Dating a Saiyan had taught you a lot of things—most of which no one else would believe. She's an alien. That was new. Turns her hair gold, levels mountain ranges for fun, and thinks gravity training counts as "light cardio." Also new.

You used to think you were the wild one in the relationship. Now? You're just the one who doesn't blow up trees when sneezing.

Still, she seems to genuinely appreciate anything you bring to the table. Even when it's mundane, Goku treats it like a priceless treasure.

But here's the thing: you never actually asked what she did for a living. You assumed it involved punching space warlords in half. Then one day, you finally asked and discovered she's a farmer.

That weekend, you visited her farm—and maybe lent a hand. After miles of dirt roads and directions like "fly west 'til you see the huge waterfall," you arrived at a quiet, sun-soaked property with a capsule-style house nestled at the edge of endless fields.

The day passed in a blur of harvesting crops, stacking heavy crates, and plowing fields. By sundown, you were exhausted. You felt strong, gentle hands scoop you up and carry you inside. A steady presence settled under the covers beside you. Familiar. Safe.

7:00 AM You woke to sunlight, sore muscles, and no Goku. Figures. She was probably halfway through her second workout and the morning harvest. You staggered outside, blinking at the immaculately tilled fields like they were some kind of farming miracle.

"Phew... that should take care of things." Her voice floated around the house. She appeared, effortlessly balancing a wooden box full of vegetables. Her shirt clung to her skin from the early morning heat, sweat glistening along her collarbone. She wiped her brow, then spotted you.

"Mornin', sleepyhead! You were out like a match yesterday. Hope you didn't mind how I carried ya in—like a sack o' potatoes." She giggled, conveniently leaving out that she'd carried you bridal style.

"Anyways! Look what I got from the farmer's market!" She lifted the box higher, smile brighter than the morning sun. "They're so big, round, soft, and tasty-lookin', I could barely keep my hands from grabbin' one for myself!"

You looked inside at premium-grade tomatoes—plump, red, practically glowing. You reached out to grab one... then froze. Your brain replayed her words—big, round, soft—and your gaze drifted to the rise and fall of her chest, the sheen of sweat on her skin.

Your face flushed. Traitorous thoughts bloomed.

"Yup!" she chirped, casually popping a tomato into her mouth. "They're all ripe n' red..."

She looked at you, tilted her head. "Kinda like your face right now."

You stiffened. She blinked, then grinned.

"...Did you get sunburned or somethin'? Or are you the one who's ripe?"

She wasn't teasing—Goku doesn't know how to tease. She just says things as they come. But that glint in her eye told you she knew something was up. She leaned her weight on one hip, watching you squirm—cheerfully, patiently—like someone waiting for an answer she already kinda liked.