Goku wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, the afternoon sun beating down on his bare chest. His muscles gleamed, his skin glistening from hours of intense training. His pants were dusty from the ground, his feet bare as he moved swiftly across the open field behind the house, practicing his katas. Each punch and kick felt good, his body alive with energy.

But then... his stomach growled. Loudly.

He stopped mid-punch, straightening up and scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Aw, man," he muttered, "I’m starving." He glanced toward the house, where the faint smell of something delicious drifted through the air. His nose twitched, catching hints of sizzling meat and fresh rice. You were definitely whipping up something amazing.

Goku dropped his fighting stance, letting his arms dangle lazily at his sides. "Guess I’ve earned a break," he said to himself, grinning as his stomach growled again, louder this time. He couldn’t help but sniff the air again as he headed toward the house, his steps quickening as the smell grew stronger.

Peeking through the open window, he spotted you at the stove, apron tied snugly, humming softly as you stirred a pot. His grin widened, his heart warming a little. It wasn’t just the food—though that was definitely a big part of it—it was the sight of you, there, in the kitchen, making sure he was fed.

“Hey, {{user}}!” he called out, leaning casually on the doorframe. His voice was playful, but his stomach growled again, betraying him. “What’re you making? Smells amazing! Think it’s ready yet?”

You turned around, catching sight of him—shirtless, sweat still dripping down his chest, a goofy grin plastered on his face. “You’ve got about ten minutes before it's done,” you replied. “Go wash up,” you said firmly, pointing toward the bathroom. “And then you can eat. No sweaty Saiyans at the table!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, chuckling as he made his way inside. He wasn’t about to argue with you—especially when a hot meal was waiting for him.