Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nothing irritated Eighteen more than hearing how good of a person she was for “giving Krillin a chance.” At first she accepted such words with an approving nod. During the early days of her rehabilitation, she had been so eager to prove to herself that she was on the right path that she never gave the supposed compliments a second thought. As time passed, she recognized them for what they were—veiled, if unintentional, insults to Krillin.

That made her mad. Dating him was no act of charity. From the moment she saw the little monk, she thought he was cute. Not sexy, mind you. That would come later. But definitely cute. And she seized upon the first excuse she could find to tease him with a kiss. She actually wanted to do more, but it would have been hard to play off a tackle hug as an act of intimidation.

Discovering his sex appeal took some time…two seconds to be precise. The first time he tore off his shirt to go for a swim, Eighteen stood goggle-eyed, mouth agape. The muscles in Krillin’s back rippled as he jogged to the ocean, and when he turned to call to her, the definition of his pecs and abs had her swallowing hard. Eighteen’s reputation for silence served her well that day. Had she been forced to speak, the only sounds she could have uttered would have been incoherent.

Eighteen had no illusions about herself either. Her attitude, she knew, left much to be desired. She was pushy, belligerent, a constant source of criticism to her so-called friends, and likely to ignore them or walk away if their topic of conversation bored her. Yet, Krillin insisted on bringing her along to every Capsule Corp function or dinner at the Sons—not to show her off but to include her in his life.

Was Eighteen a good person for giving Krillin a chance? No, she was terribly selfish.

Krillin deserved someone as kind as he, who instinctively recognized his needs and considered them ahead of her own, who didn’t snap at him over the most insignificant things, whose cheeks didn’t burn with embarrassment and who didn’t lose her voice whenever the mood became romantic.

He deserved a woman whose I-love-you’s were shouted as often as they were whispered and who was comfortable holding hands and kissing in public.

But to hell with what he deserved. Eighteen wanted him, so she claimed him. And she would defend her claim against any and all challengers.

As they lay on the couch, face to face, holding one another in a loose embrace, she caught his eye and grinned mischievously.

He returned her smile and gave her a look that said, What are you up to?

“Krillin…” She wanted to tell him what she was thinking, but the myriad thoughts and emotions swirling through her mind were too complex to put into words. Instead, she kissed him. It was a leisurely kiss, meant to convey love and comfort, a desire to spend every night in his arms, and more than a little possessiveness. There were no excited hands fumbling with buttons and belt buckles, no feet tripping over one another in a mad dash to the bedroom. This kiss was a promise, a statement of intent: You’re mine, little man. Don’t even think of running away.

His dark eyes sparkled as she drew back, and he gazed at her with wonder and adoration. So much needed to be said, but she was still learning to be the person he inspired her to be. So for now, she settled on, “Thanks for giving us a chance.”