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New Year's Night - Home, with him
The cold hits them the moment they step out of the Capsule Corp warmth—sharp, clean, winter air that makes Chichi’s lungs sting for a second.
The garden behind them is still flashing with distant color, leftover fireworks crawling across the sky like dying sparks. Bulma’s laughter is fading behind a closed gate. The world is loud over there.
Here, in the quiet street, it’s just the three of them.
Goku has Goten on his back.
Not carrying him the normal way—no. It’s a full, stubborn piggyback, Goten’s arms looped tight around his father’s neck like a promise he refuses to break, his cheek pressed into Goku’s shoulder, his small body heavy with sleep but his grip still iron.
Chichi watches it as they walk. Her heart does that familiar, painful thing: swelling and aching at the same time.
Goten had refused to let go all evening. He’d kept finding Goku’s hand during the countdown, leaning into him whenever someone cheered too loudly, as if noise could steal him again. And when it was time to leave, he’d climbed onto his back without asking—like he’d decided this was the safest place in the universe and that was that.
Goku’s steps are careful, steady. He keeps one hand under Goten’s legs, the other balancing the bag Bulma shoved at them. He looks absurdly happy about it—soft-eyed, calm, like a man who has finally remembered what it means to belong.
Chichi walks beside them with her scarf pulled up, watching Goten’s fingers still fisted in Goku’s collar even in sleep.
“He’s not letting go,” she whispers.
Goku answers just as quietly, like he’s afraid the words might wake him. “He tried. For a second.” His mouth curves. “Then he said, ‘Nope,’ and climbed back on.”
Chichi snorts, warmed despite the cold. “Very dramatic.”
“He’s your kid,” Goku murmurs.
Chichi bumps her shoulder lightly into his arm. “He’s your kid too.”
Goku glances at her, and the look he gives her—soft, guilty, grateful, in love—almost knocks her off balance more than the ice ever could.
They reach the house seconds later - Chichi allows Goku to use his Teleportation Skill once - and she unlocks the door as quietly as she can. Goku ducks in carefully so Goten’s head doesn’t bump the frame.
Inside, the warmth wraps around them. The little entryway light feels too bright, then settles into comfort. The house smells like them—soap, laundry, faint spices, the soft dust of winter coats.
Chichi tiptoes ahead, pulling off her shoes. Goku follows, still carrying the entire weight of Goten like it’s nothing, but his posture is careful—protective. Earnest.
The boy makes a tiny sound, sleepy and content, and tightens his arms for half a second, like even in dreams he’s checking.
Goku freezes, then whispers, “See? Still attached.”
Chichi’s throat tightens. She reaches out and brushes two fingers lightly over Goten’s hair. “He missed you.”
Goku’s smile fades into something quieter. “I know.”
They get him to his room like a little heist: Chichi opens the door and clears a path; Goku steps in slow, turning so he can lower him without jostling.
The hardest part is the arms.
Goten’s grip is reflex now—anchored. When Goku tries to slide him off, Goten clings tighter, face scrunching.
“Dad,” he mumbles, barely awake.
“I’m here,” his father whispers immediately. It’s not theatrical. It’s instinct.
Goten’s eyes flutter. “Don’t… go.”
Chichi’s chest hurts.
Goku leans his forehead briefly to Goten’s temple. “Not going,” he murmurs. “I’m putting you in bed, okay? You can hold my hand if you want.”
The kid makes a sound that might be agreement. His arms loosen—only a little—but enough that Goku can guide him down onto the mattress without breaking whatever fragile, sleepy trust is holding him together.
Chichi pulls the blanket up. Goten’s hand finds Goku’s wrist like a magnet. He lets him.
They stand there in the dim light for a long beat, watching their child settle. His breathing evens out again. His fingers stay wrapped around his father like he’s afraid of waking into emptiness.
Chichi whispers, “He’ll let go when he’s deeper asleep.”
Goku nods, eyes fixed on their son. “Yeah.”
Chichi touches Goku’s elbow. A gentle tug. “Come on.”
It takes him a second to move. When he finally eases his wrist free, he does it slowly, replacing it with the edge of the blanket so Goten still feels something there. Goten sighs and rolls his face into the pillow.
Chichi closes the door almost all the way, leaving it cracked the way she always does.
Back in the hallway, the quiet is bigger.
They walk toward their room without speaking, both of them moving like they’ve entered a place that might shatter if they breathe wrong.
In the bedroom, Chichi clicks on the bedside lamp instead of the overhead. Honey light. Soft shadows.
Goku stands near the door, taking in the room like it’s new: the made bed, the folded throw blanket, the little imperfections that mean life happens here.
Chichi sets her scarf down. Slowly pulls the pins from her hair. The silence stretches—comfortable, charged.
When she turns, Goku is watching her the way he watched Goten: like he’s memorizing.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, but there’s no bite in it. Only warmth.
Goku’s voice is low. “I keep thinking I’m gonna blink and it’ll be… gone.”
Chichi feels the words like a thumbprint on her heart. She swallows. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Me too.”
Goku takes a step closer. Not rushed. Not assuming. His hands hang loose at his sides, but his whole body is leaning toward her like gravity has made its choice.
Chichi doesn’t wait.
She crosses the space and presses her palms to his chest, feeling the steady heat under his shirt. Feeling the life there. Her fingers curl into the fabric, grounding herself.
Goku exhales—shaky. His hands lift, hover a second, then settle at her waist with care.
“Okay?” he whispers, eyes searching hers.
Chichi nods once. Then, because she needs him to know—because tonight is not about guessing—she tilts her chin up and says, “I want you.”
Something moves through Goku’s face—relief, hunger, love so sharp it almost looks like pain. His hands tighten a fraction at her waist, still careful, still controlled.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
Chichi’s mouth curves, a little fierce. “Yeah.”
Goku leans in and kisses her like he’s been holding his breath all year.
It starts soft—warm lips, a slow press, a quiet sound in the back of his throat like he didn’t mean to make it. Then Chichi’s hands slide up into his hair and she pulls him closer, and the kiss deepens into something that has teeth in it—not rough, not violent, just real.
His arms come around her fully, and when he lifts her a little—only a few centimeters, just enough to make her gasp into his mouth—Chichi feels her whole body answer, heat pooling low, breath catching.
Goku’s forehead rests against hers for a second, their noses brushing. His eyes are half-lidded, dark with want. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, as if he’s surprised by it every time.
Chichi drags her thumbs along his jawline. “So are you.”
She pushes his jacket off his shoulders, then his shirt, fingers working the fabric up and over him. Goku helps clumsily—arms lifting, hair mussing, a quiet laugh escaping him when he gets briefly stuck.
Chichi smirks. “Hero of the universe.”
Goku grins, breathless. “Shut up.”
She kisses him again to cut off whatever else he might say.
His skin is hot under her palms—solid, familiar. She slides her hands over his chest and he shivers, a small involuntary sound leaving him when her nails graze lightly.
“Chichi—” he exhales, voice rougher now, like her name is a plea.
“Mm?” she hums, kissing down his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her mouth.
His hands find her hips again, firm, steady. He shifts closer until she can feel him everywhere—warmth, pressure, the undeniable shape of him through layers of clothing. She inhales sharply.
Goku stills instantly. “Too much?”
She lifts her head, eyes flashing. “Not even close.”
His breath breaks in a quiet laugh—relief—and he kisses her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, slow and worshipful, like he’s trying to say thank you with every touch.
Chichi tugs at her own sweater, impatient. Goku’s hands move to help, but he hesitates—checking her face.
“Help me,” she whispers, and the words come out more intimate than she intended.
His hands slide under the hem of her sweater and lift it with reverent care, his knuckles brushing her skin as the fabric rises. Chichi shivers at the contact—cool air chasing the warmth of his palms. He drops the sweater aside and just… looks.
Not in a crude way. In that quiet, stunned way he gets sometimes, as if he can’t believe he gets to have this. Chichi steps into him and catches his mouth again, dragging a sound out of him that is half moan, half laughter swallowed against her lips. She feels it in her chest—vibrating through him. His arms tighten. He lifts her without warning—not roughly, just sure—and she wraps her legs around his waist on instinct, hands gripping his shoulders. For a second she’s suspended in nothing but his strength and his warmth.
Chichi’s breath hitches. “Goku—”
He carries her to the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s been doing it his whole life. He lowers her onto the mattress carefully, then hovers over her, braced on his forearms, eyes searching hers again—always that check-in, always that are you with me?
She cups his face. “Don’t hover like I’ll break,” she whispers.
Goku’s smile trembles. “You don’t break.”
“Exactly.” She kisses him once, slow. Then adds, quieter: “Come here.”
He obeys immediately.
The weight of him settles over her in a way that makes her whole body sigh—pressure, heat, safety. Chichi slides her hands down his back, feeling muscle flex beneath her fingers as he shifts, as he tries to find the perfect balance between holding her close and not crushing her.
She wants his weight. She wants the reality of it.
“More,” she whispers, and she rolls her hips up against him, deliberate. He sucks in a breath like she’s punched the air from his lungs. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, a soft sound escaping him. When he opens them again, they’re dark, hungry, devoted.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, half amazed.
Chichi’s smile is wicked. “You’re hard to kill.”
Goku laughs once, breathless, and the laugh turns into a groan when she bites lightly at his lower lip. Clothes keep disappearing in slow, messy pieces—fabric tugged, hands fumbling, skin revealed in patches that make both of them shiver. Chichi’s fingers find the waistband of his pants and tug; Goku lifts his hips to help. He returns the favor, hands sliding down her sides, coaxing her out of what’s left with careful insistence.
Chichi feels exposed in the lamplight for a heartbeat—then Goku kisses her again, and the vulnerability becomes heat.
They move together like they’re relearning each other. Like they need proof. Goku trails kisses along her shoulder, her collarbone, the sensitive place under her ear. Chichi arches into him, breath breaking, hands tightening in his hair.
“Look at me,” she whispers suddenly—an instinct, a need to see him here.
Goku lifts his head at once, eyes locking on hers. She draws a slow line down his chest with her fingertips, then hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him closer. “You’re real,” she murmurs, like she’s scolding herself. Like she’s pleading with the universe.
His throat works. He nods once. “Yeah.”
His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking gently. “So are you.”
Chichi’s eyes burn. She turns her face and kisses his palm, then presses her forehead to his.
“Okay,” she whispers, and it’s not a question—it’s permission, it’s surrender, it’s I’m with you.
Goku exhales like he’s been holding something back and finally lets it go. He moves—slow at first, attentive, listening to every change in her breath, every shift of her hips, the way her hands guide him closer. Chichi wraps her legs around him again, pulling him in, refusing distance.
The rhythm builds in careful increments—pressure, release, pressure—until her breath turns ragged and she’s making small, honest sounds she can’t swallow fast enough. Goku answers with his own—low, restrained noises that slip out when she squeezes his shoulders, when she whispers his name like it’s a command.
They change positions in a slow, heated dance: Goku rolling them carefully so Chichi ends up above him for a while, her hands braced on his chest as she moves with intention, watching his face fall open with every shift. Goku’s hands are on her hips, guiding without forcing, his thumbs rubbing small circles like he’s steadying her through the wave.
When she tires, Goku sits up and pulls her onto his lap, arms wrapped around her back, their bodies pressed close chest-to-chest. Chichi buries her face in his neck, breathing him in, and he rocks them gently—slow, deep, intimate.
“Still okay?” he murmurs against her hair, voice strained with effort and tenderness.
Chichi lifts her head, eyes half-lidded. “Don’t stop,” she whispers.
Goku’s eyes flutter closed, a soft groan leaving him, and he shifts them back down onto the bed again, settling behind her on their sides—spooned close, his chest to her back, his mouth at her shoulder, one hand sliding over her stomach and up her ribs like he’s holding her together. Chichi melts into him. The intimacy of it—being surrounded, sheltered, claimed in the gentlest way—hits her so hard she almost cries.
Goku’s breath is hot on her skin. “Chichi,” he whispers, voice breaking.
“I’m here,” she answers, and her hand reaches back to find his, fingers lacing tight.
The crest comes like a tide—inevitable. Her body tenses, trembles, breath shattering into little gasps that turn into quiet moans when Goku murmurs her name against her shoulder and holds her through it, his grip steady, his body moving with hers like he’s determined to match her rhythm instead of dragging her into his. When he finally follows, it’s with a broken exhale and a low sound that is more felt than heard, his forehead pressing briefly between her shoulder blades like he’s bracing himself against the intensity.
Then—slowly—everything eases.
Goku doesn’t move away. He stays wrapped around her, still, warm, breathing against her skin until their pulses stop racing and start syncing again.
Chichi’s fingers loosen around his hand but don’t let go. He kisses her shoulder softly. Once. Twice. Like punctuation.
“Water?” he whispers.
Chichi’s voice is sleepy. “In a minute.”
Goku hums, as if he understands a minute means don’t you dare leave me yet. His hand keeps moving over her ribs and stomach in slow strokes—aftercare disguised as habit. Chichi turns slightly so she can face him, and Goku immediately adjusts, pulling her closer, their foreheads touching. His eyes are soft now. Almost shy. “Happy New Year,” he murmurs.
Chichi’s mouth curves, tired and glowing. “Happy New Year,” she answers, and kisses him gently.
They stay like that, tangled in warmth, until the house settles fully around them—wood creaking, heater humming, the world outside quieting down.
And then—
A small sound, faint through the hallway.
Not footsteps. Not a full wake.
Just a soft, sleepy whimper. A tiny inhale that catches.
Chichi’s eyes open.
Goku’s eyes open.
They freeze again, instantly alert in that parent way.
From down the hall, a small voice—muffled by sleep—murmurs, “Dad…”
Her heart clenches. Goku’s face shifts—tender, immediate. He sits up carefully, pulling the blanket around Chichi’s shoulders first like a reflex, then stands, puts his pants back on and pads toward the door quietly, bare chested.
Chichi watches him go with a softness that almost hurts.
He returns a minute later, just as Chichi finishes turning herself into a "presentable Mom" with Goten half-asleep in his arms like a koala that has reattached itself.
Their son's eyes are barely open. His cheek is pressed to Goku’s shoulder again. One small hand is fisted in his father's hair, gentle but stubborn.
“He woke up just enough to realize I wasn’t there,” Goku whispers, voice warm with affection and a little helplessness. “Then he—” He huffs a soft laugh. “—grabbed me.”
Chichi scoots over without a word, lifting the blanket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Goku lays Goten between them carefully. The boy immediately curls toward his father, then—after a second—his sleepy body shifts so he’s touching both of them: a foot against Chichi’s shin, his head turned toward Goku, his hand still holding tight.
Chichi brushes her fingertips over his forehead. “You’re safe,” she whispers.
Goten makes a tiny sound—content, relieved—and sinks back under.
Goku lies down again, one arm around his son, the other reaching across to find Chichi’s hand in the dark.
Their fingers lace.
The house is quiet.
No fireworks. No noise. Just three heartbeats in one bed, the year turning over gently around them. Chichi exhales and lets her eyes close, holding on to both of them like she’s finally allowed to.
Goku’s thumb strokes her knuckles once—soft, reassuring.
“I’m here,” he whispers so quietly it barely exists.
And this time, with Goten warm between them and the night holding steady, Chichi believes him.