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Chapter Text

The suns rises golden over Planet Vegeta, casting long rays across the marble spires and obsidian walls of the capital city. For the first time in generations, the people wake not to war, but to freedom. The tyrant Frieza is dead and so is King Vegeta, your father-in-law—who took the bastard down with him. The planet lives. The empire stands. And the throne… now belongs to your mate.

You are Queen now. And if the screaming you just heard is any indication—

“GET OFF THE DRAPES, YESHA—”

—you are also still a mother of two very feral little Saiyans.

You inhale deeply through your nose, the scent of fresh polished armor and sweet crisp fruit on the wind. The coronation will begin in under an hour. You’re standing on the balcony in your ceremonial robe, hair down, watching hundreds of guards run drills in the courtyard below. Rows of soldiers in flawless formation. The royal banner—crimson and gold with the crest of the house of Vegeta—flies proud and clean.

Inside your chambers? War zone. The twins had been dressed in their tiny royal regalia twenty minutes ago. You’d blinked and they were gone. Now your daughter Yesha is climbing the heavy curtains like a wild cub, and your son—named after his father, of course—is currently wearing Raditz’s armor like a shell and trying to tackle Kakarot in the hallway.

You hear a thud. Then a Saiyan general yelping, “They BIT me!”

You sip your tea. You do not blink. This is normal.

“My Queen,” a handmaiden says nervously behind you, “Should I inform the guards that your son has tried to activate the gravity chamber again?”

“Tell them to seal it. Code Red. Activate lockdown protocol for short aggressive creatures under five.”

She bows and scurries off. Your best friend, who also happens to be Kakarot’s wife, Ostara waddles in behind you, hand cradling her bump, holding a bag of spicy dried fruit and looking exhausted already.

“Why do our children keep acting like they were raised by monkeys?” she asks.

You glance at her. “Because their fathers are monkeys.”

She laughs so hard she nearly drops the bag. “Touché.”

From the courtyard, a trumpet blares. The final signal. The people are gathering. You can hear the chanting start to rise— “Ve-ge-ta! Ve-ge-ta!”

You turn just as the doors to your chamber swing open and he walks in. Your King. Your mate. Your partner in this impossible empire.

Vegeta’s ceremonial armor gleams black and red, a modern echo of his father’s, tailored perfectly to his frame. His cape sweeps behind him like the wind itself obeys his steps. His gloves are new—he had the old ones incinerated (” they stink of the past ”)—and there’s a long, jagged scar across his bicep still healing from the final battle against Frieza’s forces. And his scowl?

Perpetually perfect. He stops when he sees you—hair wild, robe slipping off one shoulder, a bruised forehead from catching your son mid-headbutt not ten minutes ago.

“You look like a goddess,” he murmurs, voice low, reserved only for you. “Even when our spawn are hellbent on setting fire to the palace.”

You smile softly. “You look like a King.”

His jaw tenses. “I am one.”

The moment is almost tender—until a loud BANG! echoes down the hall and someone screams, “SOMEONE LOCKED NAPPA IN A CLOSET!”

Vegeta’s eye twitches. You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear.

“Don’t worry. I told them to bolt down the throne this time.”

He growls low—grabbing your waist with one arm, both of your tails intertwined and kissing you like the world hasn’t just turned upside down. His gloved hand tangles in your hair, grip firm, possessive. You melt into it.

This is your life now. Ruler of a free world. Queen of chaos. Wife to a proud, emotionally constipated war god with trauma and a short fuse and mother to two walking natural disasters in tiny battle boots.

The trumpets blare again.

“Time to go,” you whisper.

Vegeta lifts his chin. The fire’s in his eyes. And despite the hellstorm still happening somewhere in the distance (was that the gravity room blowing up again?), he doesn’t waver.

“Then let them see the King they fought for.”

He takes your hand. Together, you walk toward the throne room, the roar of the crowd growing louder with every step. Your twins will be carried in later, one likely chewing a guard’s boot, the other yelling “I’M THE REAL PRINCE!” on repeat. You’re not just crowning a new ruler. You’re crowning a whole new kind of kingdom.

Chapter Text

You don’t even get twenty minutes after the coronation before it starts. Not even twenty. The crown is barely off your head, the twins are still missing one shoe each, and already your husband is barking orders like it’s a war zone again—this time, apparently, against furniture .

“I am not sleeping in my father’s bed. Burn it. Launch it into a star. I don’t care. We’re moving everything.”

You blink.

“Everything?”

He doesn’t even look at you. Just storms down the hallway, cape billowing dramatically.

“Everything.”

You follow him with your eyes, then look at Ostara, who is halfway through a jar of pickled roots and not even surprised.

“He means everything.”

You sigh so hard it physically hurts your soul.

An hour later, your entire palace is being upended by three full-grown Saiyan warriors with zero spatial awareness and negative interior design sense.

Vegeta is barking orders like a drill sergeant with a concussion. Raditz is shirtless, sweating, and aggressively dragging a couch that weighs more than a star cruiser. Kakarot keeps using Instant Transmission to “help,” but he’s just randomly relocating furniture into increasingly terrible places.

You’re pretty sure the dining table is now in the weapons vault and somehow, no one can find the throne. You and Ostara are seated on your shared viewing couch in the middle of the hallway, snacks in hand, robes on, both of your tails relaxed and fully committed to staying out of it. You’re both heavily judgmental and aggressively hydrated.

“I told him we could have just refurnished the suite,” you mutter, popping a grape into your mouth.

“And I told Kakarot not to Instant Transmission while holding a 900-pound armoire,” Ostara replies. “Yet here we are.”

Another loud CRASH echoes down the hall. Vegeta’s voice roars out a second later.

“WHO PUT THE BED IN THE DOORWAY?!”

And that’s when it happens. The moment.

The Pivot Scene. You turn just in time to see Vegeta, Raditz, and Kakarot standing at one end of a narrow hallway, gripping opposite ends of a massive, ancient meteorite-carved bedframe. It’s an heirloom. Probably cursed. Definitely heavy. And absolutely not going to fit. Vegeta growls.

“We’ll rotate it.”

Raditz, “There’s no room.”

Vegeta, dangerously calm, “We’ll pivot.”

Kakarot, “Pivot?”

Vegeta (snapping) “PIVOT!”

Raditz (deadpan) “Say pivot again.” Kakarot (grinning) “PIVOOOOOOT.”

BOOM. The bed slams into the wall. A priceless tapestry goes down. A support beam cracks. Kakarot starts laughing.

“Oops.”

Vegeta looks at him like he’s about to end all life on the planet again. You sip your drink.

“Should we help?”

Ostara shrugs. “They’re having fun.”

Somehow— somehow —they get the bed unstuck.

You know this because you hear another bang, followed by Nappa screaming from a distance:

“WHO PUT A HEADBOARD IN THE KITCHEN?!”

Meanwhile…

The twins and Pazunipp, Ostara and Kakarot’s four year old son, have created their own furniture kingdom somewhere in the east wing. You’re not entirely sure, but you did see Yesha riding a rolling table while Little Vegeta screamed “FOR THE EMPIRE!” and used a curtain rod as a lance. Nappa is chasing after them, wheezing, armor covered in what might be jam.

“SOMEONE HELP ME, THEY’RE IN THE GRAVITY ROOM AGAIN!”

You don’t move. “Nope.”

“They’ll be fine,” Ostara adds. “Probably.”

Another crash. A very loud zap . The palace lights flicker. Vegeta stomps past you, hair somehow messier than usual, shirt ripped open, scowling like a man who has just been personally insulted by a sofa.

“I’m going to KILL this couch.”

“How’s it going?” you ask sweetly.

“I SWEAR IT’S SENTIENT.”

An hour later, the new royal suite is technically complete.

Technically.

There’s a throne in the closet, a chaise lounge balancing on two legs, and you’re fairly certain someone installed the bed on a slight angle because everything rolls off.

You walk in, survey the chaos, and find your husband standing in the center of it like a warrior freshly returned from battle. He’s got a scratch on his cheek, a rip in his pants, and the look of a man who just won a war against furniture.

“Well?” he asks.

You look around then back at him.

“It’s hideous.”

“It’s MINE,” he declares, eyes gleaming.

You walk over, wrap your tail around his waist, his also wrapping around yours instinctively, while you place your hands on either side of his face and kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Fine. But if anything breaks, I’m blaming Kakarot.”

“So am I.”

Outside, the kids are now in the garden with Nappa—who is lying flat on his back whispering to the sky about retirement. The twins are trying to dig a hole to the center of the planet. Pazunipp is throwing ki blasts at butterflies. Kakarot joins them two seconds later and accidentally blows up a hedge maze.

Raditz storms past, dragging a dresser behind him, muttering:

“I have killed armies. I have leveled planets. But I will not be remembered as the Prince of PIVOT.”

Ostara is just sitting on a bench, all the while Kakarot is using his instant transmission every 2 minutes to check on her and making sure she’s comfortable. While she’s shaking with laughter.

Chapter Text

The next day:

You would think that after they finished setting up the new royal suite—if you could call “bed frame on an incline” and “toilet in the dining corner” a suite —they would rest. But no.

This is a Saiyan palace and your Saiyan husband? Has decided the “energy of the space is off.” So naturally, Vegeta now wants to rearrange the whole thing again.

You and Ostara have not moved from your perch. You’re now lounging on matching cushions like queens in a spa commercial gone wrong, wearing coordinating robes that say “ Boss Bitch ” and “ Wife of the Problem .”

Ostara holds up her snack bowl.

“Would you like more flaming honey crisps or preserved radish crisps?”

“What pairs better with watching your husband verbally abuse a chaise lounge?”

She thinks about it. “Radish Crisps. Always Radish crisps.”

You clink your teacups and settle in as round two of Saiyan Furniture Wars begins.

Raditz has taken to dragging things into place by brute force. He’s not asking anymore. He’s growling . Every so often, he stops, snarls, and then throws a piece of furniture out a window.

“We don’t need three ottomans,” he hisses.

“We didn’t need one , Raditz,” you call sweetly.

Kakarot? He’s on another level. The level below consciousness, apparently. He’s currently chewing on a wooden table leg while sitting on the floor like a toddler.

“What are you doing my love?” Ostara asks him from across the hall.

“It smells good?”

“That’s because it’s from a sacred tree grown in the Tuffle gardens.”

“Tastes like spicy bark!”

You stare at him in silence. Ostara does not blink.

“I married that.”

You pat her hand gently. “We all make choices.”

Meanwhile…

The twins and Pazunipp have figured out how to break into the palace’s central PA system. You didn’t even know there was a PA system until your daughter’s voice came booming over it like the voice of the gods:

“HELLO KINGDOM! THIS IS PRINCESS YESHA! MY BUTT MAKES FART NOISES—LISTEN!!”

Followed by thirty uninterrupted seconds of microphone farting. You nearly choke on your tea. Raditz drops a bookshelf on his own foot. Kakarot is cry-laughing on the floor.

Vegeta stomps into the hallway like a thundercloud with a crown. “TURN. IT. OFF.”

Then Little Vegeta comes on the mic:

“Papa has a big ol’ butt!”

“PAPA HAS A BIG OL’ BUTT!!!” all three kids chant, harmonizing.

Vegeta closes his eyes “I will not destroy the palace. I will not destroy the palace. I WILL NOT DESTROY THE PALACE.”

Ostara is full-on crying with laughter now. Her belly bounces with each breath. You lean back against your cushion and sigh happily.

“Do you remember when we thought having kids would be cute ?”

“No,” she gasps. “I was drugged . There’s no way I agreed to this willingly.”

You cackle. A few feet away, a royal guard approaches, pale and sweating.

“My Queen. Should we attempt to… apprehend the children?”

You both look at him. “You’re welcome to try,” you say.

“I recommend writing a will first,” Ostara adds.

The guard turns and walks away. You hear him whisper, “I’m not paid enough for this.”

Minutes later…

The kids are now chasing each other with ki-charged pillows. One explodes. The hallway is on fire . A portrait of King Vegeta is somehow upside down with a mustache drawn on it.

“Did we seriously just survive a galactic war,” you mutter, “to get wrecked by our own offspring?”

“Honestly?” Ostara says, licking pickle dust off her fingers. “Feels on brand.”

Eventually…

Raditz and Kakarot collapse onto the floor, surrounded by furniture, panting like they just ran a marathon. Vegeta storms into the center of the room with pure fury in his eyes and lifts a table above his head. You raise a brow.

“Throw it and I’m putting you in time out.”

He freezes. Grumbles and puts it down gently .

You smirk. “Good boy.”

It’s then that little Vegeta runs past completely naked, yelling “I’M A SUPER SAIYAN DRAGON!” and Yesha follows wearing your tiara and a curtain cape. Pazunipp runs past last, holding a literal snake.

Ostara yelling at him, “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT—”

“THE WALLS HAVE PETS!”

You rub your temples. “I miss space,” you say.

Ostara leans over, still wheezing with laughter. “I love it here.”

The Saiyan Empire is finally free and somehow —this is the most chaotic two days it’s ever had.

Chapter Text

There are a few rules you’ve learned as Queen of a warrior race:

1. Never trust silence.

2. Always assume someone’s missing if you can’t smell smoke.

3. And most importantly:

If the children are quiet, they’re either unconscious or committing war crimes. Today? It’s the second one.

You’re in the main throne hall, finally getting your first peaceful stretch of silence in hours. The chaos has momentarily died down. Ostara’s napping. Raditz has vanished—probably to scream into a cave. Kakarot is somewhere licking a boulder or doing one-handed pushups on the roof. Vegeta is sulking in his new lopsided suite, glaring at his bed like it personally insulted his bloodline. And you?

You’re sipping a very much earned cocktail of pineapple juice and “whatever was in that glowing bottle labeled ‘Do Not Touch – Saiyan Reserve.’”

You deserve this. You earned this. Then it hits you, that silence. That awful, terrifying silence. You sit up. Eyes narrow. Head tilts.

“Ostara.”

She stirs on the couch, mumbling, “If it doesn’t involve fire or fluids I don’t wanna know.”

“Where are the kids?”

Her eyes pop open. You both sit bolt upright in horrifying sync.

“WHERE ARE THE KIDS?!”

Cut to: The Gravity Room

A high-security, heavily fortified, regulation-level battle chamber with a password, retina scan, AND tailprint lock.

A room that, under no circumstances, should ever be accessible by anyone under 3’6” with poor impulse control and a personal vendetta against structural integrity.

So naturally, your daughter hacked it with a hairpin and a juice box.

Inside, Little Vegeta is wearing a scouter upside down and shouting,

“SET IT TO FOUR HUNDRED FIFTY TIMES GRAVITY!”

Yesha (doing cartwheels): “WHEEEE I’M FLOATING SIDEWAYS!”

Pazunipp (spinning in circles): “THE FLOOR FEELS LIKE BUTT!”

The gravity kicks in and so does Nappa’s panic.

Nappa’s POV (briefly):

He’s already been peed on today. He’s been bitten. He’s been punched in the nuts by a tiny prince wearing a crown made of forks. Now? Now he’s crawling across the floor under 450x gravity while three hellspawn launch pillows at his bald head and scream about butts.

“I should’ve stayed on vacation,” he wheezes, dragging himself like a defeated walrus.

“I had a boat. I had peace. I HAD A HAMMOCK.”

Yesss jumps on his back and yells, “GO FASTER, BALDY.”

He screams.

Back to Y/N

You hear the distant alarm first. Then the rumble. Then the very specific explosion sound you’ve come to recognize as “Gravity Room Going to Hell Mode™.” You bolt down the hallway with your robe flying behind you, barefoot, powered by instinct, caffeine, and pure maternal rage .

You round the corner and just in time to see your son blast open the gravity room doors, stepping out like a tiny warlord. He’s got soot on his face, wild hair, one shoe, and is dragging a broken robot by the ankle.

“Mother,” he says, nodding, “we won.”

Yesha cartwheels out behind him with her tongue dyed blue and her tiara askew.

“I licked a glowing crystal and now I can see sounds!”

Your godson Pazunipp’s crawling behind her with two mismatched boots, dragging what used to be the control panel of the chamber. Nappa collapses face-down in the hallway with a long groan of,

“Take… me… now…”

You stare at them. You take a breath. Then turn to the nearest guard.

“Get me a sedative, a broom, and a war crimes tribunal. Now.”

Later, after bathing the kids in three separate gravity-neutral showers, confiscating five makeshift weapons (Yesha smuggled a stun rod in her tiara) and locking the gravity room behind six reinforced seals , you finally sit back down.

You look at Vegeta, arms crossed, watching the chaos with the permanent expression of someone mentally considering exile.

“Your spawn started a war with physics.”

“We’re all Saiyans,” he mutters. “It’s genetic.”

“Your son tried to duel a robot.”

“Was he winning?”

You glare, he glares back. Then you both sigh and lean into each other, because honestly? This is what victory looks like. Exhausted. Explosive. Covered in jam and glitter and bruises and pride but victory nonetheless.

Chapter Text

There’s a calm that comes after chaos. A sacred, brief calm where the children are fed, the walls aren’t on fire, and no one’s actively trying to overthrow the furniture.

You sit beside Ostara in your Queen’s lounge, wrapped in silk robes and buried in throw pillows, watching the men attempt to restore order.

Keyword: attempt. Raditz is now pacing in the background, muttering something about moving to a different planet.

“I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I was promised power. Respect. Glory. Not… this.”

He kicks a couch cushion like it insulted his hair. Kakarot is lying upside down on a couch nearby, half his torso dangling off the seat, popping grapes into his mouth one by one and missing every third one.

“I like the chaos,” he says. “It’s spicy.”

Ostara raises an eyebrow from your side, biting into a mango the size of her head.

“Babe. You just got knocked out by your four-year-old.”

“Yeah,” Kakarot says proudly. “Pazu’s got hands.”

You and Ostara just look at each other.

Meanwhile…

Vegeta is standing perfectly still in the center of the royal suite, fists clenched at his sides, tail twitching like he’s preparing to obliterate something. Again.

You already know what’s wrong.

It’s the sofa.

That hideous, ancient, warped-torso-shaped sofa his father probably died on—or near. The one you told him to throw out three days ago but he refused.

“It’s tradition,” he said

“It’s cursed,” you replied.

And now? Now he’s just been told it won’t fit through the hallway. Again.

“No one touches it,” he says through gritted teeth.

Raditz growls. “We tried to pivot—”

Vegeta roars. “DON’T SAY THAT WORD!”

“What, ‘pivot’—”

“AAAAAGHHHHHH!!!”

You watch as your very grown, very powerful, very regal husband yeets the sofa through the nearest wall. Like. Literally. Straight. Through. The wall explodes. Dust rains down. A guard screams. Vegeta—muscles flexed, panting—looks so proud of himself.

You blink. Ostara starts slow clapping.

“Well. That’s one way to redecorate,” you murmur.

Kakarot (peeking through the hole): “I think Vegeta crushed the royal chef’s garden.” Turns to look at Ostara: “Babe you want anything from the kitchen?”

“I want chocolate noodles and mango paste or I’ll cry.”

Kakarot (saluting with his foot still in the air): “Say no more.”

He vanishes. Ostara looks deeply satisfied.

“I love when he obeys under threat of emotion.”

You stroll over to Vegeta slowly, hands on your hips, eyes scanning the damage.

“Feel better?”

He huffs. “Yes.”

“Good.”

You reach up, grab his collar, and yank him into a kiss that leaves him momentarily stunned. A low growl leaves his throat.

“Next time, just let me pick the damn furniture.”

“No.”

You smirk. “Then you can sleep on the floor.”

He growls again—but follows you willingly when you tug him by the hand toward your quarters, tail flicking with every stubborn step.

Meanwhile in the kitchen:

Ostara’s propped up on a stool with a banana smoothie in one hand and a fistful of pickled egg dumplings in the other. She’s glowing. Literally. Her ki’s flaring with the absolute high of victory.

Kakarot returns with a plate bigger than your bed.

“I brought everything they had!”

“Is there cheese in this soup?”

“Yup! And sugar! And pepper! And strawberries!”

She beams. He beams harder.

“You’re the best mate ever,” she whispers.

He blushes. Literally blushes. Like his whole face lights up. “You think so?”

“You make me dumb with joy,” she says around a dumpling.

“You make me dumb without trying,” he replies proudly.

You hear this as you pass by the hallway and nearly choke laughing.

That night, the kingdom technically survives. There’s a hole in the south wing. Someone tried to use the broken sofa as a nest. Raditz swears if anyone says “pivot” one more time, he’s joining the monks on some moon.

And you?

You’re curled up with your exhausted, soot-covered husband in a crooked bed that still doesn’t sit level, but now smells like you and not his father’s ghost.

Vegeta pulls you closer, tail wrapping your thigh, mouth at your shoulder.

“You’re the only good thing I inherited from that man,” he murmurs.

You smile.

“I’m a new acquisition, thank you very much.”

He hums against your skin. “And the only thing worth fighting for.”

Chapter Text

It starts with a scream. Not one of those soft, cinematic gasps. No. This is a Saiyan woman’s scream.

The kind that could shatter glass and make grown warriors fall to their knees.

You sit bolt upright in bed. “She’s in labor.”

Vegeta jolts beside you like a soldier hearing war drums.

“How do you know?”

“Because the east wing just shook and I swear I heard her yell ‘YOU DID THIS TO ME, KAKAROT!’”

A second scream echoes, followed by a loud crashing noise. Then a whimper—definitely Kakarot. Then Ostara again, roaring:

“YOU’RE NEVER TOUCHING ME AGAIN!”

You grab a robe and take off running.

By the time you reach Ostara’s chambers, all hell has broken loose. The guards are panicking. Nappa is sweating. Raditz is on a chair yelling about amniotic fluid like it’s acid. And Kakarot?

Kakarot has fainted. Face-down. Arms spread.

“IS HE DEAD?” Ostara screeches from the bed.

“BECAUSE I SWEAR I’LL DRAG HIM BACK JUST TO KILL HIM AGAIN!”

You run to her side, trying to breathe through your nose and not look at whatever just splattered on the wall.

“Okay, okay. I’m here. You’re okay. We’re gonna do this.”

“I’m crowning, Y/N. I swear if he misses this—”

Kakarot suddenly jerks awake with a gasp. “Is it over?!”

“DO I LOOK DONE?!”

Five minutes later:

You’re holding her hand. She is crushing your bones. Kakarot is trying very hard to stay conscious again. He keeps wiping his face with a towel that is clearly not his.

“I’m here, babe, I’m here—I’m okay—I’m not okay—I can feel my soul leaving my body—”

“YOU DID THIS TO ME, YOU GIANT GOLDEN MORON—”

“I KNOW AND I’M SORRY AND I LOVE YOU PLEASE KEEP YELLING AT ME I DESERVE IT—”

You glance at the midwife. She gives a tight nod.

“One more push, my lady.”

Ostara turns to Kakarot, pure fire in her eyes.

“If you pass out again, I swear I’ll name her Frieza.”

Kakarot instantly snaps to attention like a soldier.

“I’M AWAKE. I’M RIGHT HERE. HI, BABY. HI, SWEETIE. I’M SO SORRY. YOU’RE SO STRONG. I THINK I PEED A LITTLE—”

“PUSH!”

Ostara screams. Kakarot screams. You hold your breath.

And then—

A cry. A loud, sharp, Saiyan baby cry that echoes through the room like a battle anthem. The whole palace stills. You look down and see her. Tiny. Beautiful. Fiery. Wild.

A full head of thick black hair. Fists curled like she’s ready to fight the moment someone looks at her funny.

A wail that could probably level a small building if she powered up.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife says softly, placing her on Ostara’s chest.

Ostara is crying. Laughing. Shaking. Kakarot is already sobbing like a waterfall.

“She’s so… she’s so small,” he whispers. “She’s like… like a dumpling.”

“Don’t you dare name her Dumpling,” Ostara gasps.

“No no no… I wanna name her… Kabura.”

You blink.

“Like the spicy root?”

He nods, tear-streaked and glowing. “It’s strong. It grows even in the worst places. It makes your nose burn and your eyes water but it’s good for the heart.”

He kisses Ostara’s forehead.

“Just like you.”

One hour later:

You’re sitting on the floor beside their bed. Ostara is asleep. Kabura is nestled in her arms. Kakarot hasn’t moved in 45 minutes except to blink and whisper “hi” to his daughter every five seconds.

Vegeta appears in the doorway in full battle armor with sleep hair and a scouter.

“I heard screaming. Is someone dead?”

You grin.

“No. Just born.”

He walks over, peers down at Kabura, and grunts.

“She looks like she could punch someone already.”

“She tried,” Kakarot says, smiling. “Swung right at my nose.”

Vegeta huffs.

“Good. She’ll do fine.”

And then, after a long pause… He kneels down. Brushes a finger gently across her cheek.

“Welcome to the world, Kabura.”

Enter: Pazunipp

He bursts into the room like a miniature explosion.

“WHERE IS SHE?! I WANNA SEE THE BABY! I’M THE BIG BROTHER NOW!”

He sprints over, climbs up the side of the bed, and peers down at her like she’s a living dragon egg. His face goes soft. His little fingers stroke hers gently.

“She’s so smol.”

“She’s your baby sister,” Kakarot whispers.

“I’ll fight the sun for her.”

“That’s nice, sweetie.”

“I’m gonna teach her how to fly and punch and eat twenty eggs in one bite.”

Ostara blinks. “Wait, what— ”

“I’M GONNA CARRY HER IN A BLANKET CAPE AND CALL HER BABY FURY! ”

You giggle. Kakarot melts. Ostara cries again.

Final scene: Quiet again, briefly.

Kabura is asleep on Ostara’s chest. Pazunipp is curled up next to them, humming softly. Kakarot hasn’t left the bedside. He’s just stroking Ostara’s hair, eyes never leaving the baby.

“Thank you,” he whispers to her. “For our family.”

She smiles tiredly. “Next time… no fainting.”

“No promises.”

Chapter Text

The twins are finally asleep. The room is dim and quiet, the only sound the soft hum of your mate’s breathing beside you. You’re curled together under heavy blankets, warm skin tangled, a rare peace holding the palace still.

Outside your quarters, the kingdom is quiet. Ostara is still healing. Kabura is adored. Pazunipp is thriving. And for once… nothing is on fire.

You rest your head on Vegeta’s chest, fingers tracing the ridge of a scar along his side.

“Do you remember our wedding?”

A breath catches in his chest. “How could I forget?”

FLASHBACK
Setting: One Year Before the Saiyan Revolution

Location: Royal Temple Courtyard, Planet Vegeta

The sky burned gold that day. The kind of color that only appears before something huge— change, fate, war.

Your heart beat like thunder in your chest as the horns sounded across the royal courtyard. Saiyan nobles filled the coliseum steps. You stood in your ceremonial robes, wrapped in deep reds and white silks with gold threading, your hair woven with royal clasps.

Every eye was on you and none of it mattered because when he turned around—when you saw Vegeta , standing at the altar in his deep black ceremonial armor, not yet king but every inch a warrior-prince— everything else vanished.

His jaw was tense. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours at first but then they did and his entire body flushed like he’d been caught in a gravity storm.

“You looked at me,” he murmurs in the present, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. “Like I was already yours.”

Ostara was the best bridesmaid. She threatened to elbow a duchess over flower placement and told three generals to sit down and shut up during the vow recital. Her dress sparkled. Her sass burned.

“She told me if I messed it up, she’d blast me into a volcano,” Vegeta adds, voice husky with amusement.

Kakarot cried the entire time. Not because he was emotional because he was hungry and no one would let him snack during the ceremony.

“Vegeeeetaaaaa,” he whined from the front row, “how long is this thing?”

“Until I break your neck,” your mate had hissed.

Kakarot literally licked a ceremonial candle and got tackled by a priest.

Nappa lost the rings. Like— fully lost them. The entire courtyard paused. King Vegeta muttered death threats under his breath.

Raditz had to fly into the crowd and start interrogating guests while Nappa ran in circles yelling “I PUT THEM IN MY ARMOR POUCH I SWEAR—”

Turns out? He left them inside the cake. He had hidden them for safekeeping in a tier of frosting. You made a mental note to never trust Nappa with anything smaller than a refrigerator again.

And then came the Mating Mark Ceremony. The tradition is old. Ancient. Saiyan bonding, in its truest form. Before the gathered crowd, under the open sky, you and Vegeta faced each other, palms pressed, foreheads touching. The air thick with energy.

The bond had to be voluntarily ignited —through ki, emotion, and trust. You remember his voice trembling.

“You… are my equal,” he whispered. “My fire. My future.”

“And you are mine,” you whispered back. “My fury. My forever.”

Your ki lit like a solar flare. Your hands glowed and then, with a single shared surge— your mating marks burned into place.

His on the left side of his chest. Yours over your heart. The crowd gasped. Even King Vegeta leaned forward. The ground cracked beneath your feet.

Back in the present, your thumb brushes the mark on Vegeta’s chest. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips.

“You were the only thing I chose back then,” he murmurs. “Not war. Not duty. Not legacy.”

You lean over him, soft smile on your face. “And I chose you before you were a king. Before the throne. Before the war.”

He pulls you into a kiss that says thank you and mine and always. Outside, the stars keep burning. Inside, the fire between you does the same because before the world changed, before the battles and the crowns and the children…

There was just you and him and that will always be enough.

You’re curled against Vegeta, still warm from the memory of your wedding night. His hand is slow on your back, palm smoothing over your skin with sleepy affection.

“You remember what I said to you after the ceremony?” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile, “I believe it was, ‘Let’s leave before my father gives a speech about Saiyan fertility.’”

“Tch. I should’ve blasted the mic.”

You both chuckle softly and then—

BOOOOOOOOOOM. The wall to your left rattles. The ceiling trembles. A voice shrieks from somewhere in the corridor:

“I TOLD YOU IT WOULD EXPLODE IF YOU MIXED THE BLUE JUICE AND THE RED JUICE!”

You blink slowly. Vegeta goes absolutely still.

“No,” he mutters. “No. They’re asleep. I checked. ”

“You checked once,” you correct, already pushing the covers off. “You let your guard down. Like a rookie.”

Another shout echoes down the hall.

“BOW TO PRINCE VEGETA THE SECOND OR GET SMACKED IN THE KNEE!”

“I’M THE PRINCESS OF PANCAKES! FEAR ME!”

You and your husband exchange a long, very tired look.

“Well,” you sigh, “the twins are awake.”

“And declaring a coup,” Vegeta grits, already reaching for his robe. “Of course they are.”

Chapter Text

It starts because Ostara snapped. Not during a war. Not during a labor contraction but when she found Kakarot using her face serum on pancakes. “It said hydrating!” he’d insisted. “My syrup was dry!”

The next morning, she gathered you, stormed into the throne room, slammed down a scroll, and declared:

“WE ARE TAKING A SPA DAY. AND WE’RE BRINGING THE BOYS.”

Vegeta choked on his firebrew. Raditz muttered something about hell no. Kakarot raised his hand and asked if there would be snacks. Nappa looked intrigued. “Will there be hot tubs?”

You smiled sweetly. “It’s not optional.”

The spa wing is enormous—steam rising from open-air baths, floral oils perfuming the air, warm stones, massage beds, and soft music that sounds like whales singing to the stars.

You and Ostara arrive in matching silk robes and jeweled slippers. Hair up. Skin glowing. Already queens.

Behind you?

Four extremely uncomfortable Saiyans in forced robes.

Vegeta is scowling like he’s been betrayed by life itself.
Raditz is shirtless and threatening to punch a wind chime. Kakarot is dragging his feet, eyes wide, looking at every pool like it might eat him. Nappa? Already in the hot tub.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever done,” he sighs, arms out, cucumbers on his eyes. “Tell my ancestors I’m staying here forever.”

“I’m not wearing this,” Vegeta growls, tugging at his robe like it bit him.

“You are,” you reply sweetly. “Or you’re getting a seaweed wrap naked.”

He twitches. He wears the robe.

Cue in the facial mask tragedy. Kakarot watches you and Ostara get glittery golden face masks applied.

“Ooooh. What’s that?”

“Hydrating collagen gold,” you say. “Don’t touch it.”

You turn around for ONE SECOND.

“KAKAROT,” Ostara shrieks , “you just ate the mask paste.”

“It smelled like honey!”

He’s smiling. Glitter on his teeth. Raditz nearly throws a massage rock at him.

Massage Meltdown. Raditz is face-down on a massage table. A tiny spa worker is digging into a knot the size of a boulder.

“OW. WHAT ARE YOU MADE OF. THIS IS A WAR CRIME.”

“Sir, you requested deep pressure.”

“I THOUGHT THAT MEANT STRONG VIBES NOT MURDER.”

You sip cucumber water with a smile. Vegeta’s next. He lasts three minutes before sitting up, glaring at the masseuse.

“Where were you trained? The Freeza Empire?”

“Vegeta,” you warn.

“Fine. BUT IF THEY TOUCH MY TAIL I’LL END THEM.”

Eventually, you get them all into the same hot tub. You and Ostara are in the middle, glowing like spa goddesses.

Kakarot’s floating, eyes closed, humming to himself. Raditz is tense in the corner, glaring at a bubble. Vegeta is stiff as a statue, arms crossed, glaring at the sky. Nappa is asleep.

“Admit it,” you say, resting your head on Vegeta’s shoulder, “this isn’t that bad.”

“This is hell.”

“You’re relaxed.”

“I’m surrounded by idiots in a bath. This is not relaxation. This is hostage negotiation.”

You kiss his jaw. He groans.

“Fine. It’s tolerable.”

Everyone is dressed again (barely), sitting in the spa lounge sipping tiny herbal teas. The twins burst in wearing mud masks and towels like capes.

“We’re the Spa Warriors!” Yesha declares.

“AND THIS IS OUR FIGHT SONG!” Little Vegeta howls, flipping over a chair.

You close your eyes. Ostara’s already sipping something with caffeine.

“So,” she whispers. “Same time next week?”

You smile. “Absolutely.”

Chapter Text

It all started, as most of your kingdom’s worst decisions do, with one simple sentence.

“We should have a game night.”

You said it. You. You opened your mouth, post-dinner, bathing in the calm of full bellies and napping toddlers, curled up beside Vegeta while Kakarot and Pazunipp were arguing gently over who ate the last dumpling, and Raditz was pacing the room like a caged wolf who’d been promised violence and never received it.

You were trying to be cute. You were trying to “encourage bonding.” You were trying to do a thing. A normal, non-explosive, family-style bonding night where no one screamed, blasted walls, or flipped over furniture.

What a fool you were.

Within fifteen minutes, you were seated in a circle in the massive royal lounge room—pillows, snacks, games stacked high, the firelight flickering gently—and within sixteen minutes, Vegeta had already thrown the Uno deck into the ceiling because someone skipped his turn.

“This is not a game! THIS IS SABOTAGE!” he roared, teeth clenched, arms crossed, his pride practically glowing red as he pointed an accusing finger at Kakarot—who was holding a full rainbow of wild cards and blinking innocently like he hadn’t just committed high treason.

“I thought the point was to win?” Kakarot said, very slowly, with a half-smile that only made things worse.

“NOT WITH FOUR STACKED +4s YOU SAVAGE.”

Ostara had leaned back on the cushions, cradling Kabura and whispering under her breath, “If this man goes Super Saiyan over card games, I’m divorcing him and marrying a Namekian.”

Raditz hadn’t even made it past the first round of Charades.

The moment Nappa tried to act out “The Saiyan Prince’s Dignity” and flopped like a fish across the carpet, Raditz full-on launched a pillow across the room , stood up, and growled,

“I WAS PROMISED COMPETITION, NOT MIMING INSULTS. SOMEONE PLAY ME IN ARM-WRESTLING OR I’M LEAVING.”

You tried to salvage it. You really did. You pulled out a harmless game of Saiyan Word Guess , hoping maybe something language-based would be easier on everyone’s pride, but by the second round Little Vegeta was shouting out the answers before anyone could guess, while Yesha was standing on the table in her pajama cape screaming,

“THE SECRET WORD IS EXPLOSION I ALREADY SAID IT I WIN AGAIN HAHAHAHA—”

“That’s not how it works—”

“IT IS NOW, MOTHER.”

You blinked slowly. Vegeta, who had just taken a sip of wine, said nothing, only raised his eyebrow with a faint smirk and muttered, “That one’s definitely yours.”

Next, you tried the trust-building game. A disaster.

“You’re supposed to fall backwards and trust your partner catches you,” you explained gently, holding up a small card titled “Bonding Builds Empires!” with a cute little drawing of two Saiyans smiling and holding hands.

“If you let me fall,” you added, looking at Vegeta with a single raised eyebrow, “you sleep outside.”

He grunted. “I would never let you fall.”

You kissed his cheek. “Good.”

Raditz dropped Kakarot on purpose.

“I trusted you!” Kakarot cried, half-laughing, half-winded on the floor.

“You were a test run,” Raditz snapped. “Your density threw me off.”

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse? You brought out the board game. The Ancient Royal Saiyan Strategy Game, reserved for nobles, requiring teamwork, patience, and the ability to not punch someone across the table.

Guess how long that lasted? Seven minutes. Seven minutes before Yesha flipped the entire board while declaring herself “Empress of All Snacks” because no one let her land on the sacred tile with the crystal crown.

Seven minutes before Little Vegeta yelled, “THIS GAME IS RIGGED. I’M STARTING MY OWN EMPIRE, “ and stormed out to create a rival kingdom in the laundry room.

Seven minutes before Pazunipp dumped an entire bowl of roasted nuts on the scoring tablet and said, “Now it’s nut math,” and Kakarot nodded sagely like this was the height of innovation.

You and Ostara stared at each other from across the couch, each holding tea that had gone cold.

“We just wanted to bond,” you whispered, blinking through the debris of game pieces and toddler mutiny.

“We have bonded,” she whispered back. “In trauma.”

“Should we call it?”

“Yes.”

You both stood up, brushed off crumbs, and clapped your hands like royalty ending a duel.

“GAME NIGHT IS OVER!” you declared, voice booming through the royal halls.

Everyone froze. Even the twins. Even Raditz.

Kakarot blinked. “…Do I still win?”

Nappa, bless his heart, stayed behind to help clean up, mumbling about how “next time we should just play Pictionary with power levels.”

Raditz vanished the moment a dustpan appeared. Kakarot carried three twins out stacked like logs and said, “That was the best night of my life.”

Ostara mumbled something about foot soaks and payback.

And Vegeta? Vegeta followed you into your bedroom, set the “Uno” card you’d slipped into his pocket earlier on the nightstand, and whispered, low and rough:

“I will destroy that deck tomorrow.”

You smiled, pulled him close, and kissed him like a queen who just survived her own civil war.

“And I’ll be watching.”

Chapter Text

It’s hot today— Saiyan sun blazing high, casting golden light over the stone floor of the royal training coliseum. The banners flap in the wind. The gravity is set to double. The stands are empty save for three screaming little lunatics currently chanting “GO MAMA, GO MAMA, GO MAMA—BREAK PAPA’S BONES!!”

You’re stretching one leg over a polished boulder, golden armor glinting, hair braided back like the queen-warrior you are.

Beside you? Ostara. Pregnancy glow gone. Robes off. Hair tied up. Armor tight. Her eyes burn like fire.

“We’re doing this?” she asks calmly, rolling one shoulder until it pops.

You nod once. “We’re doing this.”

Because after the Uno meltdown, the game night disaster, and the syrup incident in the west wing kitchen? You deserve this and honestly? So do they.

Enter the men. Vegeta appears first, arms crossed, boots heavy against the floor, scowling already.

“This better not be another spa ambush.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” you purr.

Kakarot appears second, waving like he’s at a picnic.

“Hey babe! Is this couples training? Because I brought snacks!”

“You’re about to eat dirt,” Ostara replies sweetly.

Raditz floats down like a whole storm cloud with his hair in full majestic swing and a permanent look of “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“If you two think this is gonna be easy—”

You power up—just a little —and his mouth shuts.

Nappa is the ref. Why? Because he lost a bet. “Alright!” he yells. “Couples sparring! One rule: no vaporizing your mate!”

“That’s a suggestion at best,” Vegeta mutters.

You step into the ring with Vegeta. He smirks. “Going easy on me, woman?”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t shatter your ego.”

The clash is immediate. Loud. Fast. He comes in strong—brute force, textbook footwork. You slip under him, blast upward, and land a hit to his side that sends him staggering back.

“You’ve been lazy,” you tease.

“I’ve been merciful.”

“I’ve been plotting. ”

Meanwhile— Ostara vs. Kakarot. “You ready?” he grins.

“Born ready.”

He vanishes— Instant Transmission. She doesn’t flinch. He reappears behind her—

And she backhands him so hard he lands face-first in a crater.

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN LOOK!” he wails, coughing dirt.

“I didn’t need to.”

Round two. Vegeta grabs your wrist mid-strike, tries to flip you. You use the motion and launch yourself off his shoulder, flipping in the air, landing on his back and pinning him with your knee. The kids LOSE it in the stands.

“GET ‘IM, MAMA!!”

“SIT ON HIS HEAD!”

“BREAK HIS BACK AND HIS PRIDE!”

Vegeta grunts. “They get that from you. ”

“They get that from watching me win. ”

Ostara’s now dodging Kakarot’s every move. He’s fast. She’s faster. He throws a beam. She absorbs it with a ki shield, flies forward, grabs his wrist and FLIPS him mid-air, crashing him perfectly onto his back again.

He stays there.

“Are we… still married?”

“Not if you don’t get up.”

Raditz watches from the sidelines with a fist in his mouth.

“You’re all insane, ” he whispers.

“You’re just scared,” Nappa smirks.

“I’m reconsidering reproduction.”

You and Ostara meet center stage. The men regroup. The air vibrates. Your ki flares gold. Hers flares crimson. The twins are now full-blown sportscasters. Pazunipp is eating a meat stick and screaming.

“MAMA FORMATION GOOOOOO!”

Vegeta and Kakarot exchange glances. Raditz backs away slowly.

“You’re on your own.”

The bell rings and you unleash hell. Vegeta blocks you, but he’s breathing hard now, hair tousled, armor scuffed. You duck, spin, and land a knee right into his ribs— the sweet spot. He groans, drops low, and catches your ankle— but too late.

You flip backward and land behind him, foot against his back. “You concede?”

“Never.”

“Then I win.”

Kakarot’s on his knees in the dust, hair a mess, blinking stars.

“You good?” Ostara asks, hands on hips.

“You’re so hot when you’re mean.”

“You’re so dumb when you’re awake.”

The men lie in various states of defeat. You and Ostara are radiant. Glowing. Energized. The kids run down and throw themselves at you both.

“YOU’RE SO COOL!”

“YOU BEAT THEM SO BAD!”

“WILL I BE THAT STRONG WHEN I’M A MOM TOO?!”

You pick Yesha up, kiss her forehead, and smile. “Only if you train hard… and never let your papa win anything ever again.”

Vegeta groans from the floor. “I hate when you flirt like that.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Extra part:

Raditz had been smug all day. From the moment training began, he made a very big show of not participating. He was leaning on columns. Watching from shadows. Making “tsk tsk” sounds whenever someone got hit.

And worst of all? He dared to say the following:

“You two are impressive, for mates. But I’m a warrior. I don’t fight women—I’d hate to make you cry.”

You and Ostara froze. The air went still. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk screamed.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. “Did you just imply we couldn’t handle you?”

“No,” Ostara added, already cracking her neck. “I think he implied we’d be weeping by the end.”

Raditz grinned. Arrogantly. Foolishly.

“You can’t actually want to spar me. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It wouldn’t,” you agreed.

You glanced at Ostara. She nodded once. Then in perfect harmony, you said: “That’s why we’re both going to fight you.”

He tried to run. He really tried to run but you both were airborne in seconds, flanking him from left and right.

“This is overkill!” he yelped, dodging a ki blast that carved a smoking line across the floor.

“This is justice! ” Ostara roared, landing a kick to his shoulder that spun him mid-air.

“You brought this on yourself!” you called, slamming into him from above and driving him straight into the ground.

The kids were screaming again— happily.

“GET ‘IM, MAMA!!”

“CRUSH HIS ARMS!”

“MAKE HIM APOLOGIZE TO WOMANKIND!”

Raditz staggered up, hair everywhere, eyes wild. “I SAID I WAS SORRY!!”

“Not sorry enough!” you yelled, throwing a twin blast with Ostara that detonated around him like fireworks at a royal festival.

He screamed. He flailed. He begged. You didn’t stop . Raditz was panting now, bruised and smoking, one glove missing, his armor hanging by a strap.

“Truce?” he wheezed.

You raised your hand. He flinched. But instead of firing—you pointed behind him.

“She’s got the last hit.”

Ostara was already charging. She leapt—spun midair—and kicked him square in the back, sending him flying across the coliseum floor , where he rolled and landed flat on his back in a very sad, very defeated heap. There was silence.

Then a weak voice: “…I yield.”

Aftermath: Raditz is lying on an ice pack. Kakarot is feeding him grapes like he’s dying of noble wounds. Vegeta is smirking from the shadows.

“I warned you not to talk.”

“They’re monsters,” Raditz croaks. “Beautiful. Terrifying monsters.”

You and Ostara fist-bump. The kids dogpile you both, screaming in victory.

“BEST MAMAS EVER!!”

You smile, standing tall, still glowing with battle energy.

“Let that be a lesson to every Saiyan in this palace—”

“Underestimate us,” Ostara says with a smirk, “and we’ll make you weep. ”