#nautwrites

Corbeau finally squatted down, the smoky miasma of his cologne engulfing you. "And what do you have," Corbeau whispered, "that can equal such a cost?" You pressed your hands into the marble and met his gaze; you expected sadism, and instead found genuine curiosity. His expressions were always so at odds with his harsh inflection, and it unbalanced you as you stammered out, "M-My body." Corbeau looked unimpressed, as if you'd offered nothing more than a café coupon. "And how many times have you used this particular method to get yourself out of unsavory situations?" "I've never—" you swallowed, tried to find that bravery that allowed you to ascend to Rank E in the Z-A Royale. "I've never. With anyone," you clarified. "You would be the first." Corbeau's eyes widened behind his glasses, and he couldn't hide the catch of his breath. Now—now you truly had his entire attention.

12.7k; explicit.

Shit," Vegeta hissed against her throat. "You're acting really weird," Bulma said. She wasn't wrong. "Do you, uh, like my perfume or something? It was pretty expensive, so I get it." Vegeta shook his head. "No. This is—something else. You smell…" he took another long, deep inhale of her throat. Bulma squirmed underneath him. He came nose-to-nose with her. "You're not throwing as much of a fit about this as I figured you'd be," he accused. Bulma licked her bottom lip before pretending to take a big breath. "I'll scream." "And who would hear you?" Vegeta menaced. "Your friends are miles away. Kakarot stuck in his tank. I could do whatever I wanted and no one would dream to come rescue you." He crowded her into the corner, boxing her in. Bulma's blue eyes went wide. He waited to smell sour fear-sweat on her, but if anything her scent only grew more intoxicating in close quarters. She stood a little straighter until their noses bumped and he could smell her bubblegum breath. "And what, exactly," Bulma whispered, eyes dancing, "do you want with me?"

an explicit 11k vegeta-pov one-shot.

Look at him, Vegeta rages. A once proud warrior, reduced to a pathetic housecat by that woman's touch. As if she'd heard his thoughts, Bulma turns to look up at him, smiling guilelessly in the sunshine. "Oh, it's Vegeta! Hi there!" He levels his coldest, most fearsome glare at her, hoping to stir unpleasant memories of Namek. To his humiliation, Bulma only laughs. The cat, at least, seeming to understand what he truly was, hisses and skitters away. The doctor chases after it, and Bulma after him. For some reason the image of her, pale legs bare in the artificial sunlight, grass-stains on her knees, lingers with him far longer than it should. This entire planet, Vegeta decides, must be eliminated. Earth is nothing but a honeytrap full of distractions and unspoiled loveliness, capable of lulling even the most powerful of Saiyan warriors into a false sense of security, like Kakarot and his half-breed son. It would not corrupt him; this he promised himself. He was only lying in wait.

I was tagged by the lovely @crimsonsynastry! i just finished up my draft of ch. 2 of punch-drunk so it was happy timing checking my notifs. mild cw for post-fight injuries. 🥊

Vegeta was quiet and staring at her with a strange, dazed expression; beneath all the bruising, she could have sworn he was blushing. "What?" Bulma asked. "You—" he clenched his teeth. "Fuck. Nevermind." "Are you sure you're not concussed?" "I'm fine—don't stick that fucking flashlight in my face again," he demanded. When she did anyway, he snatched her wrist and dragged her forward, bringing her to stand between his knees. He'd used almost bruising strength; he was really out of sorts. She knew she should feel some level of danger or wariness around him, be concerned he'd hurt her. But a long time ago Bulma thought her sense of danger had been shut off; she was kind of like Goku in that way, except specifically about boys with dark eyes and horrible pasts. "Be nice," Bulma warned. Vegeta gave her a feral grin with blood-stained teeth and a split, bruised lip. He leaned back in the rolling chair, relaxing his grip on her wrist infinitesimally (still not enough for her to get away) as he tilted his head back with the unrivaled princely arrogance only Vegeta could summon. "Or what, exactly?" he drawled; his other hand had come to the back of her knee, dragging a very slow, very torturous circle on the incredibly sensitive skin there. Holy shit.

⚠️explicit; 4.8k. thorn & ophelia must fulfill their conjugal duties. thorn-pov pwp.

Standing before him, something seemed to thaw within her; his wife sighs, crossing her arms. "How... how do you mean to fool the courts into thinking we've fulfilled our conjugal duties?"  Thorn shrugs. "Muss the sheets. Apply some blood." Ophelia's pale cheeks color. "I will try to affect an aura of perfect contentment," she mutters. "This could all be so much easier if—" Her face grows mottled; she leans over to his undrunk cup of tea and downs that too, as if it were liquid courage. "I know you've said that I owe you nothing," Ophelia says, her voice going shrill with bravery, "but we can afford no detractors to think anything of our union other than perfect truth." And she sheds the greatcoat, baring her chemise to him. Her skin pebbles with gooseflesh, nipples peaking through the thin fabric. "We could—" she swallows hard. "We could at least try," she manages. "That is—if you are willing." If he was willing? A cardiac event was happening inside Thorn's ribcage, so raucous was the pounding of his pulse. He clicks open his pocketwatch again, to avoid looking at her. His gaze still drifts down to her knees between his, flushed and mottled with bruises. "I thought you made your opinion of me and this marriage perfectly clear." Ophelia sighs, her breath tickling his windchapped face. "And you have been very kind in coddling my feelings on the matter, but the fact remains, we and my family remain in danger if the court finds reason to discredit our union. Perhaps, for once, we need not conjure an elaborate ruse to do it." She takes her white-gloved hand to her mouth and nibbles on the seam of her glove, as she was wont to do. "And—perhaps I am—the littlest bit—curious."  As ever, she cast all his carefully laid plans into perfect disarray. 

i think this is going to get overhauled BUT enjoy anyway. part of a namek saga heatfic i've been slamming my head against for the last couple weeks. cws: vegebul, rough play, saiyan heat cycles, dubcon except bulma is a canonical freak.

Bulma scarcely blinked and he was there—instantaneously fast, the way only he and Goku were. He had a hand half-wrapped around her throat, which immediately freaked her the fuck out, but also he was breathing into her ear, his voice low and dangerous and hot— "Shut up." Bulma knew her wires were crossed. They always had been. The signs said stop and she just wanted to slam on the gas. She thought that was part of why she got along with all these hot-blooded fighters. She'd never step foot in one of those rings, but she could understand a little bit how you ended up in one. She was too stunned to respond, and maybe that's exactly what he wanted. Vegeta bent his head down until his nose almost skimmed her throat as he held her in place. "Shit," Vegeta hissed through his teeth.

Halmarut clutches his soft plush body close to her breast and it is the warmest Calyx has felt in centuries. He is acutely aware that he lacks a sympathetic nervous system nor thermoreceptors to even feel such a thing. But as his soul possesses this absurd velvet-and-cotton form, his mind conjures explanations out of purgatory. He can feel the ground beneath his two stubby legs just as he can feel Halmarut nuzzle his worn velvet fur and breathe in his scent. She squeezes him tight against her ribcage, drawing her knees up to her chest as she dozes in the alleyway. How different really were their bodies to one another? Halmarut treats her Auri body as if it were another set of clothes she'd donned for the occasion, but even she admits she was very fond of her jade scales. Unwittingly so was he, finding himself entranced in the way they caught the dim lanternlight. He did not require a cardiac system to feel his heart skip a deathless beat when she smiled down at him.

old habits die hard. a one-shot that got out of hand. explicit, 9k.

"I—I told you, I didn't want this!" Vegeta erupts. "How could you possibly expect to just throw something at me like that—having a son—and expect me to take it effortlessly like you do with everything?!" He was talking more openly than she thought she'd ever heard him. It was… strange. Like getting what she wanted but not knowing what to do with it. "You knew what I was," Vegeta insists. "You may not be low on my priorities, but beating Kakarot—beating Cell—is first on my list. I cannot not allow anything to distract me, not even you. Trunks is strong," Vegeta sighs. "Incredibly strong. Any man would be proud to call him his son. But a father I am not." "How convenient, to have the option of choice in the matter," Bulma scoffs. "I didn't ever see myself as a mother, myself. But I didn't get to run off to Jupiter to sulk about it like you did." She doesn't know what she wants to hear out of him. Vegeta paces the nursery, almost writhing with agony. "I—" he all but vomits, frustrated and upset by its unwilling emission, "Goddammit, I missed you."