

He slipped a hand past Mai’s hips, and gripped onto Tien’s waist. The heat of his skin burned through the fabric.

Fuck. He’s so fucking hard.

“Like this,” he whispered over Mai’s shoulder, using her to guide them both into a slow roll of their hips.

Tien swallowed, a visible bobbing of his throat.

His hands found Mai’s hips.

His thumbs found Yamcha’s thumbs, barely a brush of skin against him.

And for a moment, Yamcha had a flash of what it might be like to dance like this without Mai there.

With just Tien.

Hips grinding.

Taut abs flexing and tensing with each movement.

Cocks rapidly hardening against each other.

His lips.

His lips.

His lips?!

Yamcha shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought.

Tien was still looking at him. Still nervous. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip in a way that made him weak in the knees. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Yamcha fled the dancefloor as fast as his feet would allow, not looking back even once.

—

Vegeta had thought a shot of vodka might burn the taste of Maron’s lips off his, but it didn’t work. Damn it all to hell. He didn’t want to kiss her. She had surprised him, pressing her lips to his while he was distracted. It was revolting. He would have tried more to cleanse himself of her, but after the night before he didn’t want to risk another drunken slip up. And he especially didn’t want Goku to try to help him change into pajamas again. So he switched to nursing a beer and scowled at anyone who approached him from his spot beside the pool.

It was too bad Raditz was somehow immune to that scowl.

“Vegeta! Are you going to sit here pouting all night?”

He plonked onto the pool chair next to him and took a swig of his bottle of vodka.

“I’m not pouting.”

“Sure, just like you’re not glaring at Bulma every chance you get.”

“I’m not glaring. And she isn’t even out here, she’s inside doing shots with Zarbon.”

A wicked grin stretched wide on Raditz’s lips. “And how did you know Bulma was inside?”

Vegeta stilled. Damn it. This hellfire place was making him slow. Off his game. He was saved from attempting to respond by Launch approaching them, a fire in her step as she did.

“I need to talk to you,” she barked at Raditz.

“Great, I’m gone.” Vegeta launched to his feet and stormed back inside through the laundry, avoiding the main party at all costs.

Raditz laughed heartily and called after him. “This ain’t over pal!”

Vegeta was immediately replaced with Launch, an equally powerful glare on her face.

“Last night…” she trailed off, like she wanted him to continue with some explanation.

“Was really fun,” he said after a moment.

“How did you… how did you know were…”

Raditz raised an eyebrow.

Oh.

He had thought she was maybe here to judge him, or scold him for tasting her fingers, but she seemed… curious. Not about him. About herself. He eyed the bottle he held in his lap, considering his words.

“Queer as all fuck?” he settled on. She flinched, then nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “I always knew. I think most do, deep down. Didn’t stop my foster parents from walloping me when they found out. Also didn’t stop me from pursuing it.”

“You were in the system, too?”

“Couldn’t tell?” He gestured to himself dressed in a purple wizard’s robe he’d cut so short that his thighs were exposed. He took a deep swig of the harsh liquor before speaking again. “‘Spose they don’t give out jackets.”

Launch held her hand out for the bottle. He gave it over and watched as she took a few hearty gulps. She roughly wiped the stray droplets away with the back of her hand.

“My sister and I were in the system.”

A silence passed between them. An understanding. One only people who had lived a certain life could really get.

He wasn’t sure if it was just being foster kids. Or something else. Deeper.

Raditz really let himself look at her.

Blonde hair, as dirty and wild as her. Piercing green eyes that seemed shattered just past the irises, flecks of silver and blue catching the moonlight. Tiny freckles spattered along her nose, her cheeks. The tuxedo she had chosen as her costume was clearly a man’s suit, not at all tailored to her body, but that somehow made her more endearing to him. She didn’t give a fuck. Not one bit.

He could appreciate that.

His heart pounded a little quicker, a little more erratic.

Damn. I didn’t know it could do that.

And just when he thought he might tell her something, anything, there was a deafening crash from inside.

Raditz groaned.

Something told him he knew exactly who the culprit was. And even though he really didn’t want to leave Launch, he knew he needed to step in.

He stood up, the cool midnight air tickling his inner thighs as he did.

“We should talk again some time,” he said as he stretched his arms high above, “About any of… that.”

She didn’t look up at him. Just took another chest-searing swig of vodka.

Inside the house was chaos. Chi-Chi and Goku were already sweeping up the broken glass, while Zarbon must have fled the scene, leaving a sobbing Bulma standing alone, her hands clinging onto the hem of her tight black dress.

Raditz knew his role.

He stepped up to Bulma and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“R-Raditz, heyyy,” she slurred once she realised what she was looking at, forcing a smile on her lips. “I a-accidentally broke a b-bottle–”

She barely got her sentence out before she was sobbing again, this time into Raditz’s chest.

“Ok, little lady, how about we get you to bed, huh?”

She nodded, staining his velour robe with snot and watery mascara, before releasing him. Thankfully, she allowed him to guide her stumbling out of the living space and into the quiet hallway. They had just made it past the Confessional door and nearly reached the stairs, when she stopped. Stilled. She leaned sideways against the wall and rested her head against it. Then her back. Then slid down the wall and sat down, hugging her knees.

Raditz glared behind him at the cameras eagerly capturing her vulnerable moment, before he sat down with her, attempting to shield her from them.

When she spoke, it was quiet. Probably not quiet enough that the mic’s wouldn’t pick it up, but enough that they might struggle.

“Why did he kiss her?”

Raditz leaned back against the wall, understanding washing over him. Poor darlin’, he thought to himself. She looked so… broken. The excessive alcohol had cracked her emotions wide open, exposing herself to the world. Raditz knew he needed to console her. He opened his arms and enveloped her in his warm embrace. He pressed his lips to her head and whispered into her hair, “I don’t think he wanted to. I don’t think… she’s the one he wants to kiss.”

Bulma lifted her head, her watery eyes unfocused as she tried to understand.

“Is it me?”

Raditz chuckled and brought her in for another bear hug. “C’mon, little lady. Off to bed.”

He managed to get her off the ground and up the stairs without too much fuss, the camera crew in hot pursuit.

Vegeta counted a minute of silence from his spot before he opened the Confessional door and stormed down the hallway to the kitchen for another cleansing vodka shot.

Chapter Text

Bulma was certain a jackhammer was breaking down her door. It was the only possible explanation for the racket outside. Her eyes opened blearily, one at a time, only to be assaulted by the harsh sunlight beaming through the curtains she had foolishly left open.

Fuck.

What happened last night?

The banging on her door stopped for half a second, providing her sweet relief. Then it suddenly swung open with Launch bursting through the door holding a plate and a mug.

“Good. You're not dead.”

Bulma flung an arm in the direction of the window. “Curtain. Close.”

Launch marched over and placed the plate and mug on the bedside table with a thundering clatter. The scent of herbed sausages, bacon, and black coffee wafted over to Bulma.

“From Chi-Chi. Eat. Drink. Production wants us camera ready ASAP.”

She was halfway out the door when the words caught up to her.

“Wait, why?”

The door slammed shut with a painful bang.

—

Chi-Chi’s meal had hit the spot at the time, but sitting on the sofa in the stupidly bright living room with a decent amount of makeup on had Bulma feeling greasy and gross. She held a pillow to her stomach and hoped whatever production needed from them would be quick, just as she hoped her guts would settle as soon as possible.

Launch flopped onto the couch next to her, sending her turbulent stomach into overdrive.

“Would it kill you to be gentle around me right now?” she groaned, curling over the pillow.

“A rookie effort,” Launch chastised with a smirk. “Next time you want to get blackout, make sure you have someone around you ready to take care of you.”

“I don’t even remember getting to bed,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“You can thank the HFG for that.” Bulma lifted her head just enough to throw a confused look Launch’s way. “Hot Fucking Giant,” she explained.

Bulma thought of how she woke up. Still in her clothes from the night before, that skimpy little black dress, though her heels had been carefully removed and placed back in her closet. There had still been make-up on her face, but it looked like there had at least been an attempt at wiping it off.

“Raditz got me to bed?” she asked quietly.

“Looks like it,” Launch muttered, her fingers mindlessly picking at the ripped hem of her denim shorts.

The announcer walking in with Maron in tow brought their attention up. He waved Chi-Chi over from where she had been making smoothies with Goku in the kitchen. Once in position, he patted down the lapels of his perfectly pressed peach suit, then spoke.

“Ladies, I hope you have been having a nice time so far on Temptation Island. How were your first dates?” A chorus of mumbles answered his question. “That good, huh? Just remember, you’re not just here to test your partners. You're here to open yourself up to what might await you out there. To others. Vulnerability is key on this journey, so make sure you keep building connections with others in the villa.”

Launch scoffed, earning herself a sharp twitch of the announcer’s eye, the only crack so far in his perfect facade.

“I hope you are all ready for tonight,” he continued, eyeing them all individually for at least five seconds before he spoke. “Because tonight…” He paused. They stilled. Waited. Breaths held. Bodies tense. And then…

“Tonight is your first bonfire.”

—

Krillin was practically shaking as the men followed the winding footpath towards the bonfire. He had heard a bit about what this was from Maron before they left for the island. It was a chance to see how the other person was doing. To see the friends they had made.

Something deep within told him that they all might be seeing a bit more than that.

The footpath opened to where the cameras were set up. In the small opening, there was a small fire and some benches for the men to sit on. With how dark the night sky was, the only way they could see anything was the warm production lights, and the fire. Sweat immediately pooled across Krillin’s forehead. For how cool the breeze was, this was almost stifling.

Next to the benches was a small screen.

Krillin eyed it warily.

What fresh hell are they going to show me?

“Boys!” The announcer greeted them from the other side of the fire as they sat down in their marked places. “Welcome to your first bonfire. How are we feeling?”

They all mumbled various versions of “Okay.”

“No need to fear. This is just an opportunity to see how your partners are doing. Not just if they have been tempted, but if they have opened up. Grown. Allowed themselves to be vulnerable. To see if they are being shaped by this experience, as I’m sure you have all been.”

He felt Yamcha wriggle on the bench next to him, though his focus seemed purposefully held on the announcer.

“All I ask is that you remember, you are only seeing a brief moment of their time here. This is not the full story. Up first, we have Tien. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Krillin nearly jumped at the sound of his voice from behind him. So did Yamcha. He had rarely heard the man speak, so he hadn’t been totally expecting how intense he sounded. He couldn’t speak for why Yamcha had jumped though, they always seemed to be talking quietly in some corner.

The announcer directed them to face the black, empty screen.

There was a moment.

Then the screen flashed to life.

**

          Launch necks a beer with Raditz and Maron. He surprises them, throwing them over his shoulders to leap into the pool. She’s laughing as she breaches the water’s surface, her wild hair clinging to her face, her shoulders.

**

          She’s dressed in one of Tien’s suits, seated by the pool with Raditz.

          “You were in the system too?” she asks quietly. “My sister and I were.”

          Raditz looks at her, hunched over a bottle of vodka. She’s almost crying. And he’s… just looking. Hands twitching by his side like he might try to comfort her.

**

The screen faded to black.

“Tell me, what did you see?” the announcer asked.

Tien was quiet for a moment. Not dissimilar to his normal state of being. When he finally spoke, it was as if he considered every single word with absolute purpose.

“She seems… herself. She has had a rough two years. A rough life. It’s… why we’re here, really.”

“And why is that?”

More silence. Then…

“It’s not my story to tell.”

The announcer crossed their arms and sighed. “Is there anything else you noticed?”

Tien crossed his arms too. “She’s made a friend. I’m glad.”

“Hmmm…” His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to figure Tien out, to see if he was being real. Krillin gulped. It was so intense. He must have seen what he needed to, because after a moment he smiled once more. “Well alright man, I’m glad you’re glad. Now, Yamcha.”

“Yes! I mean, sorry. Yes. Sir? I don’t know what to say here,” he forced a laugh, just as he had forced himself to not look back while Tien had been speaking.

“You say whatever it is you mean. Are you ready?”

He nodded, probably far faster than necessary. “I am, sir. I–I am.”

**

          Bulma is clinging onto some orange drink. She’s crying quietly over the glass.

          “He didn’t say he loved me.”

**

          She’s throwing back shots like they’re water. A grinning Zarbon plies her with more and more. She looks good, beautiful, although she’s not smiling.

**

          She’s on the floor of the hallway. Sobbing furiously. Raditz holds her close.

          “... didn’t he kiss…” the subtitles say she slurs.

          “... want to kiss…” they say Raditz said.

          “Is it me?” she asks, starry-eyed and hopeful.

          Raditz guides her to the bedroom, but leaves her to fall asleep alone.

**

The announcer opened his hands towards Yamcha. “What are your thoughts?”

Yamcha let out a shaky breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “My thoughts. I… I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Bulma cry like that.”

“Why do you think she’s crying?”

“She misses me. A lot. I didn’t realise I hadn’t said I loved her.”

There was a breath of a moment. A pause of life where breaths were held, heartbeats stopped. The announcer seemed to move through this moment effortlessly, while everyone else lingered in the stasis. When he spoke, he dragged everyone through the moment to harsh reality.

“Do you love her?”

Yamcha felt the words on the tip of his tongue. “Are you crazy? Of course I do. I’m going to marry her at the end of this.”

They never even left his throat.

Just silence.

And the fragile glass of Yamcha’s whole world shattering around him.

The announcer simply nodded. Solemn, but understanding.

“I suppose that’s what you’re all here for. The answers to these questions. We’re going to move on now, are you ok with that Yamcha?”

He just nodded dumbly.

Tien’s hand found his shoulder. Wading through the glass to find him.

“Krillin. Are you ready?”

“What happens if I say no?” he weakly joked, nearly sweating through his Hawaiian shirt.

The announcer simply gave him a pitying smile through closed lips and directed his attention to the screen.

**

          The same footage of Raditz leaping into the pool with Maron and Launch. Maron’s hands linger on Raditz’s broad shoulders, feeling the thick muscles with a gleeful glint in her eyes.

**

          Maron is dancing in the middle of a group of men. Their hands roam, groping, touching. She has never looked so alive, preening under every lingering touch. They all want her, and she wants their attention.

**

          On her first date with Vegeta, she giggles over something he says. “You’re really hot, you know.”

          “I know.”

          Her eyes flutter close. She puckers her lips. And leans in.

**

“Krillin, what do you see?”

What did I see?

“She’s… she’s getting the attention she deserves,” he admitted quietly, eyes locked onto the flickering flames lapping the stone edges of the bonfire.

The announcer gave him another one of those pitying smiles. “What do you mean, exactly?”

Krillin’s thumb found his palm and pressed. Hard. The nail dug into the skin. He preferred that pain to the one tearing through his chest.

“I know what we look like,” he croaked out. “I know she’s… too good for me. I’m glad she’s got men of her calibre doting on her. I just…” He bit his bottom lip and softly closed his eyes. “I just hope she’s still there at the end of this. No matter what happens.”

A tear burned a hot path down his cheek. The droplet fell to his shaking hands.

“Krillin, look at me.”

It took all his willpower to force his eyes open and meet that godawful pitying stare again.

But he did it.

God help him, he did it.

“Krillin. You are a damn good man. And whether it’s Maron who finally sees it, or someone else on this island, I hope at the end of this that you see it. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” he quietly lied.

“I don’t think you do. Not yet. But you will. Keep yourself open to possibilities, and most importantly, be kind to yourself, Krillin.”

He nodded, but deep down he knew it was fruitless. The only thing–person–that had ever taken a chance on him was Maron. Not even himself.

“Piccolo. Are you ready?”

All the announcer got was a snarl in response.

**

          “Goku, are you hungry?” Chi-Chi asks through a light giggle.

          She stands up from the sofa and holds her hand out to Goku. He takes it. They walk together hand in hand. A rosy blush on both their cheeks.

**

          Chi-Chi rides on the back of Goku’s ATV. She taps his shoulder and he revs it, eliciting a bright laugh from her that the mic’s just pick up. She clings onto his waist a little tighter.

**

          She’s sweaty. Flushed. Her fringe hairs cling to her forehead. She looks happy. Really happy.

          “It’s been a while since I cooked meat.”

          “Whad?! Bud you're so good ad id!”

          “My partner is vegan, so I don't cook meat around him.”

          As they eat their meal, Chi-Chi savours the steak. Enjoying it like it’s her last meal on Earth.

**

“Alright. Piccolo, what do y–”

“She’s eating meat,” he cut in with a shrug. “She knows I don’t agree with that. But that’s not…”

“That’s not what, Piccolo?”

He huffed a deep sigh out his nostrils. “That’s not the part that bothers me.”

“Which part is?”

Piccolo looked up to the stars. Still unlike home. But better than that godawful villa.

“She seems happy. Lighter. Freer.”

“Is that a problem?”

He answered quietly, the truth dawning on him swift and painful. “It is when she doesn’t look like that with me.”

—

Bulma shifted and turned on the bench, wishing she had maybe opted for a longer dress. She was certain her whole crotch would be visible if there was even the slightest gust of wind.

What was she going to see? Would he have already taken someone to bed? That bitch, Mai? 

She mindlessly chewed on her thumbnail. Whatever it was, she had promised herself not to cry anymore. Not about him, not about… anyone.

“Ladies,” the announcer greeted them from across the fire. “You all look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Maron giggled, twirling her bottle-blue hair. Not that she had admitted to it being fake, but Bulma could fucking tell.

“No need to fear. This is just an opportunity to see how your partners are doing. Not just if they have been tempted, but if they have opened up. Grown. Allowed themselves to be vulnerable. To see if they are being shaped by this experience, as I’m sure you have all been.”

Bulma felt Chi-Chi shift next to her, though when she glanced to the side she just seemed to be straightening out her pencil dress.

“All I ask is that you remember, you are only seeing a brief moment of their time here. This is not the full story. Up first, we have Chi-Chi. Are you ready?”

“I–I think so,” she breathed out.

**

          “You keep staring,” Lapis says quietly.

          “You interest me.” He meets Lapis’ eyes and nudges the chair next to him.

          “It's easy to forget myself with all the cameras around. But over here, under the sky, I feel like I'm back home.”

          “That sounds nice.”

          Piccolo stares straight at Lapis. Warm. Fond. Curious.

          “It is.”

**

“Chi-Chi. What are your thoughts?”

She suddenly laughed, loud and brash, before she caught herself, like she was surprised at the outburst. 

“Sorry! I don’t know why I laughed. I just… is that it?”

He gave her a half-smile. “Is what it?”

“I don’t know what I expected, but that seemed fine? Like he was making a friend? God knows he needs more friends, he can be so… solitary, sometimes. I’m honestly just happy for him, really.”

“Is that so.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement, said with a knowing lift of his eyebrow. “Very well. Moving on. Maron? Are you ready?”

“Sure thing!”

The announcer looked like he was about to strain himself containing a gravity-defying eyeroll.

**

          “Why do you keep apologising?” Lazuli asks.

          “I… I really don’t know. Why are you here?”

          She shrugs off her towel. Her body is all muscle. Taut and rigid. No soft edges.

          “I'm here to meet a cute guy and fall in love!”

          Krillin laughs. Too loud. Too deep.

          “There’s that smile,” she says softly.

**

“Ok, Maron. Might be a bit to take in there. What are you thinking?”

She scoffed and shook her hand, brushing it away. “I have to second Chinny’s statement, that seemed fine. Bless him, I think he was nice enough but it could clearly never work between them.”

“Am I Chinny?” Chi-Chi asked Bulma quietly.

“You…” the announcer started, before he sighed. “What did you see there, Maron?”

She giggled. “I saw Krillin thinking he might pull some tomboy, and I saw her turning him down.”

Everyone froze. Bulma’s jaw fell open. It was clear as fucking day that Krillin and Lazuli at least found each other attractive. And the way she spoke to him… it was like he had never been spoken to so tenderly in his life. Given the way Maron was acting now, that was probably true.

“If that’s what you saw, then that’s what you saw,” he said coolly.

“What a fucking idiot,” Launch muttered under her breath, making Bulma and Chi-Chi snicker like schoolgirls.

“Now… Launch. Bulma. I believe the clips we have to show you are the same. So keeping that in mind, are you ready?

Bulma glanced over her shoulder to an equally confused Launch. “Uh, I guess so? But what do you–”

The announcer held his hand up.

“I think it’s best we show you.”

**

          There’s cheering. Screaming. Half-naked ladies standing around two chairs.

          Two chairs.

          Yamcha and Tien are strapped to those chairs.

          One lady in each lap.

          Grinding.

          Touching.

          They don’t try to push them off.

          The ladies lick sauce off their bodies.

          When the blindfolds are removed, all the men–the boys– do is smile.

**

          The makeshift dance floor is filled with ladies. In the centre, Yamcha and Mai dance. Grinding. Sweaty.

          Mai leans in.

          Yamcha leans back.

          But still they dance.

          “Do you have any pets?” he asks.

          “Two dogs.”

          “Bulma is a cat person.”

          Tien joins them. Called to the dancefloor by Mai’s finger. The three of them dance, moving in sync. Both men cling onto her hips. And look at each other. And fucking smirk.

**

The announcer threw both women a fucking sickening, pitying smile.

“I’m sure that must have been hard to watch.”

Bulma scoffed.

Launch snarled.

“We might start with you, Launch. What are your thoughts?”

She could feel her rage bubbling under her skin, sending fire through her veins.

Is this why he had brought her here?

So he could fuck around with other chicks?

She winced, a logical, familiar voice scrambling to be heard in her mind.

That’s not Tien. He’s acting different for some reason. You know him.

Her hands, her body, shook violently as she tried to make sense of it all.

“I have no thoughts,” she finally spat out. “I’m just glad he’s having fun.”

The announcer crossed his arms. “What’s going on, Launch? Hm? Talk to me.”

She snarled, this time right at him. “I’m not saying shit.”

He smiled. Knowing. Infuriating. “You don’t scare me.”

“Then we haven’t been properly acquainted.”

He chuckled and held his hands up in surrender. “Fair play. We’ll try again next time. Just remember, all I want is all your happiness.”

Happiness ain’t in the cards for me, pal.

Launch bit her tongue and gestured vaguely for them to continue.

“Which leaves Bulma. How are you doing?”

How am I doing?

For one, she was certain her palm would be bleeding when she eventually stopped digging her nails into it. She wouldn’t cry. She would not cry. Bulma Briefs had never been much of a crier before this show, and she didn’t plan on continuing the waterworks.

She straightened her spine.

Put on a brave face.

And spoke.

“I guess I should be thankful he didn’t stick his tongue down her throat.”

The announcer’s eyes narrowed slightly, raking over her. Not in a leery way. Just perceptive. Taking in every little detail.

“Has that happened before?”

She laughed dryly. “Tongue, dick. Choose your poison.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His sincerity was a fucking sucker punch to her gut. But damn it, she would not cry. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so…” she muttered bitterly.

He heard her. Of course he did.

“Do you think you deserved it?”

Bulma looked around her. The other taken women. The faceless producers behind the cameras. The cameras.

The fire.

Flames licking up into the night air, disappearing into nothing more than smoke and embers.

“No,” she answered truthfully, catching herself by surprise. “No, I didn’t.”

For the first time in years, Bulma felt a spark ignite within her chest. Some kind of self-worth she had in every other area of her life, now fanned to life in her heart. An openness–a willingness–for trust. Honesty. Love.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

She met the announcer's eyes.

“I am too.”

“Ladies, this has been a big night for you. You may head back to the villa’s for a fun night with your single men. Start thinking of who you’d like for your second dates, as you’ll be going on those in two days time. Have a great night.”

Bulma stood up quickly. She knew exactly who she wanted to ask on her second date.

Chapter Text

The villa was eerily quiet when the ladies returned. Normally there was music blasting, or men strutting about, but there was nothing. Their heels echoed on the floorboards as they stepped through the hallway.

It was just Bulma's luck that the second she wanted to find Vegeta, he was nowhere to be found.

“Where is everyone?” Chi-Chi whispered as they entered the kitchen area.

The lights were off. Only the outdoor lights around the pool cast warm lights and deep shadows through the expansive glass doors.

“I don't know,” she answered quietly, stepping a little closer to Launch.

There was a breath of silence. Waiting. She nearly grabbed Launch's wrist to ground herself.

“Maybe we sh–”

“Ladies, what took you so long?”

The chorus of shrieks that left the ladies was loud enough that birds flew away outside.

“Raditz, what the fuck?!” Bulma shouted as she tried to shove the giant shuffling past them.

“C'mon, we've got something to show you!”

He jogged outside, beckoning them to follow as he did. They begrudgingly followed him through the nearest door.

Four chairs were seated in the middle of the backyard, with all the men standing off to the side. Some wore strange outfits, others seemed to have ridiculous props.

“Um, what is this?” Chi-Chi asked, warily eyeing the long pole Goku was holding.

Raditz slid into the middle of the space and spread his arms wide.

“This… is the talent show!”

Most of the men cheered, swinging around their arms and props. Most except one. Vegeta looked every bit the sourpuss he had all day. Scowling, tense, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Where most people were dressed up, he simply wore black jeans and a tight black shirt. It was so tight she could almost make out every ridge of his abs.

Not that she was looking.

Except she was.

And when she tried to look away, she met his eyes. Dark. Fucking unreadable. He sniffed and looked away.

He seemed… upset with her. Annoyed. She couldn’t think why. Had she said something when she had been drunk the night before? She had barely even seen him! Any time she had looked, he had been outside brooding by himself. Which only pissed her off more. Firstly, because he had the audacity to ignore her; secondly, because he had found some way to be pissed off with her! What a jerk!

Raditz directed them to their seats. He seemed way too thrilled about the chance to show something off.

“Alright, it’s time for the show! Ladies, whoever you deem the winner, you get to decide for them to do something. And yes, I am offering my body up as a prize,” he waggled his brows, earning himself some eyerolls. “First up, and we’ll have a drum roll for this please, we have Goku!”

Chi-Chi chewed her bottom lip nervously. Whatever he planned to do with that damned stick was not going to be safe, she knew that.

“Hi guys!” He greeted them with that boyish grin as he stepped up to the plate, before waving wildly at Chi-Chi, the sleeve of his orange gi flapping with the action. “Hi Cheech!”

Her cheeks burned as the other men cheered, and Launch and Bulma nudged her elbows. “Hi Goku,” she muttered with a shy wave of her own.

“Right, so–my talent! I teach martial arts, and I honestly love all forms I've studied. But this…” He held the stick in his hands and gazed down upon it for a moment. Chi-Chi’s breath caught in her chest. In that caught breath, she realised she had never seen him so still. When his eyes lifted once more, they were shining red. “This was my grandfather’s bō. He taught me everything I know.”

Unwittingly, her hand found her heart. Tears sprung to her eyes. He was just so earnest about everything. It was equal parts disarming and charming.

Goku brought the bō to his side, standing straight, rigid. He bowed, then stood tall and proud.

And then he moved.

Chi-Chi had never seen anything like it. He and the bō moved as one as he performed a series of intricate movements: sweeps, thrusts, strikes. All with some captivating combination of grace and power. The gi billowed around him with each turn, but managed to catch on his chest, his abs, his muscles.

His movements increased in speed and power as he attacked and blocked imaginary foes. Soft grunts slipped from his lips, and a single bead of sweat had trickled to dangle precariously from his jaw.

Chi-Chi wanted to bite it right off him.

Wait, what?

She shook her head and shuffled in her seat. She tried focusing on the elegance of the craft he had decided to show them all, but her mind kept drifting to those little grunts, that delicious droplet of sweat, those impossibly tight muscles, how he might look naked, grunting, sweating on top of her as he–

“Chi-Chi, he’s finished,” Bulma whispered, yanking her from her reverie.

“Hm, what?”

The cheers and claps from the men started to trickle into her ears. Bulma pointed in front of them. “He’s done, look.”

Goku was bowing forward once more, eyes to the ground.

When he stood straight again, he met her heated gaze head on. First with confusion.Then some kind of realisation. He blushed, his cheeks burning a furious red, not with embarrassment but more like he was bashful, or shy. He cleared his throat and brought his free hand behind his head.

“Um, I hope you liked it?”

“Chi-Chi, fucking clap,” Bulma hissed, clapping her hands wildly in front of her to try and spur her into action.

Her hands kicked into gear, launching into a frantic applause.

“That was amazing !” she cried out.

He grinned, boyish and wide once more, before racing back to his spot (not without tripping over his own feet and stumbling, but he got there in the end).

“Next up, we have Zarbon!”

Bulma fought a seismic eyeroll as the guy glided across the grass wearing– gods, he was wearing nothing but a pair of tight green yoga pants. 

“Hello my angels,” he crooned as he slid into position. “I trust you’re all well?”

Her eyes were straining to not roll, so much she swore she was going to tear the nerves behind her eyes. She let her gaze fall to the other men to distract her, just in time to see Vegeta snarl and serve up his own eye roll. Which only pissed her off further. How dare he agree with her that Zarbon was annoying?

“Today, I will be demonstrating the ultimate feat of my yoga training. Unless, would anyone care for a tantric example?” Bile rose to Bulma’s throat. This guy really was fucking insufferable. “No? Very well. Allow me to show you–the press handstand.”

He sat on the ground and straddled his legs to the side. With how tight his pants were, and his legs that spread, Bulma could see… everything. As if he knew this (hell, he’d probably planned it this way), he met all their eyes one-by-one, before flashing them a foul wink.

He placed his hands flat on the grass between his legs, lifted said legs high in front, then rocked forward. His hips lifted off the ground and rose, higher and higher. Once his feet could clear the ground, he circled his legs wide until they met together above him in a handstand. Bulma swore he clenched his ass-cheeks a few times for good measure, before he stepped out of the handstand. His palms pressed together in front of his chest, and he bowed low before them.

“Namaste, angels.”

There were some cheers; surprisingly Raditz really enjoyed it, unsurprisingly Maron loved it.

“Up next, we have the brooding bastard himself, Vegeta!”

Bulma bristled at the sound of his name. He sauntered his stupid hot ass into the middle of the garden, holding onto a schooner of beer.

“Do I have to do this?” he barked at the producers.

“Every damn time,” the burly bald one muttered. “Yes, now stop talking to us.”

Vegeta groaned, and Bulma was incredibly proud of herself that she only slightly ogled the rise and fall of his thick, muscled shoulders as he sighed.

He glared at the ladies, though his eyes lingered a beat longer on Bulma. Enough that she felt it on her skin. That tingle of heat prickling the goosebumps that had traitorously appeared.

He then held his beer in front of him, hand cupping the bottom of the glass, and in a blink of an eye performed a back flip.

Bulma gasped and grabbed onto Chi-Chi’s arm. Her legs went woozy for a split second. 

But he was fine. More than fine. He landed on his feet, his beer completely fine save for a few droplets that splattered on the ground.

“Don’t usually spill,” he muttered, scowling down at the offensive foam.

Without a word, he went back to his spot, gulping the beer down as he slid into place.

“Well, I do think that deserves a round of applause ladies and gentlemen!” Raditz cried out, stirring everyone into a great cheer for Vegeta.

Bulma clapped. How could she not, he had done a literal backflip while holding a beer, and only spilled a few drops. But she was still pissed at him. Enough to glower at him as the next man went. To glare his way during the next terrible singing performance. To scowl as someone showed off some poor rapping skills. He rarely met her eyes, choosing to bore holes into his glass with his own glare. But occasionally he would look up. Would flick his eyes to her. And Bulma tried with all her might, but she couldn’t fight the shiver that ghosted down her spine with every fuming stare.

“Well ladies,” Raditz eventually drawled, “What a magical evening for you all. You’ve seen physical feats, daring poetry, and only one bloodied nose. It’s now that you–”

“You haven’t gone,” Launch interjected.

The grin that split Raditz’s face was pure predator. Every fang on display. Launch nearly gulped but managed to fight it. She wouldn’t let him see her weak. Any of them.

“I suppose you’re right.” He strolled into the middle of the space, tapping his finger against his chin. “Golly gosh, I wish I had prepared something here.”

Launch noticed the snap buttons about three seconds before Raditz tore away his ill-fitting suit to reveal a tiny pair of hot pink Speedos.

Chi-Chi shrieked and covered her eyes. Bulma and Launch immediately started cackling, clinging onto each other for dear life as Raditz galloped over to them, his junk bouncing around with each movement.

“Now ladies you may look, but… oh who am I kidding, puh- lease touch,” was the only warning any of them got before he was standing over Chi-Chi and grinding his hips, right in front of her face. 

“Go to someone else before I snip that clean off, mister!” Chi-Chi bellowed, her face glowing crimson beneath her pale hands.

“Not a happy customer, that’s alright. Onto the next one.” 

He locked eyes with Bulma, who beckoned him with her finger. He straddled her, facing out to the crowd, and shook his hips right in front of her face. She practically screamed with laughter as she spanked his ass a few times, each one earning her a delighted squeal from Raditz.

And then he met Launch’s eyes with a challenge. She smirked. She had never been one to back down from a challenge. She spread her legs and beckoned him with both hands. That predatory grin cracked wonderfully across his lips. He left a pouting Bulma and straddled Launch’s legs facing her. He was a big guy, but something about that weight made Launch want to rise up to the challenge even more. She planted one hand on either of his ridiculously thick thighs, looked up at him, and quirked her eyebrow. Another challenge.

Raditz chuckled, deep and throaty, before he began to roll his hips in her lap. His hands found the back of her neck, and his thumbs stroked gently across her jaw. She refused to remove her eyes from his own. Even as his barely-clothed cock brushed against her pants. As his forehead pressed to hers. His breath exhaled hot over her lips.

“You like danger, darlin’?” he whispered, ghosting his lips along her jaw.

It was Launch’s turn to chuckle. She ran her hands higher up his thighs, over those taut muscles that twitched and throbbed with each movement, until her thumbs brushed the fabric of his Speedos. “I am danger, darlin’,” she whispered right back, letting her tongue flick over his earlobe.

“Hey, it’s my turn!” some whiny little cunt cried out from beside them.

“Another time,” he muttered against her cheek, before he left her for the last chick–Maron, or some shit.

Launch gripped tight onto her pants legs, anything to ground her, settle her from the waves of pleasure and rage coursing through her.

“Holy shit,” Bulma whispered, smacking her on the arm with the back of her hand. “That was really fucking hot, Launch.”

“It was nothing.” She snarled and crossed her arms. “It meant nothing.”

Despite her words, she snuck a glance to the side. Raditz was straddling Maron. More hovering, really. Trying to protect her frail form from his much greater weight. Weak bitch. He was rolling his hips, cradling her face, as he had done to her.

Except his tongue was down her throat. As Maron’s was down his.

The men all cheered, and when one cried out, “Yeah, get it Raditz!” he laughed and finally broke away from sucking off her face to stand up.

“Well, well, who do we think is the winner everyone?!” he shouted, presenting himself like he was a fucking gladiator.

“You are!” Maron giggled. She leapt onto his back, and purred in his ear, “And for my prize, I would like to return the favour .”

Raditz howled and carried her on his back into the villa.

Bulma cleared her throat. “Um, I guess that’s the talent show over?”

There were a few titters as the men started to split up. Goku raced over to Chi-Chi, barely avoiding tripping over again.

“Cheech! Hey! What did you think?”

She bit her lip, and tried so hard not to smile as wide as she wanted to. “It was… Honestly, it was just beautiful, Goku. Really.”

He sighed with relief. “Yes, I’m glad you liked it! I wasn’t sure if it was too sappy or–”

“Goku, it was real. And…” Chi-Chi peered up into Goku’s warm eyes. Something about him made her feel so alive. Honest. Exposed. Maybe because he was all those things. Willing to embarrass himself, expose his grief. To be real. Without thinking, she reached her hand out to his free one and linked their fingers together. “I’d love to hear more about your grandpa some time.”

The smile that blossomed across his lips lit the whole garden up. “How about now? Can I get you a drink?” He offered his elbow for her to take. She snaked her arm to hook around his, and let herself be led inside, giggling as he murmured, “Also I’m starving after that workout.”

Bulma allowed herself a small smile at the sight of Chi-Chi and Goku. She wasn’t totally sure what Chi-Chi’s real relationship was like, but she could see how happy Goku made her. And that had to mean something. Her heart dipped at the thought–the realisation that she wasn’t happy. That she hadn’t been for some time. That Yamcha was…

She straightened her spine. Fuck this. Yamcha was dead to her. She had bigger fish to fry. Or smaller. Vegeta slinked around the outskirts of the pool, pointedly avoiding her eyes.

“Not on my watch,” she said under her breath before storming over to him. “Oi, homeboy!”

He froze, tension immediately cementing him in place. “What?”

“Well that’s a rude response,” she huffed, crossing her arms under her chest.

“And?” he barely gritted out. “The fuck does it matter to you?”

Music began to blast from the speakers outside as some of the guys started a drinking game on the patio.

The bass began to vibrate the earth beneath them.

Vegeta’s jaw clicked. Loud enough Bulma heard it.

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding when you said you were an asshole.”

A vicious sneer formed on his lips. He finally met her eyes, green on blue. “And here I thought you were intelligent.”

Bulma racked her mind for what she could have done to piss him off so much. Aside from getting drunk with Zarbon and being taken to bed by Raditz–

“Oh my god, are you jealous ?” she cried out.

He flinched and threw her a furious glare. “Don’t be absurd, I-I’m not j–”

“You totally are,” she shoved at his chest with her hand, and holy shit he was fucking jacked. “And instead of talking to me about it, you’ve decided to be a stone cold prick.”

He stepped close. Achingly close. Nose brushing over hers. Black twinkling eyes boring dangerously into her own. If they had been strangers in a bar and he had done this, she would have dragged his ass to the bathroom and ridden him until they were both screaming their pleasure into each other’s skin.

But they were not strangers.

And there was a camera right fucking next to them.

One they both realised concurrently had been capturing this moment with absolute glee.

Bulma wasn’t going to ride him.

But she was going to fuck with him.

She tilted her head. Just enough that her hair flowed freely behind her. That her neck lay bare. She softened her gaze and licked her lower lip. His eye twitched, but didn’t follow the movement. It looked like it fucking killed him not to. She lifted her hand and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, before going for the kill shot. Her hands reached behind her back and clung onto each other. She sighed and stuck her chest out, her breasts straining against her satin dress. The cool fabric pressed against her nipples, awakening them to nearly poke through.

His eye twitched again.

His jaw clicked again.

For a second she thought he might cave in. But this was one stubborn asshole.

“Not jealous, hm?” she whispered, letting her eyes drift to his lips and back up again.

“Not one fucking bit,” he snarled.

She chuckled darkly. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I go ask Zarbon on a second date, would you?”

He snorted. “Go right ahead. I’m sure you could show him exactly where to stick his fucking chakras.”

It looked like she might falter under the weight of actually having to ask Zarbon. She narrowed her eyes, like she was waiting for him to break. Like fucking hell he would. She could go on her precious date with that sanctimonious bastard and see just how slim the pickings were here.

She huffed, then turned on her heel and stormed right up to the party.

Vegeta felt his hand tense around the empty glass he was still holding.

She tapped Zarbon’s shoulder. The smile he gave her once he realised it was her was fucking sickening. A greedy sneer of victory. Vegeta’s hand tensed further. His other one curled into a fist.

She stroked her hand up his arm, then leaned in and whispered something in his ear. The soft fabric of her black dress brushed against his elbow. Vegeta couldn’t fight the snarl that formed on his lips. The rapid beat of his heart in his chest.

Not that he was jealous.

He wasn’t.

That fucker just didn’t deserve her breathing the same air as him, let alone touching him like that.

He breathed in shakily, and exhaled just as broken.

He almost missed Launch trudging over to him with two bottles of beer in her hand. She silently handed one to him. He dropped his empty glass to the grass and snatched it out of her hands.

They watched as Zarbon whispered something back to Bulma. She giggled, though the humour didn’t reach her eyes. He held out his hand, an offer to dance. She took it, and together they began to gently grind to the voiceless beats, nothing too sexual but enough that Vegeta had half a mind to cut Zarbon’s ponytail off in his sleep.

Eventually, Launch spoke. Abrupt. To the point.

“Want to go on a date?”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

She immediately walked inside, away from the other men, away from Goku and Chi-Chi in the kitchen, away from the sofa where Maron was currently giving Raditz a hard-working but terrible lap dance.

Vegeta took a large swig of his beer. He wiped away the dregs with the back of his hand and took a step towards the villa.

The camera followed. 

He glared at it, then at the producer behind it.

“Are you fucking happy?”

The producer just laughed. “Buddy, we’re fucking ecstatic.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and stormed inside for some rare peace and quiet, ignoring the burning stare from Bulma as he did.

—

The lap dance from Maron was… fine. It was fine! She was hot and was giving it her all, which was honestly the most Raditz could ask from her. It wasn’t her fault he had plenty of experience receiving lap dances. And giving them. He was an expert! So while this lap dance was just fine, he had a feeling he could put those hips to better use. Something told him Maron was game (aside from the lap dance).

“Hey, sweetie,” he purred into her ear. “How’s about you let me take you upstairs for a private show?”

She gasped, before grinning Cheshire-cat-wide. “Lead the way, sir.”

The growl that left his chest was pure feral. He swiftly picked her up and threw her giggling over his shoulder. He gave her a playful smack on her rump then strutted out of the living room with his prize. The hallway was empty, though he nearly barrelled into Vegeta leaving the Confessional halfway down.

“Watch it–is that Maron ?”

“Hey tiger,” she giggled, then she pretended to growl and scratch her hands like tiger’s paws.

“Keep this energy up, sweetie.” Raditz smacked her ass again then raced them both upstairs.

She pointed out her room, and he practically kicked down the door to storm in and throw her on the bed.

“You’re so strong!”

“What, these?” He flexed his biceps, his abs, preening under her compliment. There was an unmistakable heat in her eyes as her laughter died down. This was his chance. “You know, it’s a little unfair that I’m here in nothing but my undies and you’re still fully clothed.”

Her eyes widened. For a split second he thought he had fucked it. 

Until she smiled and ran her tongue over her teeth.

“Take those off and I’ll take mine off.”

He chuckled as he hooked his thumbs into the band of his Speedos.. 

Fuck yes.

In one smooth action he tugged them off and stood proud before her. His cock had been hard from the moment he… the moment he straddled Launch. Grinding himself against her lap. Watching the fire in her eyes burn brighter than he’d ever seen. Meeting his chaos with her own. The goosebump that danced along her skin as he whispered against her jaw. The husk of her voice, the glide of her tongue, as she purred against his ear.

His chest ached for a moment.

A pang of something tugging at his heart.

He couldn’t place it.

He didn’t want to place it.

Maron’s high-pitched giggle brought him out of his wandering thoughts.

She had slid back up the bed, had pulled back the sheets.

And she was naked.

Fuck, her body was impossible.

Such a slender waist, curvy hips, fucking insane tits. He nearly drooled straight from his mouth to the ground.

He growled, smirked, then dived straight under the covers to wrap his lips around one of her dusty pink nipples, his hand immediately kneading the other. Even with his giant hand, her tit spilled out the sides of his grasp. He groaned and flicked his tongue quickly over her nipple, making her squeal and writhe underneath him.

He released his lips with a wet pop and shook his head side to side between her tits.

“Sweetie, unless you want your boyfriend seeing what I’m about to do to you, you’re going to have to keep your legs still.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “O-Okay.”

“Good girl,” he grinned, making her shiver beneath him. “Now let me take care of you.”

She nodded again. Her eyes widened as he started to kiss down her chest, taking care to lick and flick and nibble her nipples, before he moved lower and lower to her sweet cunt.

A shame, he thought to himself. She’s clean shaven.

Regardless of his preferences, he didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into her waters, licking and lapping at her lips, her clit, her hole, anywhere he could. She gasped, squealed, tried her hardest not to writhe and kick the sheets off him. Once she was panting, “P-please, please,” he gifted her two of his thick fingers curled deep within her fluttering hole.

“O-oh my g- god,” she whimpered, trying to grind her hips faster, but he held her down in place. After all, he did have a modicum of morals. The last thing a guy wanted to see was his chick getting eaten out by an Adonis such as himself.

“I th-think I’m ab-o-o-o-out to-o-o-o-o cu–” 

Her words faded into a squeal so high-pitched that only dogs could have heard it. She came hard, pulsing all over his lips and chin.

When it hit his tongue, he paused. It tasted… different. Not bad. Just… wrong. He swallowed and pulled himself away.

Why did it taste wrong?

And what would taste right?

His tastebuds remembered. Reminded him of a scent so sweet, so light, that he had simply had to lick it straight off her fingers. Off Launch.

Launch is what tasted right.

Raditz looked down to his cock, which normally he jacked when going down on someone. Somehow he had forgotten about it.

It sat flaccid, dangling between his legs.

Chapter Text

Krillin sat cross-legged on the floor at the end of his bed, hands lightly resting on his knees. 

Eyes closed.

Breathing through his lips.

Slow.

Precise.

Inhale four counts.

Hold seven.

Release for eight.

Inhale.

Hold.

Release.

Inhale.

“That's a yellow card, and you know it!”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to the open slatted balcony doors, voices pooling in along with the soft morning sunlight.

“Keep up, Lapis. Don’t make it easy on me.”

His ears perked up at that. At her voice. So confident and assured. 

His legs moved ahead of his mind, pulling himself from the floorboards to move onto the balcony. 

Looking out across the lush villa property, the jungle that surrounded them, with sea salt dancing on the breeze, Krillin could almost find a moment of peace. One he had been searching for by meditating. But he had been distracted.

By them.

Below him, on the crisp green grass, Lazuli and Lapis were training. Passing a soccer ball between them, before one would launch and try to slip past for a goal. Krillin rested his elbows on the marble railing and watched carefully as Lazuli’s feet moved with grace, tapping the ball side to side, before she struck. Throwing her body on the line, she barged into Lapis, while simultaneously dribbling the ball through their feet. She darted to the side and tapped the ball towards where their makeshift goal was.

There was no cheering. No more words. They both met each other’s mirrored eyes and nodded once. Lapis fetched the ball, while Lazuli stretched her arm across her body, lightly tilting her head side to side.

Without the ball to focus on, Krillin’s eyes absorbed the rest of the information below him.

The rest of her.

Lazuli wore a pair of short black shorts, and an almost obscenely small black bikini top. Triangles of shimmering fabric that barely contained her breasts. Barely.

He gulped, the heat of what promised to be a very hot day already coaxing sweat from his pores.

Or the sight before him.

He wasn’t sure.

And then she turned. And looked up.

He knew he should look away. Probably.

But then she bit her bottom lip. The corner of her mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile.

She waved, a tiny roll of her fingers.

And Krillin simply could not look away.

—

Bulma hadn’t been up this early since they had arrived on the island. Or really, ever. But after getting an early night (mostly to evade Zarbon’s prying questions and wandering eyes), she found herself waking up with the sunrise. Rested. Comfortable.

Sunlight peeked through the cream curtains, painting the room in sparkling light gold.

Bulma sat up and stretched her limbs, relishing in the satisfying pop of some joints previously undiscovered in her body.

The only thing that could make the morning better would be coffee.

Dragging herself from her bed, she wrapped herself in a short satin nightrobe, lilac in colour and adorned in delicate petals of various hues of pinks and purples. She twisted her hair into a loose top knot and made her way downstairs.

After making herself a latte with two sugary syrups she found stashed in the back of the pantry, she decided to head out onto the patio for a moment to herself, before the other women got up or the men came to try and curry favour with her.

She just wanted one fucking moment to herself in this gorgeous villa.

“Bulma, hey!”

One foot onto the patio and her plans were ruined.

“Hi Goku,” she grimaced, offering him a single wave.

He wasn’t alone. Chi-Chi was up and doing a workout with him on the grass, both sweaty and flushed in their activewear.

Not too bad, she thought. Could be worse people to ruin my morning. Like–

Just past the two lovebirds (friendbirds?) was Vegeta. He seemed to be doing his own workout–less bodyweight exercises, more weights.

And…

Fuck.

The bastard was wearing nothing but a navy singlet, tight black shorts, and a pair of classic Converse.

She knew he was ripped. Between the arms that always threatened to burst out of his shirts, and the impossibly tiny waist, he had to be packing some serious muscles. But damn it was a sight seeing those arms and shoulders glistening in the sun.

Scratch everything she had said about spending time by herself.

She was going to have a side of peaches with her coffee.

Bulma strode over to a lawnchair near Vegeta, angled it to face him, and sat herself right down to enjoy the view.

He had just racked up a barbell with an obscene amount of weight when he spotted her. He took out an earbud, but didn’t say anything. Just scowled and raised his eyebrow.

“What are you listening to?” she asked, all honeyed innocence, even as her eyes drifted to ogle the lines of sweat that had pooled under his pecs, darkening the fabric of his singlet.

“Music.”

“Hm?” she hummed through a sip of coffee, now eyeing the noticeable bulge in those ridiculously tight shorts.

Vegeta scoffed. “I’m listening to music.”

“That’s nice,” she sighed.

“Are you always so obscene?”

She chuckled and finally met his eyes again. “I’m afraid so. Though you can’t blame me, you’re practically dressed like one of those sexy firefighter calendars, sans overalls. Which I’m very happy about, by the way.” To hit her point home, she threw him a wink.

A deep blush dusted across his cheeks. He muttered something about “Vulgar women,” before he popped the earbud back in.

Bulma thought that would be it. She would watch him pump out a few reps, enjoy her coffee, then go shower and prepare for the day.

Then Vegeta threw her a curveball. A big one.

He wasn’t looking her way, which was incredibly difficult given he was right in front of her. But he seemed to be weighing something up. Struggling with a decision. After a moment, he huffed out a quick breath through his lips.

And took his singlet off.

Quick. Like he had made the decision and knew if he didn’t do it in three seconds then he would bail.

Bulma had picked the worst time to take a sip of her coffee. The sight of his insanely ripped chest and abs (were twelve-packs even possible?!) made the coffee go down wrong, sending her into a coughing fit.

The bastard then had the gall to smirk.

He had been trying to find a weak point of hers.

Some way to make her as rattled as he was.

Bulma took another sip of sugarsweet coffee to wash down the cough.

Then leaned back in her chair.

Crossed her legs until the robe slid up her thighs. High enough to expose the apple of her asscheeks, just poking out of her pajama shorts.

He had already picked up the barbell, holding it just under his chin.

He squatted. Deep. Then stood.

His eyes drifted. First to her face.

Then lower. Lower. Until they reached her sneaky show.

His eyes snapped back to hers, widening as he realised he had been caught checking her out.

Bulma chuckled and threw back the last of her coffee.

This was shaping up to be a damn fine morning.

—

Bulma spent most of the afternoon getting ready for the masquerade party that night. It seemed a bit ridiculous to aim for anonymity when they had all been living together for a few days, but it was a good chance to indulge in a little fantasy and wear a cute outfit. She had opted for a midnight blue dress; tight, with wires lifting her tits to high heavens, short enough that she could barely move without flashing someone, heels that would lengthen her already unstable gangly legs. Her mask had been custom made to match her dress, adorned with silver appliques and crystals.

It was perfect.

She looked ready to kill.

She held the mask dangling from one finger and gave her curls one last rustle and stretch, before carefully making her way downstairs.

She expected to be met with the party in full swing.

Instead, everyone was in the living room, production cameras at the ready. The ladies must have been directed to the couch with the men standing behind them. She quickly (or, as quick as she could in those heels) reached Chi-Chi and nestled into the couch next to her.

“Am I missing something?” she whispered to Chi-Chi, who just shrugged.

“We were just told to get into position as we came downstairs. I think they’re announcing something.”

Bulma crossed her legs and shook her dangling foot.

What could they possibly be announcing? What fresh hell would be wrought upon her now?

The back of her neck tingled with the familiar touch of eyes on her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Vegeta was down the other end of the couch behind Launch. His eyes pierced through her. A dark smoulder that hit her square in the chest, burning it bright red. His lips parted, just slightly. Enough she could see his tongue. The way it ran from one incisor to the other. 

The way she wanted it to run from her collarbone to her earlobe.

She quickly snapped her gaze forward, away from his impossible heat.

It was a blessing that the announcer chose that moment to saunter into the room in his cherry-red suit.

“Good evening everyone! It looks like we’re gearing up for a splendid party?” A few guys cheered in response. It was no surprise that Raditz was the loudest. “I’m glad to see it! Well, I won’t keep you too long, but I do come bearing some… news.”

Chi-Chi’s hand found Bulma’s immediately. Viciously. She dug her nails in so tight that Bulma winced and readjusted them so they were holding hands with their fingers interlocked.

“You may have noticed a new light in the living room. If not, you can see it’s just over there.”

Their eyes all followed his gesture to the side. Standing on a white pillar in the middle of the room was the light. A dome on top of the pillar. It stood foreboding. Bulma felt Chi-Chi shudder beside her.

“From this night onwards, when one of the men in the other villa gives into temptation, this light will switch on.”

Chi-Chi’s hand dug into Bulma’s even harder.

“This light, and the ones we have installed in every room of the house.”

Chi-Chi gasped.

“So you’ll know, if this light switches on like this…” The room was suddenly plunged into a menacing red light. “That someone over there has given into temptation.”

Chi-Chi fainted.

—

It had taken Goku’s hand cupping her cheeks and Bulma fanning her face for Chi-Chi to wake up. After Bulma had explained that yes, it was in fact real, and yes, the other villa had a light alerting the men if they gave in, the party eventually kicked off.

Though it still seemed silly to don a mask when everyone had just seen each other, Bulma had never been one to shy away from a costumed event. So she slid it over her eyes and attempted mingling. She tried talking to a few other guys she hadn’t really spoken to yet but they were all a blur of nameless, faceless men that the author refuses to flesh out.

Eventually the party indoors got too hot and stifling, especially with Maron and Raditz dancing ( dry humping ) in the corner.

She poured herself a glass of water from the kitchen and stepped outside. Some of the guys had turned the patio into a makeshift dancefloor. If you could call what they were doing dancing. It looked to be more of a moshpit than anything, with Goku at the centre of it, bouncing around like the hyperactive puppy he was.

Chi-Chi stood on the sidelines, one hand over her crimson mask that seemed to match her burning cheeks beneath.

“Not going to join him?” Bulma teased as she slid up beside her.

“I don’t particularly want an elbow to the face, no.”

“Aw, give him some credit.” The look Chi-Chi threw her almost made her shudder, and that was saying something. “Okay I see your point.”

“Cheech!” Goku cried out from the middle of the pit, his grin brighter than the stars above. “Get in here!”

“I’m not getting in there with you if you’re dancing like that, Goku!” she barked back, though Bulma could see the twitch of a smile fighting to break through.

She let the moment rest before she spoke.

“He really likes you, you know,” she said quietly over the rim of her plastic cup.

Chi-Chi sighed, her hand sliding down to her heart. She sighed, letting the breath completely exhale before murmuring, “I know.”

She waited for Chi-Chi to continue, but after a few minutes of tense silence from her, Bulma left to entertain herself elsewhere. The pool looked like the perfect spot to rest her aching feet. She bent over and slipped her heels off, groaning with relief as her feet stepped onto the soothing cool grass.

“He's going to try and kiss you.”

Bulma stood up so fast her lower back twinged with the action. She waited for Vegeta to step in front of her, but of course the stubborn bastard was going to make her turn and acknowledge the comment.

And damn it, she was going to turn and acknowledge it.

“C’mon, he won’t. It's our first date, and I hardly know the guy.”

Vegeta had at least made a slight effort for this costume party. His trademark black jeans and boots, a deep navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up that really didn’t need that many buttons undone, his chest nearly entirely exposed. A sleek, black mask covered the top half of his face. Plain, but elegant. It matched the darkness of his eyes. Of him.

“Still,” he shrugged and crossed his arms. “He'll try.”

She scoffed and mirrored his stance, her heels dangling from her fingers. “And how do you know?”

“Because he's a guy.” He stepped a little closer. “An asshole guy, at that.” Stepped closer again.

So close.

Their arms nearly brushed. She could see that same fire in his eyes again. That same heat that made her knees weak and her head rush. That set off warning bells. Alarms. Every SOS, beacon for help under the sun.

“And?” she said quietly.

A vicious sneer graced his lips. “Wow, you really are naive.”

She tried to shove his shoulder to force him back. “Fuck you, I'm not nai–’

“How long have you been in a relationship?”

The sudden question threw her for a loop. She wasn’t sure why. People asked her that all the time when she first met them and told them about Yamcha. But for some reason, she hadn’t been expecting it. 

Although, she really did know the reason.

It was standing before her now.

Her arms shifted from being crossed to wrapping around her. Protective. Guarded.

Shame began to bubble under her skin. Or embarrassment. Which felt different.

“Fifteen years.” On and off.

“Fifteen years? ” he scoffed in disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing on this show then?”

“As if I'm telling you!”

He was still so fucking close. Invading every single sense he could. His scent; oaky cologne, full-bodied whisky, and something so totally him. His eyes that blended into the mask sitting upon his high cheekbones. His touch, exposed forearms that brushed against her own, sending quivers of goosebumps along her skin.

His voice as he spoke. Somehow smooth honey and coarse sandpaper, gliding through her and tearing her apart.

“Your guy is a fucking moron for not locking you down.”

Oxygen refused to reach her lungs. It took everything in her to whisper her response.

“What?”

He huffed a breath through his nostrils. Bulma swore she heard a growl from deep within his chest. He lifted his hand. She tracked the movement, the way his hand twitched and shook as it feathered over the side of her mask.

“You’re naive, because you don’t understand how awful men are these days. They take, and use, and destroy. Whatever they want.”

Bulma’s knees went weak. She nearly fainted like Chi-Chi, but forced herself to stay conscious. Present. The heat emanating from his hand, so close to her cheek, beckoned her to tether herself to him. She tilted her head and nuzzled her cheek to his hand. She heard his breath hitch, but he didn’t move. Just traced his thumb over the apple of her cheek.

“Are all men like this?” she whispered, her lips brushing over his palm as she spoke.

He sneered again, though it seemed less controlled than before. Less vicious. Another mask.

“Yes. Every single one.”

A whimper escaped her lips.

“And you? What do you want?”

To take?

Use?

Destroy?

“You know what.”

His thumb found her bottom lip and dragged along it, staining her chin with her plum lipstick.

“Say it,” she challenged, brushing his nose with her own.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her in place. His lips ghosted across her own, enough to tell her his desires but to leave the final leap in her hands.

After all, she was the one to be tempted.

Fear iced its way to her heart as the world came into focus around Vegeta.

This was exactly what she was supposed to avoid. Hell, even Yamcha hadn’t kissed someone yet! How was she about to cave in first? And the light would switch on in their villa, so they would know someone had cheated!

Vegeta seemed to sense her hesitation. Something flitted across his eyes. Unreadable. But the flames in the darkness were extinguished in a single breath.

Wordlessly, he released her from his tempting embrace and stormed toward the villa. Just before he reached the patio, he ripped the mask off and threw it into some nearby bushes.

—

Bed had never felt so good after the shitshow that was tonight. Freshly showered and in her coziest pajamas, Bulma curled up under the sheets in the darkness and shut her eyes.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

She had wanted to kiss Vegeta. Badly. And he seemed to want to kiss her too. Fuck, this was such a mess. She was glad she had asked Zarbon on the date tomorrow. At least she could keep him in line if he got too handsy. But she wanted Vegeta to get handsy. To take her, use her, destroy her.

And if that meant–

Bulma’s eyes shot open.

The red light was on. A sick blast of evil light from the corner of the room.

Someone in the other villa had been tempted.

—

Vegeta was just about to leave the Confessional when the light switched on. Burning red that flooded the entire villa.

He scoffed, and turned back to the camera in the room.

“What did I say? A fucking moron.”

He stormed down the hallway to the bathroom to have a shower, and scrub away all thoughts of midnight blue and the softest lips he had ever seen.

Chapter Text

The ocean shimmered with the bright midday sun dancing on every ripple and gentle wave. Bright blue and dazzling gold as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful.

But…

Not as beautiful as her.

Not as beautiful as Lazuli.

He cursed himself every time he had one of these stray thoughts. He was here for his love–for Maron. Not to hit it off with another woman. One that wouldn't even give him the time of day if cameras weren't on them.

But then, was Lazuli really like that? She seemed indifferent to the exposure the cameras provided. She wasn't thirsting after their attention–in fact, she mostly seemed to avoid them at all costs.

If she wasn't in it for the cameras, and obviously was not into him, then why spend time with him?

He knew he should just be grateful he had an ally in all this. A friend. That's probably what they were now. Last night during the pajama party, some of them had played truth or dare. He had stuck to the sidelines with Laz, making quiet judgmental comments to each other over the rims of their glasses. At one point he made her snort her wine through her nostrils. Warmth had bloomed through his chest at the sight. At her sweet laughter. Full. Real.

A damn good friend.

Especially now by his side as they straddled their own jet-ski’s near the shore, the instructors performing their final checks.

Straddling her jet-ski.

In that damn black bikini.

“You ever done this before?” she asked as she buckled her life vest in place.

“Never, though I’ve always wanted to.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I–”

“Let me guess, Maron doesn’t like them?”

He huffed a laugh, even as embarrassment spiked up his spine.

“It’s worse than that,” he muttered, half-hoping she wouldn’t hear it. But of course, she did, and she wasn’t going anywhere until he explained himself. “She… doesn’t like when I go swimming. When I…”

He lolled his head back, willing the sun to come down and swallow him whole.

“When you…” she prompted when he hadn’t spoken for a few moments.

“When I’m shirtless outside.” He winced and peeked one eye open, bracing himself for mockery, or pity.

There was none of that.

Just something he had never seen in her eyes before.

Rage.

Terrifying.

Powerful.

“Krillin, believe me when I say this,” she said quietly, though there was a noticeable tremor in her voice. “You are beautiful.”

Lazuli wasn’t the type to say that and move on. Not at all. No, she was too sharp for that. Too calculating. She knew she had said something powerful, unbelievable, and wanted to see the devastation of her compliment.

Because it was devastating.

She hadn’t said hot. Or cute.

Beautiful.

As the molten sun above.

The endless ocean beneath them.

As her.

Tears prickled his eyes. Unbidden and relentless. When they broke the banks, streaming hot down his cheeks, she didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just stared and waited.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” he huffed after a moment, roughly palming the tears.

She smiled. Soft. Warm. “Looks like you’ve needed to for a while.”

“Guess so,” he laughed. “Geez, I’m s–”

“Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Right… Ok, I won’t apologise. But I will race you to those buoys over there.”

The grin that formed on her lips was straight up predatory. “Only if you're prepared to lose.”

“Should we wait for those two?”

They both glanced over their shoulders. Tien and Suno were on their own jetskis, silently clipping their life vests on. Suno muttered something, dipping her head to catch Tien’s focused gaze. He didn't turn her way. Just stared out across the open ocean. Eerily still.

Krillin realised too late that Lazuli had revved her engine to life. A spray of water washed over him as she shouted over her shoulder.

“See you at the finish line!”

He ran a hand over his face to wipe away the spray, and laughed. Laughed in a way only she seemed to make him.

“Hey, that's cheating!” he cried out in mock outrage, kicking the jetski into gear to chase the sun.

—

Goku had never really understood what coming home meant. Ever since his grandfather’s passing, he had become somewhat of a lost soul, travelling from town to town up and down the West Coast to work in whatever dojo would have him. He’d soak up everything he could learn from the masters and students, anything to improve his craft and pass on his own knowledge, before catching the train to the next town. Always after something more. Some undefined thing that might fill the gaping chasm left by Grandpa Gohan’s death.

He had always known home could be a person.

Grandpa Gohan was home.

And now, though it was possibly too soon to tell, Chi-Chi was beginning to feel like home too.

In her smile, bright and infectious.

In her voice when she chastised him for missing a step when they cooked together, or forgetting to clean up behind him.

In the warm press of her palm to his. Fingers intertwined. Arms brushing against each other.

It was too soon to tell for most.

But Goku was certain he had found home once more.

“Are you ready?” she asked him, gesturing to the horses in front of them. Chestnut mares that were saddled up and ready to lead them down a trail through the meadow.

“As I’ll ever be,” he chuckled lightly. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

“Just be confident, but gentle.” She slowly approached the nearest mare from the side, and lifted her hand for her to sniff. After a few huffs of her large nostrils, Chi-Chi stroked her hand softly along the snout. “Horses want to be respected. Probably more so than humans.”

A flood of affection surged through him. Emotions he didn’t have the vocabulary for fought to be heard. He liked Chi-Chi. He really really liked her. That much he knew. And he wanted her to know that too.

“Chi-Chi?”

“Hm?”

She tilted her head to face him. Her smooth ebony hair cascaded around her face, framing her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. She eyed him curiously, pinching her brows together in a way that made him want to kiss every little fold and wrinkle that appeared.

That made him want to kiss her.

Goku gulped.

His hands began to shake by his side. Was he… nervous? Scared? Whatever it was, the feeling was entirely new. Terrifying. Which made him tremble more.

“Goku?” she said a little softer, inching towards him. “It’s ok if you’re scared of riding the horse. I’ll be by your side, we can take it slow and–”

“W-what?!” he half-yelped. “No way, I’m not scared of the horse! No I j-just–let’s just go. Do you need a boost?”

She looked like she didn’t quite believe him, but seemed to shrug it off thank god. Instead, Goku saw something he had never seen on Chi-Chi.

She smirked. Not just with confidence. With arrogance.

“No thanks.”

In one sweeping, graceful movement, Chi-Chi stepped her foot into a stirrup and pulled herself up until she was straddling the horse. Goku’s mouth went completely dry. Her arms, though thin, were packing some serious strength. The vision of her biceps bulging beneath her singlet top as she pulled her body weight off the ground was branded behind his eyelids. She was a damn vision.

“Goku, you getting up?”

He gulped.

“Y-yes,” he answered honestly, praying that if he stood perfectly still she might not notice.

“A little help, please?!” a shrill voice roared from behind them.

Zarbon was already atop his white steed, peering down at an increasingly frustrated Bulma. She was red in the face, one foot stuck awkwardly in a stirrup, while she clung onto the saddle, hopping on the spot to save herself from falling.

“Um, I might just go help her.”

He quickly raced over to Bulma, who looked two seconds away from accidentally knocking the black horse into galloping away.

“Easy, easy.” He wrapped his hand around her waist to steady her, then angled her foot until it was in the stirrup correctly. “There you go, easy.”

“I’m not a damn horse,” she snapped.

“No, but you look like you might kick as hard as one.”

She rolled her eyes and whined, “Just push me up already!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was awkward, but he managed to boost her up until she was half-straddling, half-clinging to the horse for dear life.

“Finally,” Zarbon groaned under his breath, before prompting his horse to trot forward along the path. Bulma tentatively followed suit, whimpering as they went.

Goku jogged back to Chi-Chi and gracefully climbed onto his horse.

“Sorry about that, are you r–”

The words caught in his throat. Chi-Chi was staring at him. Wide eyes impossibly wider. Something burning amongst the darkness. An unknown heat. One that scorched straight through him. Her eyes flickered between his own. He couldn’t look away.

And then they shifted. Barely glancing to his lips. But it was enough to send a shiver down his spine. To make him feel something he wasn’t even sure he could feel until he met Chi-Chi.

“That was a really nice thing to do, Goku,” she said quiet, breathless, daring a longer glance to his lips. The attention made him subconsciously wet them. Which made her bite her lip. Which made him nearly faint from all the blood rushing south.

Ahead of them, he heard a squeal, then the sound of someone falling off their horse.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes from her.

“Th-thanks.”

She swallowed. He tracked the movement of her throat carefully, even as heat blossomed across his cheeks.

“We should ride.”

“Yeah, we should.”

Chi-Chi finally broke the charged air between them, lightly tapping her heel against the horse to spur it into a trot.

Goku let her go ahead for a few seconds. Just to watch her a little longer. The exposed, fair skin of her neck, her shoulders, tinged rose under the midday sun. The curve of her waist, hugged by her singlet that revealed more than it covered. Her hips that seemed to barely fit in her denim shorts. Creamy, muscled thighs that clung to the saddle just enough to stay stable. Her midnight hair, barely lightened by the sun.

He spurred his horse into action and followed Chi-Chi down the trail.

—

Lapis had never seen something so ridiculous in their life. The “date” that Piccolo had barely even asked them on, was some double date with the two most fucking annoying people in that damn villa. The producers had decided that a perfect opportunity for “romance” was to meet dolphins. Lapis liked dolphins, as they liked all creatures. But they liked dolphins in the ocean, where they belonged. Not trapped in a glorified bathtub at some seapark to be paraded for humanity on a whim.

Still, Gero’s voice echoed harshly in the back of their mind whenever they thought about fighting back on things.

Think of the sponsorship money.

Don’t cause a scene.

Don’t be combative.

Don’t be you.

He didn’t say the last one, but Lapis could read through the lines.

So now they were trapped in this kiddie pool, next to the ever-stoic, ever-confusing Piccolo, while Yamcha and Mai were on the other side flirting it up like they were in a VIP booth at a club rather than wearing a fucking neon orange life vest in a dungeon for dolphins.

Piccolo grumbled something under his breath beside them. Lapis considered pressing him to say more, but couldn’t be bothered. It was clear these shenanigans were as much a drag for Piccolo as it was for them. The last thing they would want if they were in Piccolo’s shoes was to make fucking small talk.

On sickening cue, two dolphin handlers whistled, and the creatures swam up to them.

Lapis snarled up at them, before turning their attention to the majestic bottlenose dolphin that now floated in front of them. They leaned down and stared into one of the beady eyes. Dark. Hollow. They almost laughed. It was strange to see their life reflected in that of this creature.

Across the pool, Yamcha was encouraging Mai to pat the dolphin with his hand held over hers. She giggled and snuggled into the contact. Lapis rolled their eyes at the sight. And for a second, swore they saw the dolphin do the same.

“Yeah? I knew you dolphins were smart.” They weren’t going to pat the dolphin, just study it. The smooth, greyish-blue hues of its skin. The sloped fins that gave it the power to be one of the fastest animals in the sea. It was an absolute marvel. And an absolute travesty it was shackled like this.

“Talking to animals now?”

They had nearly forgotten Piccolo was there. Now they felt him though. The powerful aura beside them. Imposing. Steadying. “I always talk to animals. They understand more than we realise.”

To hit their point home, the dolphin playfully thwacked its tail against the water surface, splashing water around them.

Falling droplets caught the bright sunrays, landing like crystals on Piccolo’s defined cheekbones.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just tilted his head curiously at the dolphin. Examining it, just as Lapis had before.

“I see what you mean,” he said quietly after a moment.

At the call of the handlers, the dolphins swam away. Mai pounced on Yamcha, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, her lips over his own. Sickening. The bastard had barely made it a week before cheating.

Piccolo began to follow the steps to leave the pool.

Then he turned. And held a hand out to them.

It didn’t feel romantic. Or sexual. Like Piccolo was hitting on them or something. Just a continuation of whatever strange connection they had.

Lapis took their hand and allowed themselves to be guided from the pool.

—

At least Launch knew how to shut the fuck up. That was one perk about being dragged onto another date Vegeta had no interest in. They just floated on the flat seas on their paddle boards and desperately tried to ignore the sounds of Raditz and Maron flirting and making out on a single board, not even attempting to paddle.

Vegeta and Launch paddled their boards far from the lovers until the wretched sounds melded into the gentle lapping of waves against the board. He stopped and carefully shifted from his knees to sitting, dipping his legs into the water either side of the board. And then, sweet silence. Save for the waves. And the occasional squeal from Maron or cackle from Raditz.

And the crying.

The–

What?

He snapped his head to the side. Launch had straddled her board too, floating in place with her oar rested across her thighs. Her head was bowed forward, sandy curls covering her face.

Damn it.

Vegeta never knew what to do when people cried. Especially women. He whipped his head to the nearby boat where the crew was filming them, silently pleading them for help. One of the producers just waved at him to do something. He rolled his eyes and lolled his head all the way back. This had just become a god awful day.

He finally glared at Launch and tried to find the words to say. Something comforting, probably. Something nice. His jaw clicked with tension. Comforting and nice. Two things he was not.

“Can you quit fucking staring at me?” she suddenly snapped without lifting her head.

He snarled. “Can you quit fucking crying?”

She met his glare head-on with her own. “Can you quit being a fucking cunt?”

“Can you?”

“How about I stop being a cunt when you stop being a fucking pussy and actually hook up with Bulma?”

His fists curled tight around the oar in his grasp. What the fuck did she know? About him? Bulma? Any of it? The chick was barely hanging onto whatever skerrick of sanity she had left. She had no leg to stand on. None.

A great splash from behind them broke their furious glaring contest. Vegeta peeked over his shoulder to see Raditz and Maron making out in the water.

He was going to return to scowling at the brash beast before him. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Raditz. And damn it, she was crying again.

Though now he realised who it was over.

He considered abandoning her. Maybe it was the cameras that held him in place. Or maybe knowing he'd face Bulma's wrath if she heard he'd ditched Launch in the ocean.

Vegeta groaned. He was going to have to talk.

“He's perpetually stuck at twenty-one years old.”

Launch glared at him once more. Wary. But listening. “Sorry?”

“Raditz. He's an immature dickhead. I wouldn't…” He gritted his teeth. Fuck, this was unbearable. “I wouldn't bank on him for a relationship or whatever.”

“I don't want a relationship with him,” she snapped. It was all bark no bite. Like she wasn't sure she believed herself.

“Whatever. Just… don't have any expectations. I've never seen anyone around more than two or three times.”

She sniffled. “You know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“How long?”

“Too long.” She painfully jabbed him in the leg with her oar for him to continue. “Fine, since we were kids.”

She nodded, then snuck a glance back at Raditz.

“I don't want a relationship with him. I'm in a relationship. But… I want to know him. And…” One of her hands found her thigh, her nails digging into the flesh. “I don't know, I want to be known by him.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

There was another jab of her oar, this time straight to the ribs.

“No, jackass, I've just sent fucking smoke signals. Of course I've talked to him. But now he's got Little Miss Suckable Titties over there, he's been entirely unapproachable.”

Vegeta sighed. “Give it another day. He'll get bored.”

“If you're wrong I will glass you.”

“Not if I glass you first, bitch.”

At that she laughed. “Please, I'll believe that when you fucking man up and bang Bulma.”

The tips of his ears burned at her words. “I-I’m not banging anyone, I-I’m–”

“Whatever dude. Just wait. Her fuckhead boyfriend is going to bang someone any day now, and you know she's going to come crawling to you for some good dicking.”

“Geez, do you have to be so crass ab–”

“Just tell me one thing.” She lifted her oar and waved it around his face, careful but threatening. “If she came to you, all tits blazing and ready to dive onto you pussy first, what would you do?”

The oar in his hands nearly trembled at the thought.

Because everything Launch had said was right. All it would take is her asshole boyfriend to inevitably slip up, and she would come to him to feel better. To feel alive. And for all he had gone into this convincing her he was just a friend, he could feel that carefully crafted plan slip through his fingers with every lingering stare, every brush of her skin against his. The plum lipstick that he had smeared across her chin the night before still faintly stained his thumb, long after he had tried to scrub it away.

He knew she would come eventually.

And damn it, he wanted her to.

“That's what I thought,” Launch said smugly when he hadn't responded.

“Fuck you,” he growled, splashing water her way.

“Fuck you,” she growled right back, then shoved his shoulder with her oar so hard he fell off his board and into the cool ocean.

Chapter Text

Bulma had invited the girls to get ready for that night's party in her room. Yes, even Maron. They had snuck up a bottle of Pinot Gris and were crammed into her bathroom to do their make-up.

“You wouldn't believe how great he is with his tongue!” Maron gushed as she dabbed in her foundation, oblivious to how the other three really didn't want to hear this. “I swear I've never c–”

“Maron, can I ask you something?” Chi-Chi cut in, her cheeks burning.

“Sure, Cho, what's up?”

Chi-Chi scoffed, but pressed on. “Why are you here?”

Maron froze holding a little makeup sponge hovering over jaw. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you're in a relationship. But now you're hooking up with Raditz…” she trailed off with a pointed stare through the mirror.

Maron sighed and placed the sponge onto the counter.

“I've been with Krillin for three years. And… I'm twenty three. I know he wants to get married soon. But I’m twenty three. That’s way too soon for marriage!”

The three older women glanced around at each other. It… kind of made sense? Kind of. Definitely not enough for her behaviour.

Bulma cleared her throat. “So why did you come here?”

“I guess…” Maron turned around and rested her back against the porcelain counter. “Krillin is a nice guy. I know this. But… I don’t know if he’s my type. I figured this might be a last hurrah to figure out who I want before he proposes.”

Launch snarled and threw back the contents of her wine glass, before topping it up as she spoke. “And that’s Raditz?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. He’s cute. Fun. That’s what matters, right? Someone to have fun with?”

“I suppose…” Chi-Chi hummed, though something told her this wasn’t the whole story. She decided it was time to change the subject. Mostly to prevent Launch smashing the bottle of wine over Maron’s head. “So, how’d the rest of your dates go?”

“Don’t ask,” Bulma and Launch grumbled at the same time.

Maron nudged Bulma’s arm, just as she was carefully bringing a tube of mascara up to her eyes. “You didn’t have fun? Zarbon is hot, how could you not have had a good time?”

“Zarbon is an asshole,” Bulma seethed, stepping out of Maron’s reach. “He’s a slimy pig. You guys should avoid him at all costs.”

“Agreed,” said Launch.

“How about you, Chi-Chi?” Bulma asked as she swiped the mascara along her lashes. “You and Goku are seriously hitting it off.

Chi-Chi shrugged, though her words sent a flutter of nerves through her chest. Because she was right. There was something about Goku that Chi-Chi felt drawn to. This impulsive free spirit that seemed as bright as a summer’s day, and as fickle as the summer breeze. He simultaneously frustrated her to no end, yet made her laugh harder than she ever had before. She had never felt so light. So comfortable as herself.

“It was… nice.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “That’s your favourite word about him. Nice this, nice that. I bet you're going as an angel tonight, am I right?”

She scoffed, indignant, yet blushed deeply. “A-and if I am?”

The grin that appeared on Bulma’s lips was terrifying. Absolutely wicked.

“We might just have to change that.”

—

Goku enjoyed most of the guys they were living with. Zarbon was a bit weird, but had some great stretches he had never considered. Raditz spent half his time bullying him, and the other half helping him. It was nice. The only one he really hadn’t cracked was Vegeta. The guy really only seemed to make time for Bulma and Raditz, and even that was rare. Still, Goku had never met a person he couldn’t talk to. He would keep trying until they were friends.

“‘Geta, hey!” he called out as Vegeta strode into the living room, fiddling with the rolled cuffs of his crimson button-down.

Vegeta startled at the sudden outburst, but quickly recovered to narrow his eyes at him.

“Don’t call me, ‘Geta.”

Goku held his arm stretched out, offering a cold bottle of beer to him. He warily snatched it from Goku’s hand and made to leave.

“Wait!” Vegeta tensed, but stayed put. He knew he only had him for a few moments longer. “That's a cool demon costume.”

“It's a shirt and pants,” he said dryly, quirking his brow.

Goku laughed hard enough his body shook, which made the tinsel halo atop his head rustle.

“You're right, it's missing something. Wait here!”

He legged it to their room where various costume pieces had been strewn about from him and Raditz getting ready. He hiked up his white robe and squatted down to rifle through one of Raditz's bags. Beneath the board shorts and ridiculous amounts of condom boxes, he spotted the demon horns he had seen Raditz stash away. As he tugged them out, a few belongings tumbled out of the bag. He quickly picked them up to shove them back in, when one caught his eye.

A photo. Old. Worn. The corners yellowed and wrinkled. A younger version of Raditz sitting on a weathered grey couch. Mustn't have been more than eight years old. In his arms, he held a baby. Something gripped Goku's heart at the sight. He couldn't place the cause. A longing perhaps. A desire for family.

Footsteps coming down the stairs drew his attention away. He placed the photo back into the bag and left the room holding the horns.

“‘Geta! I've got y–”

Goku's throat went completely dry. In an instant. Blood immediately left his brain, leaving him woozy.

Chi-Chi.

Walking carefully down the stairs like she hadn't just given him brain damage. She had mentioned she would be dressing as an angel. Something about a white dress and wings.

She wasn't wearing that at all.

She was barely wearing anything at all.

Just a red, lacy leotard, so tight it looked like it might rip if she moved too quickly. Black, thigh-high boots. Demon horns on her head. Plump lips stained devilishly red.

He felt the horns in his hands being gently taken from his grasp by someone – Bulma, maybe.

Chi-Chi finally reached the bottom of the stairs and met Goku's eyes. The blush that crept along her chest rivalled the crimson of her lingerie.

“Hi, Goku,” she said, soft and unsure.

Hi, Chi-Chi.

He gulped.

An elbow rammed into his ribs. Bulma's. She hissed in his ear. “Say something.”

“H-hi, Chi-Chi.”

She smiled and ducked her head, embarrassed.

Bulma groaned. “You guys are disgusting. Go get a drink already.”

Goku held out his arm dumbly, which Chi-Chi took in her own. He led them out and to the kitchen. 

The living room was dimly lit, with disco and strobe lights set up on the patio. It cast various bright colours through the glass doors. Club music blasted from some speaker outside. Most of the guys had already been partying for a while. Launch and Maron had joined them outside, throwing back shots like it was nothing. Bulma noted Raditz stood off to the side, nursing a beer. He seemed uncomfortable. It was strange, not seeing him be the life of the party.

She also noted Vegeta wasn't outside. He was perched on one of the arms of the main sofa, his hand wrapped around a beer bottle. His head was bowed, eyes boring into the drink.

And he looked good. Button-down’s might have been his uniform of choice, but Bulma figured if it ain't broke, don't wear anything else. He even had the audacity to roll the sleeves up, exposing his tanned, veiny forearms. 

Bulma shook herself from her ogling and strutted over to him.

“I think these are for you?” She held out the horns.

His head snapped up. There was the smallest moment where she swore she heard him gasp. A barely there, sharp intake of breath that hit her straight in the chest. Then it was gone. Replaced with a familiar scowl.

“I'm not wearing that.”

“I'm not giving you an out.”

“Wh–”

Bulma squatted down in front of him and held the band above his head.

“Stay still,” she murmured. Surprisingly, he followed her order. She slipped the band on the crown of his head. Her fingers slid through his thick locks as she did. “There,” she whispered, letting her fingertips linger, feathering along the frame of his face. “Much better.”

His eyelids fluttered slightly. A slip of weakness he caught onto immediately, hardening his expression once more. “I look ridiculous,” he snarled.

She smirked, snatched his beer, then stood up. “You look positively evil,” she teased, then took a sip of beer.

“Surprised you didn’t go with a devil look. Seems it might have suited you more.”

He stood up. Bulma had to tilt her chin down slightly to look at him. It shouldn’t have been so attractive that she towered over him in Chi-Chi’s white kitten heels.

“C’mon, look at me.” She spun on the spot, flicking up the flowy white mini-dress she borrowed from Chi-Chi when they swapped costumes. “I look downright angelic.”

When she re-centred, Vegeta came into focus. Heat burned in his eyes. Dark and smoldering. He raked his eyes over her, his sinful tongue flicking against his canine.

“I’m surprised you don’t have any bruises.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Why would I have bruises?”

“Zarbon said you fell off your horse today.” He smirked, and leaned in a little closer. “You know… when he tried to kiss you.”

“Oh fuck off!” Bulma back-handed his shoulder and took another swig of her drink. “Wait, he said I fell off?” Vegeta nodded. “That bastard. For your information, he fell off when he tried to kiss me and I punched him square in the jaw.”

There had been moments over the past few days when Vegeta had been certain he could get through this process unscathed. That whatever had been bubbling between them wouldn’t burn him. But hearing her gloat over punching one of the most insufferable people he had ever met, made him nearly swoon like a teenage girl. Maybe the cheap wings and halo she was donning weren’t a costume. Maybe she really was an angel.

“Good girl.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Praise that he rarely dolled out, especially not like that. Not outside a few moments in the bedroom.

Bulma felt her panties wetten the second the words left his lips. She pressed her thighs together, hoping, praying he didn’t notice just how flushed she was beneath her makeup. Did he seriously just say good girl? And did she seriously get wet from that alone?

“Everybody, outside!” someone shouted from the patio.

She cleared her throat. “Shall we?”

Vegeta gestured for her to go ahead. He needed a second. Just one second to get himself in order. Calm. Collected. He stood up and reached for the horns.

“Don’t you dare take those off!” she called out over her shoulder.

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed none the less, leaving the horns in place to follow her to the patio.

Launch had climbed onto the outdoor table, an impressive feat considering she was wearing leather pants.

“It’s time for body shots!” she ordered, dangling a bottle of tequila in front of everyone. “You guys know the drill. Lick the salt, do the shot, suck the lime. Shot in the belly button, lime in the mouth, dealer’s choice on where you put the salt.”

Raditz shuffled forward from his strange post on the outskirts, eyeing Launch intently.

Bulma bit her lip. She had never really had the full college experience. Between starting two years earlier than everyone else, and completing three PHD’s at the same time, she never really had the time. Parties like this were a new thing for her.

“I’ll do it if you do!” Bulma shouted before she could stop herself. Vegeta’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Launch cackled and began to shift into position. “Famous last words baby, I was already planning on doing it. Who’s going to take the first shot?”

People were practically flung to the ground as Raditz stormed forward. Launch smirked his way and handed him the bottle. It’s not that she had been hoping he would take the bait. Except that’s exactly what she had been hoping for. From her red leather pants, to the matching leather bikini top, she had been trying to get his attention.

Just to talk. That’s all.

But he still hadn’t talked to her. So this was the natural next step. Totally natural.

Raditz loomed tall over her as she laid back. He looked downright predatory. Fangs poked from his lips, glistening with saliva.

“Dealer’s choice?” he asked quietly, pouring the tequila into her belly button.

She winked. “Wherever you want, big boy.”

He placed one hand either side of her head and bent low to growl in her ear. “Where I want is currently covered in sinful leather. But then again,” he chuckled, brushing his nose over her cheek. “I suppose I’ve already tasted it.”

Her jaw dropped open just enough for him to gently place a lime wedge between her lips.

She nearly jumped as his tongue suddenly licked a stripe in between her tits. He poured a bit of salt on there and cleaned it up with that hot tongue. Then his mouth was on her belly button, slurping up the tequila. It tickled, enough to make her squirm. His hands found her wrists and pinned her to the table. When his face came into view again, there was a wide smirk splitting his face. Tequila and little crystals of salt lingered in the corners of his lips. He leaned forward, ghosting his lips against hers. She squirmed again, furiously trying to gain some control.

He chuckled again, deep and raw, then bit the lime wedge clean from her mouth.

The air was cold as he stood up, sucking on the wedge. He frowned down at her, still smirking slightly, as if he was torn between flirting and confusion. Then, as quickly as he bit into the lime, he was gone.

“Hey, where are you going?” Maron cried out as she ran after him. “It's my turn!”

“Chi-Chi, it's your turn,” Bulma teased.

“Absolutely not!” she snapped, mortified.

Goku stepped in front of her, excitement glittered in his dark eyes. 

“I'll do it.”

“What?”

He grinned. “I'll do it. C'mon, you pick your spot for the salt.”

Chi-Chi thought her jaw might hit the floor. In a flash, Goku had stripped his robe off until he was in his white boxer briefs and leapt onto the table. He was gorgeous. It was like he had muscles on top of muscles in places she didn't even know people could have muscles.

“I… I c-can’t–”

“Sure you can.” Bulma shoved her forward, sending her stumbling into the table. She nearly landed straight on top of Goku's rock hard chest.

“S-sorry!” She held her hands back, making sure not to touch him. She wasn't sure what she would do if she did.

“It's ok,” he laughed as he sat up resting on his elbows. “I haven't done this before, but I think you need to put the salt somewhere?”

“I-I don't know where. Wherever you want.”

His smile twitched. “Ummm… how about here?”

With one finger, he tapped his chest. Right over his heart. Her body quivered as she leaned forward with her tongue poking out. And then…

Heat.

Impossible heat.

He tasted of salt. Sweat. And something wholly him. Something… animalistic. Intoxicating. Lethal. She swiftly stood up and poured some salt on the saliva left behind, unable to meet his gaze. She poured tequila into his belly button. A little too much, sending a few streams along the ridges of his taut abs. She picked up a lime wedge and finally braved making eye contact.

His skin was flushed crimson. Lips dry. Tongue lolling from the corner of his lips. Heavenly. Slowly, she lowered the piece of lime to his lips. He held onto it gently with his teeth, plump lips wrapping around the rind.

Chi-Chi released a tense, shuddered breath.

Here goes.

She licked a hot stripe along his chest, collecting the salt crystals on her tongue.

Slurped up the eye-watering liquor from his abs.

And then she leaned over him, her chest barely brushing against his own, and gently picked up the lime with her teeth. Their lips brushed. Chi-Chi swore she saw fireworks. She bit down into the tangy flesh and tilted her head back. Just a little. Juice flowed from the flesh, dripping onto Goku's lips. His tongue. She pulled the lime from her mouth, and watched in a daze as he lapped up her juices.

The lime's juices. Not… not hers.

“Was that ok?” she whispered.

He scoffed a laugh, one of pure disbelief. “Cheech… that was amazing.”

The way he was looking up at her with those deep brown eyes, through those thick lashes, made her heart beat erratically, a brilliant thump cracking against her ribs. Would it be so wrong if she just leaned in slightly? Brushed her lips against his own again? She was meant to be a demon for the night. Maybe she could do something naughty for once.

“Make out, or get off there!” Bulma suddenly yelled, making them both startle.

Goku leapt off the table like it was on fire. “S-sorry Bulma!” He snatched his robe and hurriedly threw it on over his head. “Um, did you want some water Cheech?”

She nodded furiously, feeling as flustered as he looked. He quickly led them off the patio.

Vegeta had half a mind to follow them. This was such a fucking stupid idea. So fucking stupid.

“So, Vegeta,” the blasted woman purred beside him, gliding over to the table. “Will you take this shot?”

He knew he should say no. This would be so fucking debasing for him. Worse so for her. But then, she seemed so confident in her choice. And the quirk of her brow issued a challenge. One he felt a desire to match. To obliterate.

“Lay down,” he ordered quietly as he stepped forward.

One single finger suddenly stopped him in his tracks as it pressed against her chest.

“Might be a bit hard to get to my belly button with this dress.” She smirked. Devastating. Knowing. “Let me help with that.”

Achingly slow, she picked up the hem of her dress and lifted. Higher. Higher. Until the dress was completely removed, falling to the floor.

His hand flew to his mouth, holding back the whimper that fought to escape him. She was a fucking force. White lace cradled the most perfect breasts he had ever seen. Only the smallest scrap of ivory fabric beneath it covered her nipples. His eyes traced across every curve, slope, of her ribs, her waist, her hips. Thin straps of fabric were barely clinging onto those hips. She wore the smallest thong he had ever seen. 

He finally tore his eyes away to meet her smug smirk.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked honestly over his hand.

She giggled. “Is it working?”

“You're a menace, you know that?”

“I've been told.” As if to prove his point, she turned around and slowly crawled into the table, luxuriating in the sway of her hips as she did. He ran a hand through his hair and gripped tight, right near the scalp, equal parts frustration and desire rushing through him at the sight of her plump ass shaking in front of him.

She finally turned around and laid down resting on her elbows. There was another quirk of her brow. Another challenge.

“Dealer's choice,” she reminded him with a wink.

He let his eyes roam across her impossible body to pick his preferred spot. Somewhere that would make her tremble before him. That would make her his.

He smirked. Then leaned right over her. Those ocean eyes widened at his brazen move. Gently, he tucked her hair behind her ear. Leaned in close. Let his lips feather along her jaw. Watched goosebumps dance along her skin. Waited until he brushed over that one spot that would make her–

“Oh,” she whimpered, so softly under her breath.

There we go.

He suddenly licked a hot stripe along her neck, right behind her earlobe. She shuddered and tilted her head to the side, like she was trying to nuzzle into him. He chuckled and moved away, quickly dabbing some salt against her skin. Poured the tequila on her stomach. Placed the lime between her lips. She had issued her challenge, and it was his time to destroy her.

Leaning in again, he hesitated. The scent of her was overpowering. Sweet. Salty. He sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils, inhaling her.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered. “Tell me y–”

“I want this,” she mumbled through the lime. Her hand found the back of his head, nails scratching against his scalp.

Without warning, he licked up all the salt. Every last crystal. Her hand held him in place as he licked, sucked, nipped that sensitive spot that made her whimper beneath him. Only when a moan escaped her did he stop his assault against her neck. Bowing his head, he moved his attack to her stomach, sucking up the tequila with a light flick of his tongue against her belly button.

And then he lifted his head.

She looked wrecked. Flushed. Sweating. Her eyes were half-lidded and watery. He slid back up her body until his face hovered over hers. Bared his teeth. Leaned down. And plucked the lime from her mouth. Her tongue ran over her lips. He turned his head and spat the spent lime somewhere to the side. Then returned to her. He just had to lean forward. Press his lips to hers. Taste her directly from the source. She tilted her head back slightly, like she wanted him to do just that. The music, the cheers, all blurred into nothingness. There was just her. And him.

And…

The fucking red light.

Flooding the villa with its neon warning.

Reminding them all why they were there.

Bulma gasped. Then sat up and wrapped her arms around herself. Embarrassed? Ashamed? He wasn't sure.

“Can, uh… can you pass me that dress?”

He followed her order wordlessly. It was petulant to be so frustrated at the interruption. He had just been swept up in the moment. In her. 

She quietly tugged the dress over her head and hopped off the table. And then looked at him. Really looked. Like she was trying to figure him out. To peer into his soul, or some shit.

“Look, I'm starving. Turns out lime skin isn't a filling dinner. I wouldn't say I'm a pro in the kitchen like Chi-Chi, but I can whip up my pasta a la Bulma?”

He snorted. “And that is?”

“Buttered noodles.”

Noodles and a night spent with Bulma. How could he say no?

“That sounds great.”

She smiled, brighter than the crimson light burning their world, and led him into the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Yamcha was nervous. Seriously nervous. Hands trembling. Bile rising. Heart rate through the roof. There were so many reasons for his anxious state. The red light had switched on in the guys' villa a handful of times over the past few days. Meaning someone in the ladies villa had been tempted. And even though his hands weren't exactly clean, he wasn't sure what he would do if Bulma had cheated. He had never had to doubt her fidelity before, but now…

Then there was Mai. He hasn't planned on kissing her. Honest! The first time had just been during a game of truth or dare. Someone daring him to kiss her. He couldn't turn down a dare! And the second time she had pounced on him, surprising him so much he let it happen. It was a damn attack!

The third time there was no excuse. None. Just a stupid dip into lust's waters the night before at the pool party. That damn confusing pool party. 

He had taken a dip just before the party started, diving into the cool waters for some relief from his thoughts. His feelings. His attraction towards Mai. His… something… towards Tien. But every time he dived underwater, he saw Tien. Tattooed to his eyelids. Forcing him to confront what he knew deep down.

He was attracted to Tien. To his quiet, calming demeanour. His powerful, muscular body. The sharp angles of his cheekbones, his jaw; the dark, almond-shaped eyes that always saw past Yamcha’s jokes. His walls. 

There was a splash from the other end of the pool. Yamcha spun around underwater, peeking open his eyes. The sun had set. The pool was lit up by neon blue lights. Haloed in the glowing rays of the brightest blue, Tien swam towards him. Yamcha nearly forgot he was underwater and almost gasped as he watched him glide effortlessly through the water. When he reached him, they both breached the water’s surface. Yamcha shook his hair off his face, only to be met with a fierce glare from Tien.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He scoffed unconvincingly. “No I aren’t! I mean–no, no I’m not.”

Tien crossed his arms. Biceps the size of his head bulged before him. When did biceps become so fucking hot?!

“Is this because I danced with Mai?”

“N-no, really. It’s nothing like th–”

Tien stepped forward, pressing Yamcha back. He tilted his head to the side, brows furrowed, eyes probing. “Do you prefer Suno?”

“No! No way, I promise! She’s all yours, I sw–”

“Then what…” Yamcha’s back collided with the sandstone pool edge. Tien towered over him, trapping him. “Why did you stop talking to me?”

Yamcha couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t even breathe. The world had blurred and Tien was his only reality. Perfect, brilliant, fierce Tien.

“I… I can’t–” he whispered.

Quiet enough that Tien leaned in. His body glided closer in the water.

Close enough…

That he felt it.

Yamcha hadn’t even realised he was hard until Tien brushed against his cock.

With his own, equally hard dick.

They both snapped their heads down at the contact.

Then back up.

Confusion.

Fear.

Excitement.

Terror.

All of it surged through him at a furious, dizzying speed. Mirrored in the charcoal eyes before him. And something else. Something softer. Knowing.

The corner of Tien’s lips twitched. A smile nearly formed.

“Yamcha?” he asked, quiet. Serious. Hopeful.

“I–I–”

It was useless trying to speak. Absolutely useless. Not with Tien standing before him, all Greek god-like and smirking now, a dangerous heat simmering in his eyes.

“I… I didn’t realise you liked–”

“I don’t! At least… I don’t… know?”

Beneath the water, Yamcha felt something brushed over his pinky. He nearly yelped at the touch until he saw it. Tien’s pinky, interlocking with his own. He whipped his gaze up to Tien’s. To that soft smile. That terrifying hope. The hot breath now ghosting over his lips as Tien tilted his head forward. Like there wasn’t anyone else in the world. Or cameras on them.

Except there were cameras on them.

And a group of beautiful women tiptoeing into the pool at the shallow end, cocktails in hand.

“Boys! You ready to party up?” Mai shouted, dangling a bottle of vodka in front of her.

Yamcha didn’t let himself second guess his next move. He dived underwater, swimming past Tien, forcing himself not to notice the ridiculously large bulge in those deep green board shorts, and swam up to Mai. Took the bottle from her hands. Gulped down three large swigs of vodka. Forced himself to not throw it all back up immediately. Then wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her close, whispered, “Can I kiss you?”, and plunged his tongue down her throat when she grinned and said, “About time, babe.”

If anyone were to ask, he could easily pass off his boner as being thanks to Mai in that skimpy bikini, tasting of sweet wine and tart cherries.

Even if it simmered down a few seconds into the kiss.

Now sitting on the bonfire bench, surrounded by the other equally uncomfortable men, he was reminded that this wasn’t just contained to the villa.

Bulma was going to see it. All of it. And she wouldn’t have a damn clue of the torture he has been under. Of the battle within, threatening to tear him apart.

She would just see him kissing Mai.

He could only hope that it wouldn’t break her too much. She just needed to hold on until he could explain himself. Once he knew what to explain.

“Gentleman!” the announcer suddenly greeted them, striding up to the bonfire. The flames flickered in his sunglasses. “Seems you’ve had a busy few days, does that sound about right?” There were some uncomfortable murmurs of assent. “More importantly, it seems like there’s been some changes. Within you all. Would that be correct?”

Though they couldn’t see his eyes, Yamcha swore they were locked onto him. He gulped and turned his head away. Ashamed. Frightened. 

“On to why we’re here,” the announcer continued, tilting his head to the side to look behind Yamcha. “Tien, you still with us?”

“Yes.” The deep timbre of his voice sent fraying nerves down Yamcha’s spine. 

“You still seem so… closed off. To this whole experience. To being vulnerable. Honest.” Yamcha couldn’t see his reaction, but felt the tension behind him.

“It’s not exactly an easy experience,” he responded quietly after a moment.

The announcer smiled warmly. “The most important times in our lives usually aren’t. I’m going to play some clips for you now. Just remember, these are carefully curated moments that are only snippets of your partner's time on this island. You don’t know what happens before or after these clips. Are you ready, Tien?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Very well.”

**

      Raditz is in Launch’s lap in nothing but a pair of pink Speedos. Grinding. Close. Her hands are on his thighs, stroking up and down.

     “You like danger, darlin’?”

     “I am danger, darlin’.”

** 

     Launch sits on a paddle board. Crying. She snaps her head up to glare at Vegeta.

     “I don't want a relationship with him. I'm in a relationship. But… I want to know him. And… I want to be known by him.”

     Vegeta sighs. “Give it another day. He'll get bored.”

**

     Launch is wearing all red leather, looking lethally beautiful. “It’s time for body shots!” she cries out, spreading herself out on the outdoor table.

     Raditz steps forward. Crowds over her, his giant body and ridiculous hair nearly entirely covering her.

     “... Where I want is currently covered in sinful leather…want to taste…”

     He licks between her tits. Sucks up the shot from her belly button. Snatches the lime from her mouth with his own. He leaves. And she drags herself from the table, watching as he goes. Her fair skin is flushed red. His saliva still clings to her chest.

**

“Talk to me, Tien. What did you see?”

There was s a tense silence. Yamcha had half a mind to look back. To try and figure out what Tien is thinking.

Then, eventually…

“I’m not surprised.”

“Oh? What isn’t surprising?”

Tien sighed. “That she’s being reckless. Emotional. This is Launch, she’s a firestorm on a good day. It was…”

The announcer dipped his head to catch Tien’s eyes. “It was what?”

“It was… fun, at first. Not knowing what she’d do that day. Who she would be. But after… she went through something. And it’s gotten worse. And I don’t think I can keep up. Or pull her back. I don’t even want to pull her back. I just want her to heal…”

Yamcha and Krillin’s eyes darted around until they found each other, meeting each other with the same confusion. It was the most anyone had heard Tien speak at a time. The only one quieter was Piccolo.

“There’s that honesty,” the announcer said with an affectionate grin. “That vulnerability. I knew you had it in you! Anything else you want to add?” There was a quiet grumble in lieu of an answer. “Very well! Onto my next talker: Piccolo, how are you going?”

“Just get on with it.”

“You betcha!”

**

     Goku is performing some kind of martial art for everyone. Chi-Chi watches on. Tears in her eyes. A smile on her face. Happy.

**

     “Cheech! Hey! What did you think?”

     “Goku, it was real. And… I’d love to hear more about your grandpa some time.”

     “How about now? Can I get you a drink?”

     Chi-Chi loops her arm through Goku’s. Smiles warmly up at him as they wander inside.

**

     Chi-Chi is doing push-ups on the grass, facing Goku doing the same. Matching his pace with each one. They lock eyes. Huff a laugh. Then speed up, trying to outdo one another.

**

     Goku shoves a trembling Bulma onto her horse then races back to Chi-Chi to climb on his horse.

     She's staring at Goku. Gawking at him. In awe. And something else. Something dangerous.

     “That was a really nice thing to do, Goku.”

     He blushes. Smiles.

     They ride off together.

**

     The crowd cheers as Chi-Chi licks Goku's chest. Slurps up tequila from his belly. Bites the lime.

     “Was that ok?” she whispers.

     “That was amazing.”

     They lean in slightly. So close. So close.

**

“Well, Piccolo. I'm sure that's a lot to take in.” There was silence. A breeze swirled around them, sending flickering flames into the night sky. The announcer pressed on. Kind, but firm. “Talk to me. What's going on up there?”

“It's… difficult.”

The announcer smiled softly. Somehow it wasn't pitying. “I'm sure it is. Care to elaborate?”

Piccolo sighed, deep voice barely above a whisper. “I'm not sure I'm right for her. Or her right for me. Maybe… maybe it's why I agreed to this. Why I haven't been able to commit.”

“And what is right for you?”

“I… don't know yet.”

“And right for her?”

Silence. Then…

“Him.”

Now there was pity in the announcer's smile. It didn't leave when he turned to face Yamcha, who gulped as his eyes met those foreboding sunglasses.

“Yamcha, how are ya bud?”

He straightened his spine and forced himself to be composed. Brave. He could face whatever this was.

“Grood–g-good. I'm good. Great.” He mentally facepalmed at the stumble.

“Looks like you've been enjoying yourself these past few days.”

Yamcha scoffed, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. Right where Tien could see. “I… wouldn't say that.”

The announcer's brows pinched together, right above the rims of his glasses. “Oh? You seem close with Mai?”

He felt Tien's stare burning into his skull as he stammered, “Sh-she’s been a good friend.”

“Hmmm…” the announcer hummed, clearly not believing him. “Very well then. Shall we take a look at how Bulma is going?”

“Sure. I… sure…”

**

     Raditz is grinding on Bulma's lap as she cackles and spanks him.

     It looks silly. Fun. She's happy, and it's beautiful.

**

     “Are you jealous?!” she cries out, teasing Vegeta.

     “Don't be absurd, I–”

     She smirks. Tucks her hair behind her ear. Holds her hands behind her back and sticks her chest out. Her gaze is heated. Dangerous.

     “Not jealous, hm?”

     “Not one fucking bit.”

**

     Bulma sits in a lawnchair, sipping her coffee, gleefully ogling Vegeta.

     “What are you listening to?”

     “Music.”

     “Hm?” she hums, staring straight at his crotch.

     “Vulgar woman.”

     Then slowly, relishing in every second, he peels the singlet off his body. It sends Bulma into a coughing fit. She scowls, then grins. Angles her hips to show off her ass. He blushes as he's caught checking her out. She looks so satisfied with herself.

**

     “How long have you been in a relationship?” Vegeta asks quietly, standing far too close to Bulma.

     “Fifteen years.”

     “Fifteen years? Your guy is a fucking moron for not locking you down.” He steps closer. Too close. Brushes his hand over her mask. “You don't understand how awful men are these days. They take, and use, and destroy. Whatever they want.”

     She presses her cheek against his palm. “What do you want?”

     “You know what.” His thumb smudges her lipstick straight down her chin.

     They both lean in. Lips brushing against each other.

     Then Bulma stiffens. Vegeta leaves.

     She's all alone.

**

     Bulma's wearing lingerie. Surrounded by leering men in nothing but thin, white, lacy scraps of fabric. Standing right in front of Vegeta.

     “Are you trying to kill me?”

     She giggles. “Is it working?”

     Then she slinks along the table like a stripper for cash, before laying down on the table.

     He licks up the salt behind her ear, her hand twisted in his hair. Slurps up the tequila from her belly button with a flick of his tongue. Bites the lime. Sucks. Spits it to the side. Crowds her against the table. Leans impossibly close.

**

“What are you thinking, Yamcha?”

What a question. How could he even begin to make heads or tails of his thoughts?

Bulma hadn't cheated. That was a start. She had been tempted, by the dweeb with stupid hair for some reason, but still she remained faithful. Kind of. More than he had.

Your guy is a fucking moron for not locking you down.

At first, Yamcha wanted to punch the fucker for saying that. How dare he comment on something he knew nothing about? But then, there was some truth to it. Really. 

Yamcha was a fucking moron.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He blinked, eyes focusing on the announcer who waited patiently for him to speak.

“I… she's getting close. To him.”

“Forgive the therapy speak but… how does that make you feel?”

He shrugged. “Confused. I don't like the idea of her close to anyone, especially him. But…”

“But?”

“It's not like I can talk. I've grown close to someone too.” 

His head twitched half a centimetre to the side, forces unknown drawing him to Tien.

“You mean Mai?”

He turned a little bit more. Just enough to peek out of his peripherals to Tien. To make him know–understand–that he didn't mean Mai. He meant him.

“Sure.”

Their eyes met. Fire dancing in the charcoal. And Yamcha knew he understood.

“I'm glad to see you're opening yourself up to someone, Yamcha. I hope the best for you. Now, Krillin–”

“Oh god,” he muttered.

“How are you holding up after the last bonfire?”

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. “As good as one can, I guess. It's probably not a good sign I'm last, huh.”

Pity washed over the announcer's face. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

**

     Raditz is straddling Maron. Grinding. And kissing her.

**

     Maron is dancing in Raditz's lap. Pressing her ass against his Speedos.

**

     Raditz carries her over his shoulder and smacks her ass. She squeals, delighted.

**

     Maron lays naked in bed. Her body is blurred for modesty. She beckons Raditz. He dives under the covers.

     “P-please–” she begs.

     She squeals. Loud. The sheets shift and shake. But they remain covered.

**

     “You wouldn't believe how great he is with his tongue–”

     “Maron, why are you here?”

     She freezes. “What do you mean?”

     “Well, you're in a relationship. But you're hooking up with Raditz.”

     “I've been with Krillin for three years. I know he wants to get married soon. But I’m twenty three! I figured this might be a last hurrah to figure out who I want before he proposes.”

**

Yamcha liked Krillin. He was a bit more talkative than the other two, although he talked way too much about Maron when it was just the guys. But he was nice. Kind. A good guy.

Maron didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve anyone.

A sniffle from Krillin caught their attention. He was red from scalp to ankle, trembling on the spot. It looked like it was taking everything in him not to cry. Yamcha clapped a hand on his shoulder. Then Piccolo did the same to the other shoulder. Then Tien did. Right next to Yamcha's. His pinky brushing Yamcha's thumb. Neither of them flinched or leaned into the contact. That's not what this was. Just a show of support for their friend as Krillin silently wept.

Chapter Text

Bulma had dressed herself to the nines tonight. She had selected a dress so hot, so revealing that it rivalled Maron's wardrobe. Black satin with thin straps zigzagging across her back. A low cowl-neck that showed a healthy amount of cleavage. Thin, strappy heels that elongated her legs. Her hair gently curled and waterfalling over her shoulders. Cherry red lips perfectly pouted.

She wanted to look unbreakable when Yamcha broke her.

The announcer slid into his position across the bonfire.

“Ladies, you all look lovely tonight. How have the past few days been? Have you found yourself opening up to the experience a little more?” There were murmurs or assent, with Maron letting out a small giggle. The announcer's smile tightened at the sound. “Very well. As a reminder, what you're about to see may not be the whole story. You won't see what happens before or after these moments. Keep that in mind as we venture into the guys' villa. Now, Launch–”

“Ugh.”

“You ray of sunshine, how are you?”

“Peachy.”

“Clearly. Have you been connecting with people in the villa? Any of the men?”

Bulma felt her tense behind her, before she gritted out, “Not particularly.”

The tight smile melted into something warm. Real. “Give it time. Trust me. Now, are you ready to see how Tien's doing?”

Launch didn't respond.

**

     Tien and Suno sit on their own jetskis, clipping life vests on.

     “Is everything ok?” Suno murmurs, trying to catch his eye. “You seem quieter than usual. Which is saying something.”

     He doesn't respond.

**

     Tien is floating at one end of the pool. A party rages around him.

     He watches on, but doesn't participate.

**

“The fuck did you guys do to him?!” Launch roared at production as she leapt to her feet.

“Woah, woah!” The announcer held his hands out, stepping between her and the cameras. “Talk to me Launch, what did you see?”

“I saw him fucking upset, that's what I saw!”

“What makes you think that?”

Bulma heard her plonk back down onto the bench. “I know him. Yes, he can be quiet. But that ranga bitch is right, that's a different quiet. Something's wrong.”

“What do you think it is?”

There was a tense silence for a moment. No one knew if she was going to go for the producers again. Then, a weary sigh. “I'm not a fucking mind reader. I don't know.”

“What would you say to him? If he were here?”

“I… I really don’t know.”

“Very well. Are you okay?” She grunted in response. Knowing that was all he would get from her, he angled to face his next target. “Chi-Chi! Or should I say Cheech?”

Bulma couldn’t see her, but could feel the fiery blush from behind all the same. “J-just Chi-Chi is fine.”

“You seem to be making a connection in the villa. With Goku?”

“As a friend,” she clarified, though her voice was bordering on shrill. “That’s all, he’s just a friend.”

Bulma tried to fight the smirk that threatened to creep in. They may not have acted on anything, but they were certainly more than just friends. The slight twitch of the corner of the announcer’s lips hinted that he saw through Chi-Chi as well.

“A good friend indeed. Now, let’s take a look at how Piccolo is going.”

**

     “Talking to animals now?” Piccolo asks quietly, standing behind Lapis while water laps at gently at his hips.

     “I always talk to animals. They understand more than we realise.”

     Piccolo leans in close. Watches the dolphin before them. Then watches Lapis. Intensely. A puzzle to be solved. “I see what you mean,” he finally mutters.

     The dolphin swims away. They both stand, and Piccolo offers a hand to Lapis. They take it, and leave the pool together. Hand in hand.

**

“So, what did you see?”

Chi-Chi released a shaky breath. “I keep expecting… I don’t know. More?”

“More of what?”

“Anything!” she suddenly cried out, making them all jump. “We’re here because I want him to do something, anything! At this point I’d even take him cheating on me if it meant there was something more going on than meditative brooding and introspection!”

“Has he always been like this?”

“Yes! And I know what you’re thinking, shame on me for wanting him to change, but there’s more to life than silence and self-improvement. There’s passion, there’s excitement, there’s… there’s me!”

The last word echoed through the jungle. Birds screeched and flew frantic into the night sky. All they could hear were squawks, wings flapping, and heavy breathing from Chi-Chi.

“How long has she been holding that in?” Launch muttered under her breath, sounding both surprised and impressed at the outburst.

“Seems like you’ve been wanting to say that for some time,” the announcer said quietly, kindly.

“I-I guess.”

“I hope you find the one who can see you. As more. As everything.”

A sniffle came from behind. Bulma glanced over her shoulder to see Chi-Chi softly sobbing. Launch’s hand reached across and found hers. Fingers intertwining. Palms pressed together. A rare display of softness from Launch. She met Bulma’s eyes and nodded. Bulma returned it with a small smile, grateful she had stepped up.

“Now, Maron…” Bulma whipped her head to face the announcer. She wasn’t next? “Are you ready to see what Krillin has been up to?”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. 

Why was she being left for last?

What had Yamcha done?

“I guess so,” Maron replied, a slight nervousness to her voice.

**

     “You ever done this before?” Lazuli asks, clipping her life vest into place.

     “Never, though I’ve always wanted to.”

     She rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, Maron doesn’t like them?”

     “It’s worse than that. She… doesn’t like when I go swimming. When I’m shirtless outside.”

     “Krillin, believe me when I say this,” she says quietly. “You are beautiful.”

**

“What the fuck?” Bulma whispered. She knew Maron was a lot of things; young, reckless, selfish. But this almost sounded cruel. The way she tore Krillin down to lift herself up. She couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. Or which would be worse.

“Maron. Anything you’d like to comment on there?”

They waited. Anticipating (or hoping) for some kind of remorse. Some acknowledgement that she had taken someone who seemed genuinely lovely, and turned them into an anxious mess.

“What did she mean by that?” she said after a moment.

“By what?”

“‘Let me guess, Maron doesn’t like them.’ She doesn’t even know me, why would she just assume that?”

Bulma scoffed under her breath. Of course she zeroed in on the one comment about herself.

“Maybe Krillin has talked to her about you. If he has, what do you think he’s said?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then, quietly, “It’s not that I don’t think he’s beautiful.”

“Oh?” The announcer’s brow lifted high above the rim of his sunglasses.

“I do. Find him attractive. But… not enough.” Instead of prompting her, the announcer simply waited. Bulma dared a glance to the side. For the first time since they met, Bulma finally saw some kind of honesty. Contrition. “I don’t think I love him,” she finally whispered.

There was a collective exhale of tension from the group at the admission. They could all see it, but somehow Maron had only just realised she didn’t love Krillin. It was a start though. Hopefully for him moving on. And her finding herself. Bulma could kind of see a bit of herself in the young woman. Not knowing her place, who she was yet. Making all the wrong decisions. Hurting others in the process. Despite still finding her incredibly annoying, Bulma reached her hand out. A peace offering. Maron peered back at her with wide, glassy eyes. Then slid her hand over and held Bulma’s. They both nodded, a minute tilt of their head. One that said, everything is going to be ok.

“You’ll find what you need, Maron,” the announcer said after a moment. “I believe it.”

She smiled, a little nervously. “Thanks.”

“Now… Bulma.”

She suddenly gripped Maron’s hand so hard that Maron yelped and tried to wrench her hand back. But there was no escaping it.

“Yes?” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“You’ve been having a… tumultuous time, let’s say.” She barked out a laugh at that. “Are you finding yourself opening up to the experience?”

“A little too much,” she grumbled.

He tilted his head curiously to the side. “I don’t know if I would say that.” He paused, as if waiting for her to respond. She wouldn’t. She just wanted this to be over with. “Are you ready?” he finally asked.

She nodded. It was time.

**

     There’s a group lounging around on the sofas, the ground, drinking and having a good time.

     One of them – Suno – points cheekily at Yamcha.

     “I dare you to kiss Mai!”

     He blushes. Glances at Tien, needing his bro for moral support. Then leans over and presses his lips to Mai’s. Soft. Chaste.

**

     They’re in a pool, gently patting a dolphin. Mai giggles. Yamcha laughs. The dolphin swims away. Without warning, Mai wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his.

     He seems surprised, but doesn’t stop it.

**

     Yamcha floats in the pool in the villa, talking with Tien. It seems intense. Serious.

     “You’ve been avoiding me.”

     “No, no I’m not.”

     “Do you prefer Suno?”

     “I don’t! At least… I don’t… know?”

     He seems terrified. Suddenly, he’s underwater, swimming up to the gaggle of girls that have joined them in the pool.

     Swims right up to Mai. Wraps his arms around her impossibly lithe waist.

     “Can I kiss you?”

     She grins victorious. “About time, babe.”

     Lips collide. Tongues writhe and lick along each other. Hands grope and glide. They kiss and kiss to the cheers of the other ladies.

**

Bulma knew Yamcha had cheated on her a handful of times in the past. Diving into the temptation of another woman’s lips, north or south. Running terrified of whatever next step in their relationship they came across.

She had never seen it though.

This was absolute. He could have explained the first one away as just a dare. Talked his way out of the second one as an attack.

But the third kiss.

The one he initiated.

That was all him.

“Bulma?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, probably too quickly to be convincing. She smiled, painfully tight. Cheeks pinched and contorted into forced happiness. Composure. She was fine, if she willed herself to be. “He’s doing what he always does. Running from himself.”

“What does this mean for you?”

Normally, throwing all his things out, breaking or burning some of it while she was at it. Blocking him on everything. Chain-smoking on her balcony for three days straight. Then throwing herself into her work until he managed to crawl under her skin once more. A vicious cycle.

She could do none of that here. Couldn’t kick him out, block him. Couldn’t work to distract herself, or fucking smoke to numb the pain.

Which made her realise she needed to try something new.

When she smiled this time, it was frightfully real. Honest. The smile of a woman stepping into the unknown.

“I’m breaking the cycle.”

Chapter Text

The ladies arrived back to the villa each in their own state of shock. Launch, worried about Tien. Chi-Chi, fragile over her own outburst. Maron, coming to terms with her decisions. Bulma, on the precipice of tearing her skin off. Or making out with the first guy that came her way. The guys had kicked off a party while they were out, music thumping from the patio. Different music. A bit more bass. More upbeat. Bulma couldn’t wait to get on the dancefloor, no matter who joined her.

“My angels, is everything alright?” Zarbon sang as he slithered in front of them in the living room.

Bulma rolled her eyes. Ok, she definitely wasn’t making out with the first guy she saw.

“N-no,” Maron whimpered, and allowed herself to be swept away by a soothing Zarbon. Bulma sighed, but didn’t stop her. There was no stopping the trainwreck that is a twenty-three year old.

“Cheech!” Goku raced up to them, skidding to a halt right in front of Chi-Chi. “Are you okay? You seem upset. Are you sick?”

His hand flew to her forehead to check her temperature. She flinched back. “I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? Do you need anything?”

“I need a drink,” she grumbled.

“Coming right up!” He saluted and stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing bottles of liquor that certainly did not look like they went together.

Chi-Chi sighed, though her cheeks were a little blushed. “I’m going to go monitor this before he accidentally gives me alcohol poisoning.”

Launch and Bulma met each other's eyes. She seemed to wrestle with some internal battle, before she finally spoke.

“You… deserve better.”

Bulma blinked. It looked like it had taken everything in her to get those words out. Even now, she seemed uncomfortable with the sincerity.

“Thanks. Are y–”

“I’m fine. You?”

She scoffed. “As fine as you are.”

At that, Launch smirked. Knowing. Understanding. Two peas in a fucked up pod. Ready to torch their worlds at a moment’s notice.

“The music is good,” Launch nodded her head towards the patio. “We should dance.”

They left the dimly lit living room for the dark, makeshift dancefloor. On the other side, nearest to the steps leading down to the pool, there was a plastic white table set up with music decks. Raditz stood behind it, headphones slung over his neck, working the music with expert ease. The ladies pushed their way through the moshing singles to Raditz.

And Vegeta. He was right next to Raditz, though didn’t seem particularly interested in the music. Resting against the railing, arms crossed – a picture of indifference. Bulma took note of the charcoal henley he had chosen for the evening; the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; the few buttons undone, exposing his taut, tanned pecs. His eyes, charcoal also. Locking onto her. Flickering along her body, soaking up every last drop of her. She felt something warm tighten deep inside. Something electric, that sparked just below her skin. He met her gaze again. And she knew he felt it too. The imperceptible parting of his lips as he sucked in a silent gasp. The tension in his jaw as he ground his teeth.

I’m breaking the cycle.

Though she knew he wanted to kiss her, she realised she didn’t want to just hand it over freely. She wanted him to yearn for her. To break for her. After all, she had only ever kissed one person in her life, and that was Yamcha. If she was going to have a new start on the lips of another, she was going to make them work for it.

“Raditz, I didn’t know you DJ’d!” she said, pointedly ignoring Vegeta to face his friend.

“Yeah, here and there. Sometimes at Vegeta’s bar, but mostly odd gigs around the eastern suburbs.”

“Which city?” 

“West. Born and–well, no actually. Just raised. Though Vegeta was born there.”

She didn’t look his way, but could feel his gaze burning through her. “Wow, I’m in West City too. Though I’m down south, on the Capsule Corp compound.”

Raditz snorted at that. “Of course you are, little lady. There you go, Vegeta. You’ve always wanted a spoilt princess.”

“Shut the fuc–”

“Who are you calling spoil–”

“Why wasn’t this your talent?” Launch cut in, making Bulma flinch. She had almost forgotten she was there.

He shrugged. For the first time, Bulma swore he looked… shy. He dipped his head down to fiddle with a few dials. And maybe to avoid Launch’s almost accusatory glare. An upbeat song blasted through the speakers. Heavy bass. Bright vocals. It made her want to move.

“Launch? Shall we dance?” 

She offered her hand. Launch snatched it and yanked her forward until they both stumbled onto the dancefloor. The guys all cheered, making space for them. Enough that they were still visible to Vegeta and Raditz. Launch immediately lost herself in the music, flicking her hair around, bobbing up and down in perfect time to the beat. Her eyes were closed. A soft smile on her lips. She seemed free. 

Bulma glanced over her shoulder.

Raditz was just staring. He twitched his head to the beat, one headphone ear over his own as he lined up the next song. But his eyes were on Launch. Curious. Focused. He turned a dial. The music sped up. Launch hollered and moved faster. Lively. Bulma tried to keep up, but found herself as lost in the beauty of Launch’s movements as Raditz was.

She peeked another look at Raditz.

And then Vegeta.

He wasn’t watching Launch.

He was watching Bulma. Arms crossed. Veins bulging. Even from a distance, she thought she could see his pulse tapping against the skin of his neck. A caged beast ready to unleash.

Not broken yet, though.

The beat changed. A little deeper. Dirtier. Bulma could work with this. She began circling her hips, flicking the hem of her skirt up. A cool breeze danced along the skin of her thighs. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and met Vegeta's pointed stare with her own heated, half-lidded tease. She bit her blood red bottom lip, and let it slowly pout out from her teeth. His hands gripped his biceps a little tighter. Brows furrowed further. He was close.

She went for a hail Mary. Lifted her hand and beckoned him with one finger.

He snarled at that. But obeyed. Pushed away from the railing to move towards her. Her heart pulsed quicker with every step. Until he invaded her orbit. Impossibly close. Nose brushing against her own. 

That made her heart stop.

Her mind went fuzzy, lightheaded. He had finally released the vice grip on his arms to hold them tense by his sides. Bulma held her chin high. Daring. Confident. Totally opposite to how she felt inside. 

“Did you want something?”

The quiet rasp of his voice made her shiver. “Yes. Do you dance?” 

He smirked. “Absolutely not.”

She sighed. That wasn't a surprising response. But she could still get him. 

“A shame. I could use a hot body to dance with.”

The flush that crept along his cheeks was beautiful, staining the bronze of his skin. Then, curiosity. A small quirk of his brow. 

“What happened tonight?”

She stilled. Tensed. That's not what she expected him to say. She sniffed. “You want the truth?”

“If you're willing.” 

Peering into his dark eyes, she wondered if they were talking about something else. But then, he wanted honesty. So she gave it to him.

“Yamcha kissed her. Multiple times.”

Fury flashed in his eyes. Like he wanted to defend her. Or make it better. Or punch Yamcha's lights out.

“Told you he's a fucking moron.”

She snorted. “Thanks, jackass. Feel better now that you've had your ‘told you so’ moment?”

“Much better,” he teased with another smug smirk. “So, what now?”

Right. Back to the plan.

“Now?” She slowly lifted her hand to play with a button on his shirt. Right between his pecs. He tensed, but didn't look down. “Now I want to have fun.”

His tongue flicked over his sharp canine as he chose his next words carefully.

“And what do you consider fun?”

Pressing her hand against his chest, she leaned in to brush her lips against his ear and whisper, “You know what.”

He suddenly flinched away from her. Like he couldn't let her be so close without getting some control back.

“Say it,” he ordered softly. “Say what you want.”

Bulma bit her lip. It would be so easy. To say she wanted his lips crushed against her own. The faint stubble ghosting across his skin, tearing into her own. His tongue tasting hers as his hands twisted into the fabric of her dress, the curls of her hair.

It would be easy.

But it wouldn't happen. 

The words wouldn't come.

He saw that. And wouldn't make a move without her words, or action. So he made to leave. Stepping away. Taking his warmth with him. He had only gone a few steps when her voice finally caught up to her desires.

“Hey, homeboy!”

He froze, then faced her, more annoyed than anything.

“Woman, enough with the–”

She didn't give him a chance to snap at her. Just stormed up to him as fast as her heels would allow, curled her hands in the fabric of his shirt, yanked him forward until his chest pressed against her own, and whispered hot over his lips, “Kiss me.”

There was no hesitation. No questioning. Bulma gave the order, and he complied perfectly.

Vegeta kissed her like she was the air he needed. The only source of life for him. His lips, softer than she expected, pressed rough against her own, slotting into place like they were made for each other. His arms wrapped around her, one hand finding the back of her neck, the other pressing fingerprints into the skin of her exposed back. Holding her close. Like she wasn't real. Like if he let go she would disappear. All she could do was cling on and try to keep up with his passion, capturing his lips over and over again with her own.

A catcall broke through the world they had created around them; one where there was only Vegeta, Bulma, and this kiss. Vegeta pulled away first. She fluttered her eyes open, hoping he looked as wrecked as she felt.

He did. Sweaty, flushed. Lips bruised and puffy. He looked beautiful. His hand slid from her neck to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

“Thanks for the fun, Vegeta,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his thumb. “I really needed that.”

Then, without looking back, Bulma strode back inside to go to bed.

She didn't need to look back to know he was staring after her. And that confidence made her heart soar.

—

Bulma laid in bed unable to sleep. She had showered, slid into comfortable cotton pajamas, cozied up for a good night's sleep. One that wouldn't come.

She had kissed Vegeta.

She had kissed Vegeta.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

The red light hadn't gone off in their villa. But it definitely went off in the other villa. 

She didn't care. Not anymore.

In fact…

She wanted to do it again.

To feel Vegeta under her touch once more. To see him break. Unleash.

Her nipples hardened at the thought, poking through the soft fabric of her t-shirt.

It had quietened outside, the party having simmered down.

He was most likely in bed. But on the chance he wasn't…

Bulma crept out of bed before she could stop herself. Tiptoed down the stairs. The living room was still dim. Goku and Chi-Chi were snuggled up on a sofa talking in one corner. She could see Raditz and Launch chatting outside.

“Bulma?” Chi-Chi asked. “Are you ok?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, have you seen Vegeta?”

Chi-Chi gave her a knowing look. “I think he went to bed.”

She fought a groan. “Of course he did. Thanks guys.”

Back to bed she went. She wasn't going to wake him up just to make out. 

She paused in the hallway, contemplating her options, and turned towards the guy's rooms. Okay, maybe she was going to wake him up to make out.

The decision was made for her.

The door to the confessional opened.

And there stood Vegeta. He was also in his pajamas. Grey sweatpants and an impossibly tight shirt.

Fuck.

He looked so good. Eyes wide with surprise. Lips parted. He looked wild. Ravenous.

“I… I was looking for y–”

The words were cut off by his hand circling around her wrist and pulling her into the room. Against him. Their lips found each other instantly, bruising, biting, kissing with all the battle and fury their words normally had. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his slid around her waist. She stepped forward as he stepped back, sending them both stumbling onto a sofa. He managed to catch her just in time, guiding her clumsily to his lap.

The first touch of his tongue against hers made her moan softly. She returned the gesture, and so the fuel began. Flicking, swirling. Wrecking. She couldn't help it. Her hips rolled, desperate to sate the wet heat building within. The sweatpants didn't help. Or helped too much. She felt the brush of his bulge against her clothed crotch and moaned again. He twitched at the contact, and finally broke away.

They panted hot against each other's lips. Foreheads pressed together. His hand snaked up between them so he could brush a few loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. She shivered, unwittingly rolling her hips again. He grunted. Deep. Broken.

“I… I don't think I'm ready for–”

He shook his head. “That's fine. More than fine. I'm not either.”

“We should go to bed.”

“Yeah.”

Neither moved. He breathed in deep through his nostrils and closed his eyes.

“Vegeta?”

“Hm?”

“Did you want to come on my next date with me?”

His eyes opened. Dark. Shining. Raw.

“Yes.”

Her heart thudded in her ears. She felt like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush, fighting a wide grin out of fear she would start giggling.

She pressed her lips to his once more. Softer than the other kisses. Then detangled her limbs from his and stood up.

Gods, he was a vision. Flushed, broken. She couldn't ignore how hard he was, the sweatpants leaving little to the imagination.

She tiptoed to the door, opened it and stepped through. 

At the last moment, she ducked her head back in.

“Goodnight, Vegeta.”

Only when she finally dived back in bed did she unleash the giggle that had been bubbling up inside her. She silently laughed until she slipped away into a blissful sleep.

Chapter Text

Vegeta had barely slept a wink. Their kiss played on repeat in his mind like a scratched DVD jolting back to the start of the scene.

Her, beckoning him over.

Lips brushing.

Walking away. Desperately wanting to turn around.

And then.

“Kiss me.”

Two words that transformed him from man to carnal beast, fuelled by desire. For her. Only for her. In a split second he forgot all about the cameras, all about his father's motorcycle, the fact she had a boyfriend, and stole her breath with his lips.

It barely lasted more than a few moments. Pressing their lips together, again and again. Her fists curled in his shirt. His hands finding her neck, her back, her skin. Soft fire against his palms. He’d be burned by her a million times over.

And then she left him, with an obligatory, infuriating sassy comment and a peppy sway to her hips. Not that he was looking. Much.

He thought that would be all. A flash of danger to wash away all her boyfriend had done to her. Which was perfectly fine for him. This was a temporary experience. They would never see each other again once production finished.

Except they lived in the same city.

Not even that far from each other.

No. No, it was just temporary. She would go back to her fuckhead boyfriend, and he would get his bike off fuckhead Raditz, and he would never have to think about Bulma again.

Not her lips. Her soft skin. The heat of her blue eyes as they burned straight through him. Cracking him open beyond repair.

Damn it, no!

He wrenched his pillow from behind his head and covered his face. He wanted to scream into the pillow, but his intolerable, snoring roommates would hear, and then would want an explanation, and then he'd be forced to either talk, or punch someone's lights out.

Okay, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea…

Still, none of this would have been a problem if it had just been that one, devastating kiss. That was manageable. Somewhat. He had got himself ready for bed and tried for a good night's sleep.

Except sleep wasn't happening. He laid there, staring up at the suspiciously stained ceiling, recounting every last microsecond of the kiss.

Then Zarbon had stumbled into the room, slurring something about “annoying, sobbing women”, before he promptly threw up in a small bin in the corner.

That was Vegeta's cue to leave. He sprinted out of the room and into the space that had become his sanctuary – the Confessional.

A horribly pink room, permanently lit up with bright production lights. A fluro pink sofa in the middle of the space. Every part of it was designed to break his spirit. And yet, he found comfort in there. A place for solitude. To voice his frustrations. He knew there was a camera, but somehow found himself forgetting amidst all the craziness.

He couldn't speak then though. Words wouldn't come, as sleep wouldn't. He just sat there in silence. Staring at the sticky carpet beneath his bare feet, trying not to think of how long it had been since production cleaned it.

It was useless.

With no reprieve from his own mind, he thought he would turn to the one thing he knew he could control: his body. It was probably too late to get out the weights, but some laps in the pool would do the job.

He had opened the door.

And then…

Her.

It really wouldn’t have been an issue if it had just been that one kiss.

But seeing her there, bare-faced, pajama-clad, real, looking at him with those wild eyes, he lost himself.

Held her close.

Kissed her.

Let himself fall to the sofa, dragging her down with him.

Cradling Bulma in his lap was heaven. Torturous heaven. She ground down on his cock, and that was the moment that brought him clarity. Because that was real. Kisses (no matter how lifechanging) were a bump in the road for her relationship. For theirs. But… that… that was something neither could come back from.

“Damn it,” he hissed into the pillow.

Why the fuck was he thinking about all this now?

All it was serving him was a bad case of painful morning wood.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Raditz suddenly spoke from beside him.

Vegeta slammed the pillow so hard to his crotch to cover his boner that it hurt. 

“Fuck off, Raditz. Don’t you have someone’s ass to grope?”

He grinned and leaned in close to whisper. “Only with consent my guy.” He crossed his arms on top of his top bunk mattress and rested his chin on his hands. “At any rate, there’s only the guys here to fondle, and I’ve worked through all my viable candidates.” His eyes darted down to where Zarbon was still passed out in his clothes from the night before.

“Gross. God, gross, did you and him–”

“Second night. Not since though.” He looked way too fucking proud of himself.

“You’re a wreck,” Vegeta groaned, trying to shove the image of Raditz and Zarbon out of his mind. There was a slight pinch of Raditz’s brows. Some unreadable flutter of emotion that Vegeta refused to decipher first thing in the morning. “Wait, why are there only guys here?”

Raditz shrugged. “I ducked out for a swim this morning to clear m–to do laps, and I spoke to production. They’ve taken the ladies to film some videos for their partners. Then to watch the videos from their partners.”

Vegeta glared at the ceiling, finding his favourite stain to throw all his animosity at. They kissed last night, and would now spend the whole day apart. Not that he wanted to talk about it. Or do it again (liar). But his heart twinged at the thought of one moment holding her close and tasting her lips, her tongue, and the next having to wait around while she professed her love for her boyfriend. While he manipulated her into believing him.

“Careful Vegeta,” Raditz warned. He pushed himself away with a clap on Vegeta’s nearest bicep, then headed for the door. “Anyone would think you’ve got a heart.”

He threw the pillow at the closing door.

A battle brewed within. Between what he needed to believe and the honest truth.

He had a heart. And it was falling for Bulma.

—

Krillin shuffled nervously on the stool production had set up in some private garden near the villa. Surrounded by rustling trees and singing birds, he tried to centre his breath. To calm himself before the storm.

A wooden chest sat before him. Ominous. Inside there were two options. Either a message from Maron, or nothing.

He sucked in a shaky breath, clenched his eyes shut, and opened the box.

After a moment, he exhaled and creaked open his eyes.

A tablet was stuck to the lid.

With a trembling hand, he reached forward and pressed play.

**

     Maron is sitting on a plush bed in a grey jumper and matching sweatpants. Her hair falls lifelessly over her pallid cheeks. She looks devastated.

     “Hey Krilly,” she finally speaks, a little croaky, meeting the camera. “Hope you’re doing well. I miss you. So much. I–” She falters, stormy eyes watering. “I can’t wait to see you. Stay happy.”

**

Krillin felt his heart twinge. He had never seen Maron like this. So broken. So… not put together. She wasn’t even wearing makeup.

He wanted to hug her. To promise her it would be alright, no matter what had happened. That they would make it out of here, together.

Happy.

All he could do was hope his message would be enough. He left the garden, ignoring the smooth voice in his mind that pointed out one glaringly obvious fact.

Maron didn’t say she loved him.

—

He didn’t need this shit. Didn’t need to see Chi-Chi stammer through some apology or so an admission that ultimately meant nothing. The writing was on the wall. They were over. Probably before they should have begun.

So it goes.

He restrained a growl at the pomp of it all, flung open the chest and pressed play.

**

     Chi-Chi is perched on the edge of her bed, one leg crossed over the other. Her back is straight. Strong. Confident.

     “Piccolo, I think you think you know what I’m going to say. But this may surprise you…” She drifts off, revealing a crack in her armour. When she speaks again, it’s quiet. But just as strong. “When we see each other at the end of this, I ask one thing of you: see me. See me as I am. Flawed. Combative. And…” Her last word is whispered so quietly it needs subtitles.

     “Beautiful.”

**

Piccolo’s nostrils flared as he breathed out heavily.

She was right. He was surprised. No stammering. No tears. She faced this with guts and spoke her truth.

A proud smirk ghosted across his lips as he strode away from the tablet.

—

Tien felt himself split in a million directions. Like there were multiple versions of himself, making decisions antithetical to each other. The two loudest, warring parts, were causing him turmoil. One, defiant in his love for Launch. Fiery, frantic Launch. A bringer of chaos and so much heart to life. 

The other, yearning for Yamcha. And what that affection meant for him. A desire he had barely tapped into out of fear of others. And himself.

But now he was faced with the first warrior.

The chest sat before him. Taunting him. He hoped she could see through whatever she had been shown. Could see the battle within.

He tentatively opened the chest and hit play.

**

     Launch is hunched over at the end of the bed. Loose, wild curls fall over her face. She sighs, then lifts her head to meet the camera.

     “Tien, I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re… different. I’m worried about you. You know what you are to me. What you’ve done for me. But it’s about time you put yourself first. Whatever it is you’re going through, you have my permission to fuck around to figure it out. Be good to yourself.” She then chuckles, dark and gritty. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

**

Tien chuckled right back at that, shaking his head.

His heart swelled. God, she was a magnificent woman. However this ended, he knew they would love each other still.

—

Yamcha knew he had hurt Bulma a million times. Enough to know her fury. Her heartache. How she looked as hope shattered behind her eyes. How it looked as it was slowly glued back together by his words. His promises. He had sworn this time would be different. That he'd never crack the fragile glass of hope in her eyes again.

It would be shattered now. He knew that. Another broken promise. Irreparable damage to them. Her.

There was nothing left to do but face it head on. At least there was a tablet when he opened the chest. That was something.

**

      Bulma sits at the edge of her bed, her knees tucked up to her chest, head turned to the side, resting on her knees.

     She's quiet a moment.

     And then sighs.

     “Is this how you thought it would go?” She lifts her head to rest her chin on her knees. “Life? I don't know. Don't know much anymore.” She smiles. Sweet, but sad. “I wish I could talk to you. Understand what's going on in that big head of yours. I'm so angry with you. We both deserve better. I hope you find what you're looking for. Because I think we both know it isn't me.”

**

Yamcha groaned, palming away hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

She was right. She was always right. She was insufferable when she was right.

They both deserved better. Especially Bulma.

—

Bulma didn't hesitate. Not at all. Still running off the high from her makeout session with Vegeta, she strode over to the bench, plonked down, opened the chest and pressed play on the video. No muss, no fuss.

**

     Yamcha is pacing his room. Dishevelled. Confused.

     Finally, he stops in front of the camera. Words spill torrential from him.

     “B, hey. Hi. I just… don't even know where to begin. I don't know what you've seen, but it's… not entirely what it looks like? Which sounds like such a copout, I know. I just wish we could talk. I… I miss my best friend. You would know exactly what to say to get me through this. Not that I want to use you! I just… I'm not doing this right, huh. Take care of yourself, B. You deserve the world.”

**

Bulma had promised herself she wouldn't cry. And she wouldn't. Not anymore. Not over him.

But she would break again. Deep within.

A different break though. Not so cataclysmic. More of a final kiss with death for their relationship. Her heart finally saying goodbye to them. Him.

“I miss my best friend.”

So did she.

—

Launch tapped her foot against the earth rapidly, debating whether to even open the tablet at all.

It wasn’t that she was scared. But if Tien had seen past all the bullshit, then he knew she was slipping. Not all the way under, but certainly treading in rapid waters. The only thing keeping her afloat was… well, Raditz. She hadn’t even drunk the night before, she was so swept up in his music.

If Tien saw it all, then he might be angry. Or shut down.

Before she could stop herself, or run away into the jungle never to be seen again, she opened the box.

**

     Tien is hunched over at the end of the bed. He runs a hand over his head, then whips his head up to meet the camera.

     “Launch, I don’t know what’s happening. You don’t seem okay, and… fuck, I’m worried about you. You know what you are to me. What we’ve overcome. How to survive. Whatever is happening, you have my permission to do what you need to figure it out. Be good to yourself.” He grits his teeth and bores his eyes straight down the barrel. “Stay afloat. You’ve got this.”

**

It started as a bubble in her chest. A flutter of giggles that barely left her throat. It swiftly erupted into laughter, then cackling, doubling over to try and get a handle of herself.

Goddamn, she loved that man. Maybe not in love, but damn it she loved him.

Her laughter carried her out of the garden.

—

It had taken all her energy, and a brutal pep talk from Launch, for Maron to rally to receive Krillin’s message.

She wasn’t sure what she would be met with.

Anger.

Tears.

Nothing.

Wordlessly, she opened the chest. There was a tablet. That was something–she could cross nothing off the list.

She bit her lip and pressed play.

**

     Krillin sits on his bed. Legs crossed. Almost like one of his meditation positions. He runs a hand over his smooth head. Peers to the side, like he’s gathering the strength to speak.

     “Maron,” he breathes out after a moment. “Maron, I wish you had told me all of this. Everything you have been feeling. I…” He finally looks down the barrel of the camera. “I know you’re a bit younger. You have your whole life ahead of you. If you need time to figure things out… then do that. Figure things out. I’ll be there for you at the end of this. No matter what, I love you.”

**

No anger.

No tears.

Just understanding.

Sweet Krillin. Always so understanding.

Somehow, that was the most unbearable response.

Maron left the garden with guilty tears streaming down her cheeks.

—

She wasn’t sure what she expected of Piccolo. The man was an enigma on the best of days, let alone under such intense circumstances. The chances of him not even bothering to leave a video at all were high, if he felt it was beneath him.

As much as she wasn’t sure they would survive this, she wanted to see his face. To take comfort in the familiarity of someone from home.

She lifted the chest lid, and sighed with relief that there was a tablet.

**

     Piccolo stands statuesque in the corner of his bedroom. Arms crossed. Glaring at the ground beneath his feet. Silent.

     So unmoving it’s like the video is stuck.

     The playbar counts down towards the end of thirty seconds.

     He doesn’t move.

     With less than ten seconds left, he lifts his head to stare piercing into the camera.

     “Do what you must. But do it without regrets.”

      He leaves the room before the counter reaches zero.

**

For the first time in days, there was an absence of weight in her chest. A freedom. She felt perhaps how Goku did at all times. A leaf on the wind, delighting in the dance of life.

She smiled, wide and full, and left the garden for what she must.

Without regrets.

—

It was late when they were all ferried back to the villa. Violet bled across the sky. Though there was music pumping and a barbeque underway, the men were quiet when the ladies reached the living room.

“What's going o–” Bulma started, only to be cut off by none other than the announcer, striding in wearing his violet sky suit.

“Ladies! Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the sofas. They all glanced at each other warily, but sat down regardless. “How did your videos go? Find out anything you have been wanting to hear?” There were a few half-hearted mumbles in response. “Right, well. I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here.”

“You've got that right,” Launch muttered under her breath.

“I have some news to tell you. Actually, it might be easier if I show you. Follow me.”

The announcer led the women outside, past a group of the men who watched them with interest. Past the pool, down to a bare part of the backyard that Chi-Chi had only seen when she had run laps with Goku.

It wasn't bare anymore.

Shrouded by bushes and trees, away from prying eyes, was a large tent. Big enough to stand up in. The front was unzipped, giving them a perfect view inside. A mattress lay on the floor. Lanterns dangled inside, casting a warm, romantic glow through the tent. 

“What is this?” Bulma finally asked.

The announcer eyed them all individually. Precisely. Taking care to meet their trepidation with his own warning gaze.

“This… is Temptation Haven.”

Chi-Chi's blood roared in her ears. “W-what does that mean?”

“From this point on, there will not be a light for any temptation. Instead, you have the option to utilise the Haven with a single of your choosing. There are no cameras in the Haven. Whatever happens in there will be between you and your companion.”

“I'm sensing a ‘but’...” Launch said.

“But,” the announcer continued. “Entering the Haven will trigger a light in the other villa. They will know that someone here has decided to be tempted, without prying eyes.”

There was silence as they considered the gravity of what this meant. A space where no one would see how far they were tempted. But the other villa would know something.

“And the other villa… they also have a Haven?” Bulma finally asked.

“Yes. The light will switch on here if someone enters the Haven.”

More silence. It was bait. That's all it was. A lure to get more people to hook up. That's what this show wanted after all; pure chaos. Nevermind it was real lives they were affecting. Real relationships.

“I see you ladies might need some time to process this. Have a good evening. And remember: the Haven rules are now in effect. A light will only appear if someone in the other villa is doing something that they don't want you to see.”

His words echoed around them as he left the four women alone with the looming tent, and all the possibilities it contained.

Chapter Text

A perfect summer’s day in an impossibly green field. A beautiful, confident woman by his side. A platter spread across the picnic blanket of strawberries, sliced bananas, crunchy pretzels, all to dunk into delicious melted chocolate.

It should have been what he wanted. 

It was what was expected of him. What had always been expected of him.

When he was a kid, all he knew was to protect his friends by being as strong as possible, and to find a great wife. It was all he wanted. To live up to those societal expectations of what it was to be a man. He had never questioned it. The path was set. To deviate was to fail.

He and Bulma met young. Too young. Or too wrong. Both foolish teens with stars in their eyes about the world. Their paths. But every time those individual paths neared each other at the next stage of life, he would fling himself frightfully into the dark unknown forest surrounding them.

Maybe he had been testing her. Pushing her so far away to see if she would stick around. If someone could love the worst parts of him, maybe they could love him. Regardless of if he loved them.

Was he really that cruel?

No. You know the real reason.

He picked up a plump strawberry and bit into it, mindlessly chewing.

The real reason?

Tien.

Well, not exactly him.

Men.

He had never considered men an option. There was Bulma, there were regretfully other women, and that was all.

But if he really thought about it… there always had been men.

Snuck glances in locker rooms. Lingering on broad shoulders in porn. On fat, weeping cocks.

Ok, maybe he had considered men. In some vague way. Like how when he was a kid he wanted to travel to another planet. It would never be an option so to fantasise was fine.

“Yamcha?”

“Hm?”

“We should have sex.”

The strawberry went down the wrong pipe, making him cough and splutter everywhere. He had almost forgotten Mai was there. Lazing with her legs tucked to one side, her short summer dress flowing off her shoulders. Piercing dark eyes that watched him choke with glittering humour.

“Wh-wh–now?”

“Not now. Tonight.”

He scoffed. Or laughed, he wasn’t sure. “Wh-why me?”

She grinned. “Oh honey, it won’t just be you.”

“I-I’m not following.”

Mai picked up a toothpick pierced into a banana slice, then dipped it into the rich chocolate sauce. Slowly, she brought it to her lips. “I want Tien there too.” Then she wrapped her lips around the banana and sucked it off the toothpick.

Yamcha thought he was going to pass out. His heart raced laps through his body. “Wh-why him?” he managed to stammer out shakily.

She chewed for a moment, then swallowed. A small droplet of chocolate clung to the corner of her mouth. A breeze curled around them, making his skin prickle with goosebumps. She seemed to consider her next words carefully, before she leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

“Do you want me to say it in front of the cameras? Really?”

Ice trickled down his spine. And heat. Fear and excitement. She knew something. He wasn’t sure what. Maybe she just thought he wanted a threesome. But… she might have also been seeing their… whatever… brewing.

It didn’t matter that she may have had her own reasons to bed two hot, muscled guys. They were all using each other in some way.

What mattered was they would spend a night in the Haven, without any cameras. 

Mai.

Yamcha.

And most importantly, Tien. If he wanted to.

He nodded furiously, which made her smirk.

“Now I just need one thing from you.”

Yamcha froze. “O-okay?”

“Stop ignoring me and kiss me.”

He blushed. She was right with that, he had been avoiding her since the bonfire. Especially since the Haven announcement. Somehow he knew they would find themselves here.

They kissed. But Yamcha’s mind was entirely on Tien.

—

Launch half-paid attention to the safety instructors presentation. Something about enclosed shoes, one at a time, yadda yadda yadda, who gave a fuck?

Her and Raditz were finally on a date.

She had felt some kind of connection to the man since early on in this crazy adventure. It wasn’t (just) his insane body, or his luscious mane. It was that he was unapologetically himself. Wild. Free. Willing to make mistakes and be proud of them, all in the name of integrity. She could relate to that. She admired that.

Their stories seemed similar. Two foster brats who somehow landed on somewhat steady ground.

Sexual tension was one thing. Raditz seemed to have it with damn near everyone. This felt more visceral. Terrifying. She had told Vegeta she wanted to know him, and be known by him. And if that’s all she got from this experience, then it would have been worth it.

The presentation finished, and they were directed to a small field where a target stood at one end, and a bucket of axes at the other.

“You ever done this before, darlin’?” Raditz asked, tugging out an axe by the handle to turn it over in his hand. It was easier to look at the wooden handle in his grasp, rather than face her. She seemed to see him too much. It was unnerving.

Thunk!

He whipped his head up to see an axe having damn near splintered the target, right on the bullseye. Launch stood just behind the firing line, hunched over, heaving slightly.

“That felt good,” she breathed out with a laugh. “Your turn.”

An unsteady beating of his heart nearly made him trip over. He managed to hold onto himself to step up to the line. She brushed aside, carefully evading making contact with him. He hated that he was disappointed she didn’t touch him.

He lined himself up, then threw the axe. It hit the target about five centimetres to the left of hers.

“Best of five?” she offered with a smirk.

He couldn’t fight the matching one that tugged on the corner of his lips. “You’re on.”

Back and forth they went, throwing axes against the target.

Launch won every round.

“Get fucked!” she cried out cackling, flipping him the double bird even though his last shot was only off target by a centimetre. “Pay up, darlin’!”

“We didn’t even bet on it!”

“Ugh, really? Next time, then. When I pummel your ass again.” 

She winked, then skipped her way over to the nearby picnic table and plucked a beer from the esky. He followed suit and caught the beer she threw his way before plonking down next to her.

After a few moments of silence and sipping their beers, Launch spoke. A little quieter. The gentle rasp of her voice sending a shudder through him.

“You know how you’re a foster kid?”

He scoffed. “Not something you forget.”

“What happened to your parents?” His thumb picked at the label on the beer bottle. Peeling away some nonsense about ‘zero calories, all flavour’. Maybe if he didn't respond then she would drop it all together.

She didn't though.

Instead, she spoke. A confession murmured into the glass of her bottle before she took a swig.

“We lost ours early on.”

That got his attention. He peeked out of the corner of his eyes. She was similarly hunched over, scraping the label as he was. Her hair cascaded over one shoulder, made golden under the midday sun. She was beautiful.

“We?” he asked, the word slipping his lips before he could stop it.

She tensed. Held in place by grief. And fear. But Raditz’s warm presence held her in comfort.

“My sister,” she finally said. “Twin sister. She… passed away. A few years back.”

Now that.

That Raditz could understand.

Though he never got part of a lifetime with his brother. Never got to see if they both liked action movies. Good, carby food. Weird animals that nobody usually cared about. If he remembered their parents. He was so young after all.

But he could understand loss.

Her.

“I lost my sibling too.”

It was true, though so totally different.

A tiny sniffle from Launch was all it took for the walls around his heart to splinter. He opened his arms, and himself, up. Wrapped them around her shoulders. And let her cry.

She was kind enough not to mention his own tears, trickling into her hair.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Lazuli asked as she propped the soccer ball up between her hip and arm. “It’s not too late to back out.”

He huffed a laugh. “You’ll be better than me, but I’m not backing down from a fight.” Krillin stretched his arms high and low, side to side. He had gone shirtless. Every movement made his bulging muscles twitch and contort. She had to stop herself from sighing dreamily at the sight.

Because that would reveal too much. Would show her hand. Her heart.

Krillin had captured her steel heart wholly. Terrifyingly. At first he had just been an enigma. A quiet soul, devoted to his love. But she had seen the same fractures behind his eyes. The cracks of criticism that had broken him down. Whereas she knew hers were thanks to her stepfather, her coach, the media, his were from his girlfriend.

That fucking cunt.

She prided herself on not hating people. Indifference was much more powerful. More cruel.

But damn, she was pretty sure she hated Maron.

Because she had taken sweet, hot, kind Krillin, and made him a shell of himself.

She knew she couldn’t really tell him all this though. He wasn’t ready to lose Maron. Even after she fucking cheated on him, said she didn’t love him, admitted that she was here to fuck around… even after all that, he still wanted her.

So Lazuli assumed the role that would get Krillin through this. Friend. It’s not like she came into this with the intention of finding a boyfriend or girlfriend at the end of it all. Whatever Krillin needed was enough for her.

It wasn’t her fault that production had picked beach soccer for their date.

She had to wear a bikini for that.

And if it happened to be the smallest bikini she owned, sitting high on her hips, sliding between her taut cheeks to show as much skin as possible, that was pure coincidence.

She dropped the ball to the sand.

“Ready?”

He gulped, but furrowed his brows. Focused. “Ready.”

After twenty minutes, she had barely broken a sweat. Krillin, however, was tomato-red and looked like he had been dunked in the ocean. She had let him get control of the ball, but they both knew it wouldn’t last long.

He tapped it forward once. Twice. She saw the feint a split second before he did it. A small lunge to the left, then a greater one to the right.

On instinct, she launched, sliding along her side to kick the ball out from under him, and managing to collide with his feet too.

He landed straight on top of her with a oof.

Lazuli could barely breathe. And not because he had landed on her, she was fairly used to that with the game. But because it was the closest they had ever been. His skin sticking against hers. Face pressed to her neck. Breath, hot against her ear. 

“S-sorry,” he panted, his lips grazing her jaw.

The moan slipped out before she could stop it. Coupled with a full body quiver.

He froze. Slowly lifted his head. Dark eyes met sky blue. With shock. And curiosity. Lazuli felt her eyelids flutter, her head tilt.

“Krillin?” she whispered, her eyes darting between his.

“I–” he started. “I… ugghgh fuck!”

Suddenly he was rolling off her, clutching his ankle.

“Are you alright?” she asked as she sat up. Upon seeing his swollen ankle, she quickly realised he was not alright.

Production raced over to administer first aid. Lazuli stood to the side, letting them do their job, but watched on carefully. Once he was strapped up, she snatched an icepack off a production assistant, and sat down near his feet. Slowly, she lifted his leg until his foot rested in her lap, and held the ice to the injury.

When she met his eyes, he looked surprised that she was taking care of him. One warning look from her though, and he wisely didn’t try to stop it.

“‘Spose this is what I get for trying to play with a pro, huh,” he joked instead.

“I did offer you an out.”

He shrugged. “I don’t back down from a challenge. I might face it terrified, and I might nearly lose a limb–” She flicked his knee at that, which he laughed at. “But I don’t back down.”

She considered that for a moment.

Neither did she, really.

Always ready to take on the greatest competitors. Including herself.

“You don’t back down from anything?”

He chuckled nervously. “I mean, I’m probably going to back down from a pit of vipers. But most things, yeah. Not backing down.”

“Good to know.”

She placed his leg gingerly back onto the sand, resting the icepack in a decent position to still aid the swelling.

Then moved. Crawling up beside him. His eyes widened, with both fear and heat.

Softly, she pressed her lips to his cheek. His skin burned fire hot, almost stinging her lips.

“Neither do I,” she whispered against his ear, relishing in the goosebumps that spread like wildfire across his skin. Then she quickly retreated and launched to her feet. “C’mon, I think we’ve earned ourselves lunch after that.”

She helped him to his feet and to hobble over to the table set up for them. Politely, she didn’t mention the thick swell she spotted tenting his board shorts, and instead got to work making up their salad sandwiches.

—

“Is this right?” Goku asked, frantically trying to keep the slab of clay on the spinny thing.

He didn’t understand why production had set them up on this weird date. He liked when they went horse riding, or on the ATV’s, or eating food, but this seemed a bit silly. Especially considering they said he couldn’t eat the clay.

“Oh god, Goku, how have you managed to get clay in your ear?!” Chi-Chi stopped her wheel and began wiping him down with a napkin. “Seriously, do you know how to do anything without making a mess?”

“Sorry Cheech,” he grimaced as she rubbed his cheek raw.

“Oh you’re an absolute brute with this clay. Slow the wheel down, I’ll talk you through it.”

He did as she asked, slowing it down until it stopped spraying every tree trunks and grass blade in the vicinity with wet clay.

“Ok, now what?”

She bit her bottom lip. God, he loved when she did that. It always made her lip pink and plump, wet with saliva. He wanted to taste it. Bite it. Paint it with h–

“Are you even listening?”

Oops.

He ran his hand over the back of his head and smiled apologetically. “Um, no?”

Thankfully she seemed a little charmed by him. Though she probably wouldn’t be if she had known what he was thinking. She fought a smile and teased, “You weren’t really a straight A student, were you?”

“Not in clay class.”

“Pottery,” she corrected. “Ok, if you’re not going to listen, I’m just going to show you. Scooch back.”

“Uh, wh–”

She left him no time to move properly, wriggled in between him and the wheel, and practically sat in his lap. He fought a grunt at the contact of her butt meeting his crotch. It was a warm day, so he had gone for board shorts. But she was in a small sundress. And when she sat down, the hem had flicked up slightly. The only thing between his rapidly hardening dick and her fairy-floss soft skin was a few measly scraps of fabric.

“Bring your hands here,” she ordered quietly, snatching his clay-sopped hands forward. “Now watch for a moment, then join me.”

Her lithe fingers twitched, hovering above the clay, deciding what she might do.

Then, she moved.

Gently at first, two fingers working the centre of the clay until it molded outwards, forming a recognisable shape.

He tried to focus on her steady movements, but found his senses overridden by her. 

The shine of her hair catching bright rays above. Her soft scent tickling his nostrils; freshly mown grass, and something dewy, like the earth after a storm. The sloped arch of her spine as she leaned forward, hips pressing back to him.

“See how soft it is?” she whispered.

“Uh-huh,” he sighed, ever so slightly brushing his nose against her hair.

“Come, try it with me.”

His hands found hers. Tentative at first. Grazing her knuckles with his palm. She lowered her hands, and all he could do was follow. With her as his guide, they gently penetrated the clay with their fingers.

Soft.

Wet.

He fought back a groan.

She sighed. Tilted her head to the side to expose the pale slope of her neck. The steady pulse of her heartbeat, tapping against the surface of her skin. He wanted to sink his teeth into her. To taste her.

His hand twitched, denting all their hard work.

She didn’t notice. Or chose not to. Her eyes met his, dark and shimmering, and he lost himself in them.

“Goku?” she whispered.

“Chi-Chi?”

She gasped, her eyes widening, like she had just realised what they were doing. Or nearly doing.

“Um, I think you have it now.”

She leapt out of his lap like he was on fire and returned to her own station, molding her own clay once more.

Goku had never felt like this. So alive. So nervous. He wanted to lose himself in all of Chi-Chi, if she would let him. But he didn’t know the first thing about actually being with someone. Heck, he didn’t even know he would ever have wanted that. He needed to at least learn about the basic. Even if Chi-Chi didn’t want to, it would help in case he ever felt like this again. 

So Goku came up with a plan.

When they got back to the house and started getting ready for that night’s glow party, he was going to ask Raditz about the birds and the bees, and what the heck animals had to do with human sex.

Chapter Text

Tien closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensations. Salty air curling around him. Sand crystals clinging to his feet. The waves crashing on the shore. Blistering heat prickling his skin. Things were simple when he went back to basics. To the earth. Nature. He breathed in with a wave inching along the sand, and breathed out as it disappeared back to where it came.

It was a beautiful day. Perfect to spend with someone he liked. Loved.

If Launch were here, she would have already dived into the ocean. Finding some kind of peace beneath the crashing waves. Probably would have thrown her bikini top at him as she ran to shore. He chuckled at the thought. But it didn't make his heart race. Not anymore.

And if Yamcha were here…

Well that would be all maybes.

Maybe they'd wrestle in the sand, spar until one yielded.

Maybe just laze around, tanning and eating good food.

Or maybe… 

They'd kiss.

Soft at first. Tentative. A sweet press of lips. More rugged than he was used to. A shadow of stubble scratching his skin.

He would want more. He knew that for sure. One taste of those lips that had been driving him crazy, and he would lose all semblance of self-control.

Another kiss.

More confident.

Maybe he'd slide his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, seeking passage. The press of Yamcha's tongue against his own.

And maybe, maybe, they might–

“Must be important.”

He opened his eyes and peeked to the side.

Suno. Sweet Suno. A shy smile on her lips. Honey brown eyes, staring at him almost knowingly.

“What?”

“Whatever it is that has you brooding like that.”

She picked up a raspberry from the fruit platter on their towels and popped it in her mouth while he considered his next words.

“I haven't been the most talkative…” he finally said quietly. “Sorry about that.”

She shrugged and leaned back on her hands. “That's ok. I don't mind the quiet. It reminds me of home.”

“Where's home?” he asked, mirroring her position.

“That might be the first question you've actually asked me,” she teased, which made him wince. “Don't worry, this whole experience is meant for you. And at any rate, I know I'm not who you have eyes on.”

A heavy sigh huffed from his nostrils. “Is it that obvious?”

“Anyone would be stupid to miss it.”

“Sorry,” he said with a grimace. “I hope you don't think I've been leading you on.”

“I'm fine, Tien. Again, us mountainfolk don't mind the quiet. Maybe you should tell her how you feel?”

“But what if he–wait, what?”

She chuckled and bumped his shoulder with her own. “Mai. You should tell her you're attracted to her.”

A swirl of unease flooded through his stomach. Part of him had kind of been hoping she could see what was really happening. Who he really wanted. That there might be someone in this godforsaken place that he could speak to. It would have been great if Yamcha was willing to talk about it, but he seemed to be in painful denial.

Gods, he missed Launch. She would know what to say. He had helped her through her own sexuality, exploring where she needed to for confirmation of what she knew in her heart. Maybe he had been able to help her so much because deep down he understood. But where she was all instinct and freedom, he was plagued by control and limitations.

Tien closed his eyes once more, listened for the ocean, and hoped he might find the answers he needed.

—

Maron watched from the side as Zarbon made a show of flicking out the yoga mats. Bending over, stretching them out nice and flat. It was nice of him to prepare hers too. Kind. He had been nothing but kind since the last bonfire. An ear to talk to. Shoulder to cry on.

It was what she needed.

And now he was going to take her through a guided yoga session for their date, which was what she needed even more.

Some exercise, some peace.

It certainly helped that the guy with the cutest butt was going to lead her through it.

“Maron, my dear. Are you ready to become enlightened?”

Her heart raced as Zarbon turned those sweet golden eyes onto her.

“Y-yes.”

He grinned wide, all teeth on display.

“Good girl. Now show me your downward dog.”

—

This was more like it. Production must have gotten the hint about their last ‘date’, and had got them on a date much more their speed.

The jungle was quiet. The air thick, but crisp. Humidity clung to their skin as Piccolo led them down the winding path, but Lapis didn’t mind. 

“I think this might be a good spot,” Piccolo finally murmured, guiding them to a small clearing.

Tree roots knotted out of the damp jungle floor, some so large they were nearly knee-height. Moss clung to nearly every surface they could see. Lapis spotted a few skinks scurrying away from them as they slowed to a stop.

More silence.

Piccolo’s presence was so calming. Stoic and stable. Lapis felt their chest tighten whenever he was around, yet their body, their mind, relaxed. A strange dichotomy of the senses.

Then, they heard it.

A tinny warble from high above.

Lapis raised their binoculars to the thick canopy high above. Golden light filtered through the smallest of gaps in the leaves, barely reaching the earth beneath them.

They zoomed in slightly, trying to spot the famed Rainbow Icareet.

“I don’t see it,” they whispered after a moment.

“I’ve got it,” Piccolo whispered right back.

Lapis peeked out of the corner of their eyes. Piccolo had their binoculars angled to a different spot. They tried following their path, but couldn’t quite spot the rare bird.

“May I?”

The deep timbre of Piccolo’s voice washed through him like a shot of smooth scotch. It made them feel warm. Tingly. Confident.

They handed the binoculars to Piccolo, though the strap around their neck tugged them forward with the action, bringing them impossibly close, orbits colliding. Lapis breathed in as Piccolo fiddled with a setting, inhaling his scent. Earthy. Salty. And something sweet, like a blossomed daisy. They peered up to Piccolo, taking in the sharp, angular features. The slope of his brows, pinched together in concentration. A filtered ray of sun now beamed down upon them, painting one side of his face in honey gold.

Lapis gulped. He was just so… interesting. Beauty and power all in one. Curious, quiet intelligence. A wallflower, but not a pushover. It was admirable. Fascinating. They couldn’t tell if they wanted him, or wanted to be him.

“There,” he murmured, handing the binoculars back. “Now look.”

Shaking off their errant thoughts, they carefully took the binoculars and held them up to their face, then peered up to where the bird was supposed to be.

“Not quite,” he suddenly whispered from behind. “Over there.”

Gently, Piccolo placed his hands beside Lapis’ head, and tilted it upwards and slightly to the right. Lapis almost forgot to breathe. Then, air rushed into them far too quick at the first sight of brilliant scarlett. The bird appeared before them in pieces of colour. Red. Turquoise. Sun yellow. Emerald. A Rainbow Icareet. Rare and beautiful.

“It’s… glorious,” they whispered.

“Indeed.”

Something in his tone made them nervous. Or excited. They lowered the binoculars and turned their head just a centimetre to the side. Enough to see him out the corner of their eyes. Watching Lapis. Not the bird.

“You remind me of them.”

“Oh?” they breathed out, their heart beating staccato against their ribs.

“Rare.” His hand ghosted against their ebony locks, brushing a few strands back to tuck behind their ear. “Fascinating.”

“You might be the first to say that.”

Piccolo tilted his head, peering down at them curiously. “Why?”

Lapis shrugged and turned their attention back to the bird, now cleaning its feathers. It was easier to talk when they weren’t staring into Piccolo’s neverending darkness. “Lazuli is the star. People always cheer for her number: eighteen. Eighteen scores the goals. Gets the glory. I’m just… there.”

The Icareet suddenly squawked, then flew away high above the canopy. Out of sight. Lapis sighed and lowered the binoculars. They turned around to leave, only to nearly run straight into Piccolo. They had forgotten he was so close. Towering over them, still looking down with that piercing gaze, the one that burned through them with terrifying speed.

“I…” he started, wrestling with his next words. Something told Lapis he wasn’t used to talking about himself. About his feelings. For the first time since arriving, they wondered what his current relationship was like. Whether he was like this with her. Guarded. Yet somehow open. Honest. When he spoke again, Lapis decided it didn’t matter. Whatever this was, this fierce connected that sparked electric between them… this was what mattered.

“I see you.”

Lapis, spurred on by the confidence of being seen, and believing it, perched up on the tips of their toes and pressed their lips to his cheek. Just a brush. A ghost of thanks where words wouldn’t suffice.

A heated blush spread from where Lapis’ lips pressed to the rest of Piccolo’s cheek. Lapis fought a proud smirk, and strode past Piccolo before that smirk could shift to a traitorous smile.

—

Vegeta and Bulma stood at opposite sides of the bench that had been set up under a great rotunda. It was awkward. Far too awkward. The cameras had just finished being set up, all the bottles of liqueur and mixers, and now they were expected to be on their date.

They hadn’t spoken since their second kiss. The one that set off fireworks in her mind any time she thought about it. That made something deep within her coil and swell.

Then the Haven had been introduced, and Vegeta had avoided her like the plague. She was certain he knew what the Haven was. Why it had been brought in. What they could do, if he allowed it.

But something was stopping him. Maybe… maybe he didn’t want her that way?

No, impossible. She had seen how hard he was from her just barely grinding against him. In her PJ’s no less. He definitely wanted her.

Perhaps it was her being in a relationship that still held him back. That she might still be in love with Yamcha.

She would just have to convince him of the truth.

Though it may be broken, her heart did not belong to Yamcha anymore.

Bulma straightened her spine and brushed her hair off her shoulder in a smooth wave. She had opted for a simple white sundress. Short, a little flowy around the skirt, both sleeves dangling off her shoulders. It fitted her chest though. Beautifully. Her breasts shoved in so tight that her cleavage bulged out the top. A perfect assassin. Ready to entice.

“So, you’re teaching me how to make a cock-tail?” she finally asked, honey-sweet and downright devilish. Vegeta balked at the innuendo, the tips of his ears flushing hot as he looked to the side, staring out at some unknown point in the horizon.

“What kind?” His tone was clipped, hitting every consonant like a quick jab to a punching bag. She knew she would have to get him to relax. To breathe.

“How about something simple? You show me and I’ll make it alongside you.”

He eyed her warily, before agreeing with a curt nod. This would be good. He could focus on his task, rather than her, and hopefully he would un-ram the rod shoved up his ass.

They both met in the middle, and Vegeta readied the instruments and bottles they would need. His quiet focus drew her in. She watched his methodical movements, placing shakers, the shot glasses, all in specific spots, slicing limes perfectly in half with practised ease.

“Are you ready?” he asked once both stations were prepared to his standards.

“Yes, sir.”

The blush returned in full force to the tips of his ears, spreading down the back of his neck.

“Just follow my damn instructions, to the letter. Got it?”

She chuckled and tilted her head to the side, letting her hair waterfall over one shoulder.

“Yes…” she leaned in a little closer, then whispered, “Sir.”

He released a heavy sigh through his nostrils and shut his eyes, his patience wearing thin. 

Okay, maybe she wasn’t trying to make him relaxed.

Maybe she wanted him to break again. To lose that self-control he held so dear to his chest.

“Pick up the lime wedge and rub it against the rim of the glass,” he ordered, avoiding her cheeky stare to demonstrate with his own glass.

She followed the order perfectly. And the next one. Every step he threw her way, she made a point to follow exactly. Precisely. She had studied chemistry. Knew the importance of a steady hand and careful measurements. While so much of her personal life was chaos and wildfires, this felt similar to how she worked in her day to day. Accuracy was key to success.

Though he never met her eyes, he watched her work. Glanced when he thought she wasn’t looking. Small nods approval when she silently followed his command. It was more than enough. It was everything.

They strained the cocktail–a margarita–into their respective glasses. Bulma held hers out to cheers. He finally allowed himself to look at her. Just for a moment. A wary dart of his eyes, before he clinked his glass against her own.

It didn’t last long. They found her once again as she lifted her glass to her lips, wrapping them around the rim of sparkling salt crystals. As she sipped, throat bobbing as she swallowed. The taste hit her tongue, all tang and fire, causing her to moan a little. Then she lowered the glass and glided her tongue over her lips, greedily collecting all the stray alcohol and diamonds of salt.

“You haven’t tried yours yet,” she innocently pointed out.

That wondrous flush crept further along his neck, down to the sliver of skin left exposed thanks to his navy henley. He averted his gaze and took a quick sip of his drink.

Close. But not broken yet.

She placed her drink on the bench and climbed up so she was perched up there next to it, her legs dangling underneath the bench. He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eyes.

“So, Vegeta. Got any siblings? That’s the kind of stuff we’re supposed to ask on a first date, right?”

There was no missing the tension setting in his shoulders again. The steel hardening behind his eyes.

“One.”

Right. His tone definitely said to not continue down that line of questioning.

“What are your hobbies?” she tried, taking another sip of her drink.

He shrugged and took a slow sip of his own before speaking. “Don’t really have time for them.”

“C’mon, everyone has something they do in their downtime. For me, it’s reading trashy Mills & Boon novels. They’re so easy on the brain, it’s like eating slop but for my mind.”

He scoffed, though she swore she saw a twitch of the corner of his lips. “I’d hardly call those novels.”

She flung her leg out to playfully kick him, but he caught it quickly with his free hand.

And that was all it took.

The contact of his palm against the outside of her leg. Fingers wrapped firm around her ankle. She gasped. He froze, impossibly tense.

A different kind, though.

Heated. It burned her through the palm of his hand.

Without breaking eye contact, he moved. Stepping slowly, but assured. Inching closer to her. His hand gliding along the slope of her calf. She felt that coil and swell. The one that made her woozy. Alive. Her legs exhaled open, granting him passage to stand between them. He placed his glass down, then collected hers and put it next to his.

His hand never left her leg. Now it curled around the back of her knee, almost pulling her towards him.

She felt her breath quicken, her chest rise and fall rapidly, and all she wanted him to do was take her here and now. If it weren’t for the damn cameras, she would have told him that too.

His hand reached up between them to brush her hair behind her ear. She shuddered, and felt her nipples harden against the soft cotton of her dress.

“You are…” he growled, trailing off, his eyes darting between her own.

She reached up between them to hook her hands behind his neck, and felt his hand slide down her back until it gripped her waist.

“Beautiful?” she prompted, brushing her nose against his own.

He snarled, and whispered, “Infuriating,” before his lips crushed against her own.

There was no hesitation. No questioning. They tasted from each other as a starving man from an oasis, over and over with no end in sight.

In that moment, Bulma knew she had him. And knew how she wanted to spend that night.

She was going to ask Vegeta to join her in the Haven.

Chapter Text

Yamcha fiddled with the towel, untying and tying it over and over again. It was sitting fine, but it still didn’t feel right.

Then again, none of this felt right.

Or too right.

He didn’t know.

“I don’t know!” he groaned, falling to his back on the bed. It was just useless.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to look chill, unaffected by the plans for that evening, or hot enough that Tien wouldn’t be able to resist. He had even thought about oiling his pecs. Who would do that?

A gay man.

He gulped and threw one arm over his eyes. That stupid, calm voice was really starting to piss him off. He wasn’t gay. That much he knew. But… he also knew there were things other than gay. Bisexual. Queer.

God, the thought of even saying that out loud made him want to hurl.

A knock on his bedroom door made him yelp, though he immediately switched to sighing with relief when Krillin walked in.

“Hey, is this alr–” Krillin started, tying up a sheet over his shoulder, only to pause as he spotted Yamcha. “Are you alright?”

“Fine!” he cried out way too quickly, sitting up whiplash fast. “I’m fine, I’m so excited for this ABC party. Yep, totally fine.”

Krillin narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, when you’re ready to tell me what is so ‘fine’ that you’re wallowing up here and not kickstarting the party, you let me know.”

As he started to leave, Yamcha realised he might be able to confide in Krillin. Or at least get some advice. Or… he wasn’t sure. But he needed something.

“Wait!” Krillin jumped, but thankfully came back into the room and shut the door gently behind him. Yamcha breathed in shakily. His next words came out on one jagged exhale. “Haveyoueverhadfeelingsforaguyorsomethingmaybe?”

Perfect. Either he half-heard would ask for him to repeat himself, or he didn’t hear at all and would ask the same. Then, pending his reaction, he could either ask a different question or… or repeat himself. Slower.

Krillin’s eyes widened, and for a moment Yamcha thought he might throw up. Or pass out. And just when he thought he might run and leap over the balcony, Krillin sighed. Gentle. Understanding.

“Not personally,” he started, inching his way over like Yamcha was a startled deer. “But… I can’t imagine it’s easy. Especially to go through by yourself.”

Yamcha let out a high-pitched guffaw. “Not me, I don’t mean me! Just a… a friend! A friend, who is–”

“Ok, ok, it’s a friend,” Krillin cut in as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Well, I would just hope your… friend… is okay. Especially if they aren’t talking to someone about these new feelings.”

Yamcha suddenly found his thumbnails super interesting. Clean, but a tiny bit misshapen. He picked at the corner of one nail intently.

“And what if the person that friend wants to talk to is the… the one they have feelings for?”

He could feel the pity emanating off Krillin in waves, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Even this weird conversation about some fake friend was making him feel a little better.

“I think you sh–your friend should try talking to that person anyway. Even if they–”

“But what if I talk to Tien and he hates me?!” Yamcha suddenly cried out. His hand flew to his mouth, like he could take it all back if he shoved the words back in there.

Krillin sighed and muttered, “I knew it,” before he spoke up once more. “He won’t hate you, Yamcha. I can promise you that.”

“How do you know?” he asked, his voice muffled by his hand.

He clapped Yamcha’s thigh and stood up with a groan. As he strode out of the room, he called out over his shoulder.

“I just had the same conversation with Tien.”

—

The music was thumping when Yamcha finally got the courage to head downstairs. On one side of the patio, there was a game of beer pong underway between the twins, Krillin and Piccolo. On the other side, a makeshift dancefloor.

And at the centre of it was Mai and Tien.

Partly dancing, Mai’s fingers toying with the edge of the garbage bag shorts Tien had fashioned as they shuffled slightly to the beat. Mostly talking. Mai lifted onto her tippy toes, her duct tape bikini riding between her cheeks as she did. Whispered something in Tien’s ear. He blushed furiously, eyes wide and almost fearful. Then he found Yamcha. And something softened. Warmed. The blush remained, but now there was a shade of a smile on his lips.

One that Yamcha returned.

With their eyes locked, Tien nodded.

Mai grinned and held his hand in her own, then tugged him away, leading him down the steps and towards the Haven. Yamcha wanted to follow. But he felt cemented to the spot, weighed down by the possibility of the unknown.

Tien craned his neck to look back over his shoulder, and with one hand he beckoned Yamcha to follow.

The weight lifted, and Yamcha floated behind them towards the Haven.

—

It was aglow as they stepped inside the tent, thanks to the fairy lights strewn across the ceiling and draping down the walls. Cozy. Comfortable. A light scent of something heady and floral. Something to make them lose their inhibitions.

Yamcha could barely pay attention to it though. Not with Tien there. His rock hard body nearly entirely on display. Nipples perked and looking so damn fucking biteable. He felt himself harden just from looking at the man, let alone when their eyes met once more and he saw just how turned on Tien was.

This felt dangerous. Exhilarating. He wasn’t sure where this was going to go, but he knew whatever happened, he wanted it. Wanted Tien.

“Ok, boys. Lock in for a second before you get lost in each other.”

Yamcha had nearly fucking forgot Mai was there. They both balked and stammered at the same time, which she quickly cut in over.

“Wh-what are y–”

“E-each other? Wh–”

“Wow, you’re both really in denial that bad, huh?” While she spoke she began to strip her makeshift bikini off as if it were nothing, leaving her slender form totally naked. “Without the cameras or microphones here, I’m going to say what you’re both too terrified to. You both like each other. A lot. Is that right?”

Yamcha gulped, his pulse racing. Oh god. It was out there now. This made it real. This made it real. The walls of the tent were closing in around him, the air suffocating.

“U-uh, I–”

“Yes.”

Tien’s voice was calm. Absolute. Like the one Yamcha had been hearing lately. Their eyes met again. And for the first time since meeting Tien, Yamcha let his heart rest. Feel.

He smiled, and Tien returned it.

“Ok, before you two dive into each other, I have a proposition.” Mai, totally naked now, stepped between them. “You can say no if you want, but I’m certainly not going to waste a chance to shoot my shot with two bonafide hotties right now.”

“What’s your proposition?” Tien asked warily.

She turned her predator eyes onto him and smirked. “Well, safe to say you’ve both never been with a man, yes?” They both nodded, crimson dusting their cheeks. She placed a hand on Tien’s chest, then her other on Yamcha’s. “How’s about you have a guide?”

“S-sorry?” Yamcha stammered.

“I can help you both to relax. Feel comfortable.” To prove her point, her hands gently glided across both their chests, circling their nipples. “You can kick me out whenever you feel ready. Or, and much more preferable for me…” She suddenly pinched one of their nipples, lightly twisting it in her fingers. “You let me watch the show.”

Yamcha groaned, his eyes rolling back as sweet ecstasy washed through him. He could hear Tien’s whimpers, those delicious pants that made him go crazy that first night. But still he wasn’t sure. Still he didn’t know if he was ready to take that next step.

That is until the tent was suddenly awash with a red glow from the villa.

Someone in the ladies villa had entered the Haven as well.

And even though neither of them knew who it was, something about it gave them permission to be tempted themselves.

“Y-yes, that sounds g-great,” Yamcha breathed out. “If that’s ok with you?”

Tien looked as wrecked and nervous as him. But when their eyes met, he seemed to settle. Like the answer to whatever doubts he had lay in Yamcha’s eyes. That thought made him smile shyly. Damn, this guy made him feel all emotional and giddy, like a teenage girl. 

“Y-yeah. It would be good to have a bit of, uh… guidance?”

They both huffed a nervous laugh, before wincing slightly as Mai released her vice grip on their nipples.

“Alright, what did you want to try first?”

“I want to suck his dick,” Yamcha said quickly, the words tumbling out of him before he could stop himself. His hand slapped across his mouth for the second time that night, trying to contain the already spoken words.

“Now we’re talking.” Mai bit her bottom lip and jerked her chin to the bed. “Tien? How does that sound?”

“A-are you sure?” he asked quietly. “You don’t have–”

“I want to,” Yamcha reassured, talking over his hand. “Or at least try. I think…” He chewed on his bottom lip. “I think I’ve wanted to since I first met you.”

Mai, to her credit, kept quiet as Tien nervously laid down. For someone who had been so driven by her own desires throughout this, she seemed willing to let them move at their own pace. To speak only when necessary. To let them experience each other for the first time.

Yamcha knelt down on one side of Tien’s legs, Mai on the other. For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Um, what should I do?” he finally asked her. The nerves were making his thoughts all scrambled. Or maybe it was Tien, laying there all splayed out, shifting nervously on the spot.

She smiled sweetly at him. No pity. No mocking. “Maybe you should both kiss first. See how that feels.”

Yamcha nodded a little too quickly. That was smart. Kissing was good. He could kiss. He could… kiss. He had kissed girls before. It would be just like that! Just needed to hover over Tien and press his lips to his. Totally fine. He could do this. He… he could… maybe…

“Did you want to kiss me first?” Mai offered. “So you remember you can?”

He looked to Tien, expecting him to be offended, or upset. But he was just peering curiously at them both. He nodded his permission, which Yamcha was grateful for. He leaned over Tien’s legs and cupped Mai’s cheeks.

Kissing her was easy. Soft, pillowy lips pressed to his own. Her small face cradled in his hands.

He felt Tien shift. His breath suddenly hot against his face. A calloused finger and thumb captured his chin. Her lips disappeared.

Then there was just Tien.

His kiss was different. Rougher. His lips were smaller, but no less soft. His skin was a little coarse, like he had shaved yesterday morning and the stubble was just starting to poke through. He felt his large hand tangle in his hair, as his own hands released Mai to slide around Tien’s waist.

It was heaven. And the fact it was heaven was terrifying.

If he had known kissing another man would feel so good, so right, he would have done it years ago. 

But then, maybe it was just Tien.

“Kiss his neck,” Mai whispered in his ear.

He obliged, trailing his wet lips down to Tien’s thick neck, licking, nibbling, sucking until he finally got what he wanted. What he craved.

“P-please–”

He smiled as he sunk his teeth into Tien’s meaty flesh one final time and fucking growled. The guttural noise rumbled deep in his chest, surprising all of them. But Yamcha couldn’t be stopped. He had tasted Tien and he needed more.

“Down his chest,” Mai ordered.

So he did. Peppering a trail of saliva and bruises along those pecs that had been torturing him for days, he swirled his tongue around one bronze nipple, and bravely brought his hand to the other to tweak it.

Tien nearly arched straight off the mattress.

“F-fuck! Wh-what are–”

“Rip his shorts off.”

Yamcha frantically tore the plastic away like a kid on Christmas. All the trepidation, the fear of judgement, fluttered away with each scrap of plastic thrown around them.

Tien’s cock sprung free.

Yamcha nearly passed away at the sight. Not out. Away. He had never thought he could find a dick so enticing. Or never let himself think that. But here, in the safety of Mai’s guidance, under the terrifyingly caring eyes of Tien, he let himself get lost in the cravings he had denied for so long.

It was thicker than his own. Turgid and trembling. A vein swelled along the underside, from tip to sac. Pre-come beaded from the swollen slit hovering over his abs. Sweat had pooled over his hips and thighs from being trapped by the plastic shorts. He was a mess.

“Suck.”

The first taste of Tien’s cock made him shudder. Moan. He thought he would be cautious, maybe just try licking the shaft. But the second his tastebuds got their first drop of intoxicating pre-come, he was done for. He engulfed the head and shaft in one swift movement, burying his nose into the thick patch of hair cradling that perfect cock.

“Fuck! F-fuck! Wh-where did y-y–”

Tien’s body was practically trembling beneath him. Convulsing. His hands flailed around the mattress, scrambling for purchase on something, anything. Yamcha began to work frantically, bobbing his head up and down. He felt a broad hand suddenly rest tentatively on the back of his head.

“Grip it”

The hand curled, tugging on the hairs at the back of his scalp. It stung. But he found he loved it. Tingles of pleasure shot down his spine, which made him moan around the tip, which made Tien moan even louder.

“Use your tongue, Yamcha.”

He swirled it, flattened it, flicked it wherever he could. Tien was nearly sobbing beneath him, his rough hands tangling rougher in his mane.

“Stop.”

Yamcha paused with Tien’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“Suck slowly, then release him.”

He let every tastebud delight in the rigid flesh as he glided along the shaft, sucking deeply until he released him with a wet pop.

Tien was destroyed. Absolutely wrecked. Sweaty, flushed. Skin glistening, golden under the warm lights above. Lips so wet that Yamcha wanted nothing more than to drink straight from them.

“What do you want, Tien?”

Tien’s eyes widened a fraction. An unbearable silence fell upon them. What could he want from Yamcha? Unease began to settle in his stomach. Maybe he didn’t want anything anymore. The reality of what had just happened had probably hit him. Was he going to run from here, screaming about the pervert that had just taken advantage of him? What if he–

“I want you to fuck me.”

No, no, this was going to make him pass away. To prove his point, Tien spread his legs a little further. His dark eyes glistened hopefully, heated and wanting.

“You boys don’t hesitate, huh,” Mai chuckled. He had nearly forgotten she was there. “Tien, you bottomed before?”

“A few times, for Launch.”

She raised her brows. “Oh? I might have to meet this chick properly, she sounds like a great time.”

“I think you’ll like her.”

Mai then turned to Yamcha. “You ever topped?”

He gulped. “U-um, y-yes? Well, with uhhh… different… y-you know, like not… th-ther–”

“No anal, got it. I’m surprised to hear that.”

“Bulma wanted to, but I…” he mumbled, trailing off. He had never wanted to do it with her. There was a perfectly good pussy there, so why would he need to use her asshole? She had tried explaining how different it could feel, how tight and hot it would be, but he had never felt the urge.

Until now.

Tien spread his legs further. Tucked his knees up higher. Exposed his puckered hole to them, the sky, the gods above.

“Want to prep him?”

A lube bottle was suddenly thrown his way, which he barely caught.

“I-I-I’m not sure if I’m r–”

“That’s ok. Tien, are you ok if I prep you?”

He blushed, as if really only noticing Mai there for the first time. “Um… yeah, but… can you not speak? That feels more like cheating. I don’t know…”

She giggled at that, and procured a condom from a nearby box to glide over her finger, then snatched the lube back off him. “You guys kill me. Yes, I’ll be quiet and you can pretend I’m Yamcha. You can suck him off at the same time if you want? That’s something you’re now familiar with.”

Yamcha nodded frantically, the unease unclenching inside him.

He heard Mai work some lube around her finger, which made his heart pound in his ears. To distract himself he worked himself into a position where he could reach Tien’s dick with his mouth, closed his eyes, and took him to the hilt.

“O-oh, god!”

“Mmm…” he moaned around that sweet cock.