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Chapter Text

Bulma Briefs, handsome, clever, rich, with a comfortable home and a happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence and had lived sixteen years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. Until the day she chose to pack her bag and drive off in search of the Dragon Balls to wish for either strawberries or a boyfriend. In the sixteen years that followed, a multitude of events had happened to distress and vex her. 

She was leered at and humiliated, had to run from criminals, had her heart broken by the same guy a bunch of times and then he had to go die on her to boot. She had travelled through space where she had to run from more criminals, had her body taken over and inhabited a frog, which she vowed never to speak of again. All this on top of the suffering, the inconveniences, the lack of basic hygiene she had endured while trying to save her friends and her planet.  

At thirty-two, Bulma had come to understand that her life always involved a struggle of some sort but that the choices she made often lay at the root of it, unfortunately.  

It was Friday, bright and early, when the cause of her current vexation, another one which she admittedly had brought on herself, banged open the door to her office at Capsule Corporation, half-naked and sweaty, and threw four blackened hunks of metal onto her desk, littering her proofs. Fantastic. 

She sipped her coffee. 

“Good morning, Vegeta.”

“Your rubbish bots are broken.” 

“They’re broken because you broke them.”

Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans , a title he clung to for dear life, because Bulma thought he had little else left to cling to, gestured broadly over her desk. 

“They fall apart at the slightest hit!” he said. 

“You’re supposed to deflect their attacks, not annihilate them! We’ve gone over this!”

“I cannot help mauling them! It’s what I’m striving for, isn’t it? You choose to provide me with substandard materials!”

“I told you I’m working on an upgrade.”

“That was over two weeks ago!”

“Are you recording that in a little calendar you keep somewhere? You honestly think I don’t have stuff to do other than making upgrades and fixing bots?” 

This blissful routine with her alien houseguest repeated itself every other week or so since she had put the Gravity Room back together with her father and, in a rare altruistic mood, had taken on the burden to manage its upkeep and repairs. This proved to be a regrettable decision. She would be trying to work or think or have a mindful moment with her coffee when Mr. Congeniality, wearing nothing but work-out shorts, would burst in to bother her about something he blew up. They bickered, they argued, they threw insults around until either she would yell at him to leave or Vegeta stormed off on his own accord. By now she had gotten so used to these interactions that when they failed to occur through whatever circumstance, she felt like she had forgotten to tick something off her to-do list. 

“Should I just lightly flick an attack towards the bots and hope they’ll be okay while you take your sweet time on upgrades?” Vegeta continued. “What my calendar tells me is that one year has passed and two years are left, or does yours tell you differently? You’d think it would be your top priority to do anything within your power to prepare for the androids coming!”

Bulma slammed her coffee mug on her desk, nearly sloshing her papers and the sleeve of her lab coat. 

“Certainly, but my schedule doesn’t revolve around whether you wake up in a huff one morning and decide to trash your training equipment. And for the sake of decency, put a shirt on when you enter the office building!”

This seemed to amuse Vegeta so much that he puffed out his chest even further. 

“That’s rich! You, lecturing me about decency?”

“I beg your pardon?” Bulma huffed. 

But before Vegeta could elaborate on whatever the hell he was referring to, they were interrupted. An incoming call rang out on the big monitor next to Bulma’s desk, showing Yamcha’s name in a flash of neon pink. He was the only person whose calls went directly through to her office. 

Both of them stared at the screen and then at each other. 

“Aren’t you going to pick that up?” Vegeta asked. 

She let the phone ring and put her hands on her hips. 

“I will,” she said, but made no attempt. 

It rang again. Before Bulma could do anything, Vegeta reached over her desk and pressed the blinking button on the phone to accept the call. In a reflex, she leaned in to swat away his hand, but she was too slow. Vegeta had already pulled his hand away, but remained leaning over her desk so that Bulma found herself face to face with him. The monitor popped on to show Yamcha. 

“Hey babe,” Bulma said, quickly turning away from Vegeta to the screen, already exasperated by her day. 

In under a second, Yamcha’s face fell from cheeriness to loathing. 

“What’s he doing here?” he asked.

“He’s being an asshole, as usual. Could you give me like one minute to call you back, just one?” 

Yamcha glared at Vegeta, who was looking very pleased with himself. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Thanks.”

After Bulma had pressed the button and the screen went black again, she shot Vegeta an icy look.  

“Don’t do that,” she said to him, quietly. 

His self-satisfied smirk faltered. 

She took a seat behind her desk and picked up a bot to examine.  

“I’ll fix the bots but I don’t know how long it’ll take me since you thoroughly mangled them. I’ll work on them over the weekend, okay?”

“Don’t you have any spare bots?” Vegeta asked. 

“No!”

“Well, what do you expect me to do in the meantime?”

“You’re a grown man, you’ll figure it out. Go do some crunches or whatever it is you do in that Gravity Room and stop barging into my office. At the very least put a shirt on next time, it’s common Earth etiquette in an office building. I may be used to having half-naked men around me but I don’t want Margie at the front desk to get the wrong impression. She might go into cardiac arrest whenever you decide to grace us with your royal presence looking like that.”

He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, but Bulma was done sparring. 

“Now, go off,” she waved her hand dismissively, “your highness .” 

Accepting defeat, for now at least, Vegeta frowned and marched away, nose in the air. 

Bulma kept her eyes down and fiddled with the bot until she heard her door close, then she pushed the metal hulk away and took a deep breath. She pressed the speed dial to call back Yamcha.

The monitor blinked on instantly. 

“Is he gone?” Yamcha asked.

“Yeah, I sent him away,” Bulma said. “He wrecked his bots again.”

“Like you’ve got nothing better to do than clean up his mess all the time!”

She knew he was trying to be sweet, but she’d much rather change the topic so Yamcha would quit scowling. 

“So, you called me?” she asked.  

“I wanted to know if we’re still on for date-night tonight.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

“No reason! I’ll make reservations at that fancy French bistro in South-West.”

“Sure, great.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven, is that alright?”

“Yeah, seven is perfect. I’ll be ready.”

“Okay. See you tonight, babe.”

He gave her a wink, which she returned with a smile. 

“See you.” 

When she hung up, she savoured the silence. Her coffee had gone cold and her desk looked a mess. Scooping up her mathematical proofs and papers, she put them away in a drawer and took out a toolkit. She didn’t feel like working on the proofs. It was her own choice to fix the bots instead, she told herself, and not because Vegeta had been whining about it. Taking apart the devices, she got so lost in her work, it was noon before she knew it.   

***

At the front desk, Margie, with a beehive the shade and texture of cotton candy and violently fuchsia acrylic nails, was squinting at a magazine when Bulma walked by. 

“Margie, I’m off to lunch, hold my calls,” Bulma said to her.

Startled and wide-eyed, Margie dropped her magazine and tried shoving it aside with her elbow. 

“Sure, sugar,” she said, smiling a bit too brightly for Bulma’s liking.   

“What are you reading?”

“Nothing, what do you mean?”

Bulma knew she was reading Tattletale Magazine, because that’s what Margie read every Friday during her lunch break, but she usually wasn’t so secretive about it. Today she was nearly knocking it off her desk with a pleasant smile plastered on. 

“Gimme that,” Bulma frowned and grabbed the magazine from underneath her receptionist’s elbow.  

“Okay, sugar, but read at your own risk,” Margie warned, studying her nails. 

Soon Bulma understood what Margie had been trying to shield her from. Blasted across the page in lurid yellow was the phrase: GARDENIA WHITE CANOODLING WITH STAR BASEBALL PLAYER YAMCHA?!

Underneath this exclaimed question was a blurry snapshot of a petite blonde in yoga pants standing very, very close to a tall man, his face obscured by a baseball cap. Bulma immediately recognized him as Yamcha by the familiar slope of his right shoulder. They stood in what appeared to be the locker room of a gym. A small article was wedged in between a glamour shot of Gardenia and a picture of Yamcha on the pitch in his Taitan’s uniform wearing the same baseball cap. It read:

Spotted at the West City Resort exclusive gym: Gardenia White, 25, soap opera starlet known from ‘Beautiful Days of our Bold Lives’ getting comfortable with Yamcha, 33, West City Taitan’s star player! Our sources have informed us that the two have spent quite some time together in between work-outs and seemed to be getting awfully up close and personal in the locker room. Is there a new romance blossoming here? 

When we reached out to Miss White about the rumour the beautiful blonde actress laughed and said: “I was new to the gym and Yamcha was so kind to show me around, like, REALLY kind. Like, he didn’t have to be THAT kind, but he went like, out of his way for me. But that’s like, all I’m allowed to say.”  

Unfortunately, Yamcha was unavailable for any comment. Who knows how his long-time on-and-off-again scientist girlfriend, Bulma Briefs, 32, of Capsule Corporation, is taking this latest blow to their relationship?

They’d even included a small head-shot of her from last year, when she had the tightly curled perm which in hindsight hadn’t been the greatest idea. 

Margie cleared her throat. 

“I know it’s none of my business, but between you and me, I’d go for the guy who walks into your office half-naked all the time,” she said. 

Chapter Text

Overlooking the skyline, the view from Dans Les Nuages was spectacular at dusk. The panoramic bistro was situated on the top floor of the highest building in this part of West City and Bulma usually loved eating here while watching the city lights compete with the vast starry sky. Tapping a diamanté strappy sandal on the leg of her chair, she pushed her food around and listened to Yamcha going on about something hilarious Krillin had told him the other day. She felt a twinge remorseful that such a nice place had to be the scene of her impending break up.

After lunch, she had not gone back to her office. Instead, she went to her room. First she sat on her bed for about an hour, strategizing. Then she took a long bubble bath. She didn’t cry and wasn’t overwhelmed by a temper tantrum. She was much calmer than she had expected to be and figured this was another thing she had gotten used to.

At seven on the dot, when Yamcha came to pick her up, she was wearing a purple low-cut, figure hugging dress which she knew looked gorgeous on her. Her blue hair cascaded over her shoulders in big curls, her makeup was immaculate and she smelled amazing. Yamcha whispered an appreciative “woah babe” when she stepped into his car. She had even amassed the kind of deceptive composure to kiss his cheek. Perhaps she should have been a soap opera starlet, she thought.

Then she waited. She waited through the drive to the restaurant, while Yamcha chatted about nothing in particular. She waited until they were seated, until they were given menus and drinks. Yamcha was so talkative, he didn’t notice she had barely said a thing.

By the time she was half-way through her entree, however, her resolve to prolong her plotting and scheming had crumbled and she dropped the bomb.

“So when were you going to start apologising to me for cheating with Gardenia White?” she asked.

“What?”

The effect was immediate. Yamcha looked at her as though she had just sprouted a tail.

“Were you going to wait till dessert?” she continued. “Because I don’t think I have the patience anymore to sit through this bullshit dinner date like nothing is going on.”

The worst actor in the world, Yamcha spluttered into his plate.

“How… who are you talking about?”

She raised her voice.

“Oh knock it off, Yamcha! Margie reads Tattletale during her lunch break on Fridays, obviously I’ve seen the story.”

They were garnering attention from the other diners now. The waiter who was going to ask if everything was up to snuff, quickly made a U-turn at the sight of trouble ahead. Yamcha snatched a menu from a table next to them and shielded himself from their onlookers.

“Can we please wait until we get back home to discuss this?” he pleaded. “Please?”

“Why? Am I embarrassing you by making a scene? You should have thought about that before hooking up with some girl while you were supposedly training!”

She stabbed her fork into her steak tartare. Trying to be cool and calm about the situation had been a bad idea. The sight of Yamcha cowering made her blood boil.

“Why did you even take me out?” she questioned out loud. “So the paparazzi could take a good look at us, acting like nothing’s the matter? I don’t give a shit anymore!”

Yamcha was downright begging her now, ducking so low she thought he would disappear under the table.

“Bulma, please, I was going to talk to you about this.”

She threw her fork down, all appetite lost.

“You know what, I think I’m done. I’m done with dinner and I’m done caring about what you have to say. We should break up once and for all!”

People whispered around them, while Yamcha gaped at her.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am one-hundred percent seriously breaking up with you. Again!”

She tossed her napkin aside and stood up. For a moment she considered throwing her glass of pinot grigio in Yamcha’s face, but decided that would be a waste of good wine. She gulped it down instead.

“I’m going home,” she announced and turned to leave.

While she was clicking on her heels towards the exit, nearly knocking the waiter out of her way, Yamcha called out to her.

“Wait, wait!”

She slammed the button of the elevator. By the time the doors slid open, Yamcha was next to her, looking red in the face.

“Let me at least drive you home,” he offered.

Bulma pushed her shoulders back, dignified as a queen.

“Fine, drive me home, whatever.”

***

Yamcha’s red convertible pulled up the driveway of Capsule Corp. For a moment, they just sat there, absorbed in silence. They hadn’t spoken a word on their way back, letting the city rush by like a bad dream. The skin on Bulma’s bare arms tingled from the cold night air. She shifted in her seat to unfasten her seatbelt.

“Bulma, please don’t do this,” Yamcha said.

“Why shouldn’t I break up with you?” she asked. “You’re not even denying anything.”

His head dropped. There were no excuses left to try.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

“Sure, I’m sorry too.”

She stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Yamcha remained in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel. He was staring straight ahead, his knuckles turning white. His voice was low and oddly broken when he finally spoke.

“You know what gets me? Why did you wait to yell at me? If you had known about it since this afternoon, why sit through that date at all? Why not call me up in a fury the moment you knew, like you would have done before…”

“Before what?” she asked.

“Before Namek!” he shouted.

Bulma didn’t know what to say. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and rubbed her bare arms. Yamcha stepped out of the car to stand across from her. He held his hands up, shook his head, like he had to solve something unfathomable.

“You’re a different person from when we got together!”

It sounded like an accusation.

“It’s what people tend to do, Yamcha! They change, they evolve. Not you though!”

She bristled.

“Not since you’ve gotten over your so-called fear of women! Suddenly you couldn’t get enough of them! Ever since, it’s been the same thing, over and over. Not even death could force some character development onto you.”

Tonight it felt good to be vindictive. He hated it whenever she mentioned his death.

“I went through with our date just to see how you would bullshit yourself out of another mistake. I can’t believe you are finding a reason to get mad at me for this somehow!” she yelled.

Yamcha kept shaking his head, lips pressed together.

“You can’t force a man to change by being with him, Bulma.”

“After sixteen years, I am WELL aware of that. But guess what? I’d rather be alone than go through the same cycle with you.”

His laugh was mirthless, hollow.

“Alone, huh? That’s funny, I don’t seem to find you alone often these days.”

Bulma froze.

“No… Don’t make this about him. Don’t you fucking dare.”

But Yamcha pushed on, savouring the nerve he hit.

“He’s always there! He’s there when I call you, he’s in your office, in your kitchen, in your hallway!”

“Oh, so that must mean he’s in my bedroom as well?”

“Isn’t he?”

Bulma wanted to slap the bitter smile off of Yamcha’s face.

“I’ve never cheated on you,” she hissed. “You’re the one who fucks up all the time and yet somehow I’m the one to blame? Because you’re jealous and paranoid?”

“He’s in your head… All the time…” he said, quietly.

“Stop.”

She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. For weeks, months, after Vegeta had blown up the Gravity Room by accident and she had pulled him out of the rubble, she had to work at assuring Yamcha that there was nothing going on between them. That the fact that she had shown a general concern for the wellbeing of a man who could help save their world from being destroyed by evil androids, did not mean that she wanted to jump his bones.

She was exhausted. Despite all her self-righteousness, she could feel her nose prickle and her eyes water. Yamcha understood he had taken it too far.

“I’m sorry…” he said.

She just stood there, hugging her elbows.

“Bulma, I love you.”

“I love you too, Yamcha. But I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.”

She shrugged and blinked away a tear.

“Just go home,” she told him.

This was the fourth time she broke up with him, which was three times too many. She didn’t wait till he got back into his car and drove off, but turned away and walked on.

Up the lane leading to the entrance of the living quarters of the compound, she wiped away another tear. Walking along the dome, she startled.

Under a tree just around the curved path, his arms folded, stood Vegeta. He must have been walking back from the Gravity Room, which was located behind him. He said nothing, but studied her face, his expression unreadable.

“Great…” she groaned.

Too tired, too humiliated, she hurried past him to the door, set on ignoring him. All she wanted to do was collapse into bed. Mercifully, he watched her go without a word.

Upon climbing the stairs to the second floor, she noticed how drained she was. The emotional turmoil of the evening had caused her to skip dinner. Three bites of steak tartare and a glass of wine were not going to sustain her until the next morning, no matter how sad she felt. She thought of alcohol with longing. Perhaps a beer and instant ramen could dull the pain.

***

A meal and a drink had helped to regain her strength somewhat. Seated at the kitchen island, Bulma had scarfed down her ramen with vigour and was nursing her beer, further chastising Yamcha in her mind, annoyed by the nerve he had had, the sheer gall to find blame with her. She had done nothing wrong. Perhaps her outburst at Dans Les Nuages would be fodder for another tabloid story, but she could live with that.

As if her evening couldn’t get any worse, Vegeta walked into the kitchen, and internally she cursed the stars for not granting her one moment’s peace. Maybe Yamcha did have a point when he had said that Vegeta was always around.

Vegeta, however, went straight towards the water kettle. He was wearing loose fitting joggers and a long sleeve, implying that he must have had a quick shower before coming here for a bedtime snack. Even after having lived on Earth for over a year, it was strange to see him in casual clothing. He acknowledged she was there, because he looked her once over, but otherwise he was completely silent. He didn’t engage in any quippy, snarky conversation, but he was making tea, like a normal person.

With a jolt of horror Bulma realised he must have been standing at that tree for quite some time and had probably heard the dramatic exchange she’d had. But instead of offering his usual snide commentary, he was being quiet, either out of pity or some sick mind game he was playing. She didn’t know which she found more insulting.

The beer had fueled her feistiness. She sighed, stood up and sauntered past to throw her empty ramen cup in the bin. Leaning against the counter next to him, she tossed her curls back over her left shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well go on, then!” she said, placing one hand on her hip. “Obviously you’ve heard every damn word of what just happened. Don’t spare me your two cents’.”

Vegeta dunked a tea bag into a mug of hot water.

“You mean you want to hear what I have to say?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s have it.”

With a flourish, she gestured towards herself, slightly wobbly on her strappy sandals.

“Here’s your chance to tear me down.”

“Okay.”

He turned to face her.

“Here’s my opinion: good riddance.”

She stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing.

“He’s weak, you’re too good for him.”

Momentarily speechless, Bulma felt like the air was knocked out of her. Vegeta moved over to the fridge where he took out four chicken and mustard sandwiches and put them on a plate.

“I can’t believe you’re paying me a compliment,” she said.

Feeling ill at ease, she went back to the kitchen island for her can of beer.

“I’m merely stating a fact,” Vegeta said.

She watched him scoop two spoons of sugar into his tea and stir. Taking his mug and plate, he proceeded to devour the sandwiches across from her, while she remained leaning against the counter of the island, sipping her beer.

“You were clearly the superior in your relationship,” he said.

What was clear to Bulma, was that she was either dreaming or experiencing some kind of post- break up hallucination. Analysing his face, his body language, his tone of voice, nothing in his demeanour indicated that he was playing a sick mind game like she’d suspected. Vegeta was being dead serious.

“I guess those are my two cents’,” he added, after swallowing his last bite.

Having finished his food, he put his plate in the dishwasher, like her mother had asked him to do. She couldn’t make this shit up. She was actually standing in the kitchen in her fancy dress, drinking a beer, having an agreeable, sympathetic conversation with a guy who was usually so arrogant and bad-tempered she wanted to strangle him.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

The day had taken a weird, unexpected turn.

“So, what about you?” she tried, quite out of her depth. “Did you manage to keep yourself occupied tonight?”

Still standing across from her, a smile played on his lips. Then he looked her up and down, so slowly, so deliberately, she thought her dress had gone see-through.

“I’m a grown man, I figured it out,” he said, meeting her eyes.

He took up his mug of tea and smirked.

“Good night.”

When he left the kitchen, Bulma could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Chapter Text

Turning on her side, Bulma burrowed herself into her comforter and groaned. In her mind the previous evening played itself in a loop of scenes.

Dinner - Breakup - Fight - Vegeta.

Despite the emotional carnage of ending a relationship with a man she had been intimate with for sixteen years, after being cheated on yet again, she had to admit to herself, with an embarrassment that ran painfully deep, it was that final event in the sequence that bothered her the most. She could understand Vegeta’s reasoning about her breakup, but what about that exchange afterwards? That look.

What the fuck was that look he had given her? Why the hell had he said what he said, her own words thrown back at her in a way that could only be interpreted as suggestive? He could have meant it to be sarcastic, mocking her dismissive attitude from that morning. However, it was suggestive because of that look. In that one singular moment, Vegeta had looked at her as though he had wanted to bend her over the kitchen counter.

Had she imagined that? Was he just messing with her mind?

What bothered her even more than that look, was why it bothered her in the first place. The thought that he might have looked at her with something akin to desire rattled a locked door that she had desperately tried to keep shut and hidden from her own view. Behind that door lay the unspeakable truth; that if he had indeed bent her over the kitchen counter, she would probably have enjoyed every second of it.

Surely, she must have been mistaken about the whole situation.

She glanced at her alarm. It was 10.37, which she considered to be a civil hour on a Saturday morning to be calling someone for a second opinion. Bulma threw off her covers and put on a fluffy robe. At the desk in the corner of her room, cluttered with nail polish and screwdrivers, she turned on the monitor and started a video call.

A blonde with a pixie cut in glasses, looking rather tan, waved at the screen.

“Hey, little sis!” Tights Briefs said and popped a piece of pineapple into her mouth.

“Hey, sis!” Bulma smiled. “How’s the island? How’s writing going?”

“Oh you know, warm, sunny. I’m on the second act of my new book, plodding along. What’s up with you?”

Bulma wrapped her robe tighter around her, folding her arms over her chest.

“I broke up with Yamcha last night.”

“Again, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Death didn’t change him, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. How’s your Saiyan Prince doing?”

“What the hell? I just told you about my breakup and you immediately ask about Vegeta?”

“Oh, my bad. I assumed he had something to do with that.”

“THERE IS NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN US!” Bulma barked at the screen. “Why does everyone keep insinuating that?!”

“I’m sorry! I just figured…”

“What? What did you figure?”

“I mean, don’t you find him attractive? You do have a thing for bad boys and from what you told me, he is the worst.”

“That is completely besides the point.”

“Didn’t you have a naughty dream about him a while back? Something about him returning to Earth from space and being a really good kisser?”

“Did you really need to bring up one innocent little dream I had over a year ago?”

This was not the conversation she had planned to have. She had intended to confide in Tights, to talk about what happened the previous night. About the look. But now Tights had pointed out the locked door and Bulma couldn’t stand the thought of not being the victim in this situation.

“For your information, I broke up with Yamcha because he cheated on me with some actress named Gardenia White!” she said, sharply.

“You mean Crystal, from ‘Beautiful Days’? You’re kidding, I love her!”

Bulma grabbed a pillow from her bed and flung it at her monitor.

“Sorry, my bad,” Tights flinched.

***

Whenever her personal life became frustrating to deal with, Bulma buried herself in work. In her lab, in her office, matters were clear and straight-forward. For days, she avoided all magazines, phone calls and Vegeta. She wasn’t willing to face that locked door just yet. Instead, she worked on repairing the training bots. To her delight, but not to her surprise, she managed to outdo herself. They were three times faster, sturdier and more powerful than before. Vegeta’s face ought to light up like a Christmas tree when she’d bestow on him the fruits of her labour and he’d notice the vast improvements. Incidentally, it was the perfect excuse to seek him out. Armed with a box of bots, she ventured out to the Gravity Room.

He wasn’t there. He was not to be found in his room either, which he kept freakishly tidy, and the kitchen was empty. She went around the living quarters and stumbled upon a sight she hadn’t seen before. In the rec room, Vegeta sat on the sofa staring at the TV. For a guy who might possibly have eyed her like a piece of meat when they had last spoken not even a week ago, he barely took notice of her now. Unsure of how to approach the situation, she was thinking about something clever to say, when he shushed her before she had even opened her mouth.

Bulma was about to lose her temper, until she saw what he was so absorbed by. On screen, a hard-faced, determined Rick was telling a teary-eyed, softly lit Ilsa to get on a plane. His Royal Highness, Prince Vegeta of all Saiyans, an elite soldier, responsible for the destruction of who knows how many beings and planets, was enjoying a movie.

Amused, she sat down on the other end of the sofa and watched the final minutes of Casablanca with him. After Rick announced the start of his beautiful friendship with Louis and the end credits rolled, Vegeta gestured at the screen, incredulous.

“He just let her go!”

“He made a sacrifice and chose to fight for the greater good!” Bulma remarked.

“What nonsense. Have you seen this already?”

“I have, it’s a classic.”

“It’s a strange concept, these films, to record people acting out scenarios for the sake of entertainment.”

“So you were entertained?”

“Woman, what do you want?” he snapped.

“I want you to play nice, or else I might not give you what you want.”

He looked at her with unfiltered annoyance. So much for kitchen counter fantasies, Bulma thought.

“I fixed your bots,” she explained. “You’ll be happy to know that I have also improved their ability by three times.”

“You should have broken off your relationship with that weakling sooner,” he scoffed. “All of a sudden your productivity level is soaring.”

“Shut up. Anyway, I put them in the Gravity Room but since you weren’t there I went looking for you.”

Without hesitation, Vegeta stood up from the sofa.

“Where are you going?” Bulma asked.

“I am going to train, obviously.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Okay, bye! Geez, not even a thank you!”

In the door opening, he turned back to face her.

“Why should I thank you for performing a task you are supposed to do?” he asked.

In true Vegeta-fashion, he had instantly pushed the button to send her flying off the handle.

“Don’t act like common courtesy is completely alien to you!” she yelled. “Would it kill you to show a little gratitude? To say a simple ‘thank you’ for once? Thank you Bulma, for fixing the bots! Thank you Bulma, for giving me training equipment and food and clothing and a place to live!”

He paced back to her and put his hands on his hips. Bulma imagined that if he still had his tail, he’d be whipping it around furiously. She had succeeded in stoking up some fresh anger.

“If you want to discuss gratitude, why not start with: Thank you, Vegeta. Thank you for staying on Earth to train and fight! Thank you for not obliterating my entire planet and human race with the flick of your finger!” he snarled at her.

“Right, you’re so bad, Vegeta. Tell me, if you blow us all up, what have you got left?”

He came closer until he towered over her on the sofa, his eyes fiery, his voice full of disdain.

“Don’t you act like you are keeping me here purely out of the goodness of your own heart.
You know damn well that this little truce is transactional. I have got something you want. Fine, I’ll give it to you. In return, you give me something I need. I am the best bet you have to stay alive, so don’t treat me like your fucking charity case.”

At that moment Bulma could see a sliver of what she had seen on Namek.That this man, this alien, who she let sleep, eat, and live in her house could be terrifying. The fear that accompanied it, however, was old, like muscle-memory. He could yell at her, threaten her and there was no doubt he possessed the power to destroy her and everything she held dear within the blink of an eye. But she wasn’t afraid of him and she stared him right in the face. Both in and out of a rage, he was kind of hot.

In a flash, he was gone from the room and Bulma sat there, catching her breath. The TV was still on and had gone to commercials. Gardenia White flipped her hair at Bulma in promotion of shampoo and conditioner. She switched off the TV and threw away the remote.

***

The pink corded telephone on her nightstand rang. The night was balmy, edging close to summer, and Bulma lay on her bed rather than in it, wearing a little silk slip dress. She knew who was calling her. Before she could change her mind, she picked up.

“Hi.”

“Hey… I knew you were up, but I didn’t think you were going to answer the phone. I was planning on leaving a voicemail.”

“I didn’t think I would pick up, but then I did.”

The line was silent.

“What do you want?” she asked, quietly.

“I wanted to apologise again,” Yamcha said. “I know I’ve been a dick. Apart from what happened… with Gardenia… I should have been training my ass off. I should have been giving it my all and instead I’ve been slacking off.”

“Yeah, you sure have been screwing around.”

Yamcha sighed.

“I am going out to Diablo Desert to train. Honestly, at this point I don’t even know if it matters. I think all the other guys have surpassed me already. No matter how hard I might try, I’ll never catch up to them. But it’s alright, I need to make my own peace with that. I took my frustration out on you and for that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I wanted to let you know, I’m going to try to be useful somehow. You’re one of my best friends. Despite everything that’s happened, I hope that we can still be friends at some point, Bulma.”

“Just give me time.”

His voice was so familiar, so gentle when he replied.

“Take all the time you need, babe.”

For a moment she just listened to his soft breath on the other end of the line.

“I’m gonna go,” Yamcha said. “Puar sends their love.”

“Good luck.”

She meant it.

“Thanks.”

She put the receiver down with a click.

It was almost midnight. Rising from her bed, she went to the door of her balcony and stepped out. The mild breeze felt good on her bare skin. Drinking in the sight of the waxing moon, she leaned against the railing. It was hard to believe she had been out there, amongst the planets, the pinpricks of stars. Then, her eyes were drawn to a movement just to her left and locked on to a mass of spiked, black hair.

“Kami! You asshole!” she hissed.

Vegeta was hovering at the edge of her balcony, once more clad in nothing but work-out shorts. In a reflex to get her bearings, Bulma had pressed a hand to her chest and clutched the railing with the other. To her surprise, Vegeta was staring at her almost as shocked as she was. Again, he was slowly looking her up and down, but this time, it was confusion that crossed his features. Confusion and embarrassment.

Bulma was suddenly extremely self-conscious of how close to naked she was in her barely-there slip dress and to disguise her own embarrassment, she decided it was best to yell at him.

“You almost gave me a heart attack! Why the hell are you flying around the compound at night?”

“I’m going to my room,” he said.

It was true that Vegeta’s bedroom was just around the curve and that Bulma’s balcony happened to be on the way between his balcony and the Gravity Room he came from, by the look of him.

“Well, make a sound when you fly, instead of floating up all silent like a ghost!” she complained. “I should put a collar on you with a little bell!”

He continued to stare.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Judging from his look of profound bewilderment, he had no idea what she was referring to, so she enlightened him.

“It’s what you do with a pet, like a cat, so you can hear where they are and they can’t sneak up on you.”

Vegeta cocked his head.

“You want to put a collar on me like I’m some kind of animal?”

What was supposed to sound dangerous, was betrayed by a tremor in his voice.

For once, Bulma allowed herself to truly look at him, to take him in without any reservations she might have that would advise against it. His chiselled body, his battle scars, the sheen of sweat glinting on his skin in the moonlight. His broad chest, panting ever so slightly, his strong arms, powerful thighs. The deep widow’s peak, the upturned tip of his nose that gave him something regal, befitting a prince. The sharp jaw and heavy brow, the black pools of his eyes.

There it was, behind his uncertainty, on the edge of spilling out. That look.

Lust.

She dropped her hand from her chest and stood up straighter, knowing that her breasts would strain against the silk.

“Yeah. Maybe I should add a little leash, too,” she said. “That way I could keep you in check when you’re being bad.”

He gaped at her, speechless. This time, she had earned the right to smirk at him.

“Good night,” she said, as though she was the most innocent creature in the entire world.

Having quickly slipped back into her room, she had to press herself against the wall to stop from shaking. A ripple of longing had crashed the locked door open and Bulma stepped through, eager for the thrill.

Chapter Text

He woke up, he trained. He ate, he trained and repeated that three times during the day. Then he took a shower, had a meal before bed and went to sleep. His strategy to push his abilities to the next level involved a strict routine. If he ticked the boxes, kept putting in the time, he should see the results when accumulated after three years.

Amongst the many qualities Vegeta prided himself on, were perseverance and discipline. It would be through discipline that he would become strong enough to defeat the androids once they made their appearance. It would be through perseverance that he would ascend and surpass Kakarot.

A year into this regime, it came as a shock to him that keeping up the discipline and perseverance to pursue the goals he had set out for himself was much harder on Earth than he had anticipated. He suspected it was because everything on this damned planet revolved around pleasure.

It was a different kind of pleasure than he was used to. Not the pleasure of fighting, the hunt, the kill. Not the delayed pleasure of finally succeeding in achieving something you have worked so hard for, paid for through your blood, your sweat, your continued effort. But the pleasure to soothe, comfort and indulge oneself. Pleasure through instant gratification. Not a pleasure that was scarce or hard to come by, but constant and abundant. Earth’s pleasures were magnified, geared at overloading the senses.

Take taste, for instance. The food on this planet tasted exceptionally good. The flavour and variety of the dishes created here, were unparalleled to any he’d experienced before. Food on Earth did not merely provide sustenance. Some of it was designed purely for pleasure, with little nutritional value, which was called junk food. Vegeta gorged himself on it, either way.

At his current residence, there was plenty of food available. No matter how much food his Saiyan appetite required, at whatever time of day, the refrigerator and pantry were always stocked. Most of it was prepared elsewhere, then ordered and delivered. Some of it was prepared by the matriarch of the Briefs’ household, who Vegeta avoided as much as he could. She had the tendency to be overly familiar and invade his private space with a cheerfulness he found unnerving. However, he couldn’t deny that whatever dish or drink she personally had prepared, wasn’t the best he’d had in his entire life. It was the quality of Earthly cuisine, the pleasure he derived from eating it, that made him fear it could become a liability in the long run.

Take hearing. He had learned that humans liked producing a variety of music. One morning, he came into the Gravity Room to find that the old man had upgraded the radio and sound system, not for communication, but for entertainment. He showed Vegeta how to switch radio stations for different kinds of music and explained that he himself always enjoyed listening to a good tune while working and that he figured Vegeta might like the same. The man had smiled at him completely at ease, puffing away on one of his tobacco sticks. These elderly people who had let him into their house were so easy-going, they were either incredibly gullible or fearless.

Eventually, he had to turn the radio off. Even though it was pleasurable to listen to music, it was too distracting. He found that when he had heard a song a couple of times, he could repeat the words or hum along and it made him lose his concentration.

Take sight. The nature on this planet was stunning. Sometimes he would fly out into the wilderness just to watch the waves lap the seashores, or the sun set from a snowy mountaintop. Once or twice, he could sense the Namekian nearby, in meditation, and Vegeta imagined that he was there for the same reason, to enjoy the peacefulness and the beauty of the scenery.

Visual stimulation was everything to humans and simply watching things counted as recreation. They enjoyed watching other people do things on a screen called a television. He learned about films, which could be engaging, and programmes with people yelling at each other for nonsensical reasons, or simply relaying information. It was a huge time sink, but pleasurable to turn to when bored.

Another source of visual stimulation he turned to when he was feeling bored, came in the form of a person.

The woman.

He wouldn’t have given the woman a second thought if it hadn’t been for the complete change in her demeanour upon returning to Earth. She was both cheerful and assertive, showed kindness but also cunning. Her temper easily flared towards aggression and she had a demanding presence. Verbally sparring with her had quickly become one of Vegeta’s most entertaining and simultaneously frustrating pastimes. He had never known a woman who habitually said the kind of vulgar things that she did, just for a laugh. On Earth, he learned that the formerly snivelling girl from Namek was in fact one of the wealthiest and most intelligent humans on this planet and though he would never say it out loud, she was very beautiful.

She knew she was beautiful as well and enjoyed maintaining her appearance. Over the course of a year, her short curls had grown to fall past her shoulders, the vibrant blue colour reminding him of oceans in warm climates. Her eyes were blue, too, and big, and they burned whenever she got angry. Sometimes she painted her face and nails and wore clothing that displayed so much of her curvy body and creamy-looking skin, he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger. He wasn’t used to seeing so much female flesh on display, plump and unhardened from battle. Not for free. But she didn’t dress like that for anyone but herself, the pleasure she derived from looking at her reflection whenever she passed a mirror.

What bothered Vegeta was that the longer he looked at the woman, the more he knew what he’d been lacking for a very, very, very long time. Pursuing the woman, however, was out of the question. From the beginning, she had been very clear about this in a very vulgar manner, and it was not like he was out to seek an attachment to an Earthling. If anything, it would be a distraction in the pursuit of his goals.

Perhaps he had to ration himself not to look at her too much. It was bad that the sight of the woman was enough to send his mind spiralling towards unwanted thoughts, but things had gotten distinctly worse through another assault on his senses, one evening.

He had returned from his training and wanted to step into the shower. After taking off his work-out shorts and dropping them into the hamper, he noticed something lying next to it on the floor.

A shiny slip of fabric, its colour a delicate, orange-tinged pink, named after some fruit on Earth. Peach.

This wasn’t his. He had already been tricked into looking like a flower once and had since declined any offerings of similar coloured garments. The bot that was programmed to empty the hampers and collect garments for washing must have been faulty and dropped this while making its rounds through the living quarters.

He wanted to put it back into the hamper. But then he touched it.

The material was like liquid in his fist, slippery and impossibly soft. Picking it up, he caught a whiff of scent. It was the woman’s.

Holding out the fabric, the garment resembled a dress. It had the thinnest little shoulder straps, a plunging neckline and it was obscenely short. He had never seen her in this and concluded this was something too indecent to wear in public. This was worn in private, perhaps in her bedroom. Did she sleep in this?

The scent on the fabric, so close to him, was overwhelming. It was the perfume she wore, flowers and spices he didn’t know the name of, and underneath it, the musk of her skin. Before he knew what he was doing, he held it up to his face. He closed his eyes to drink in the scent, her scent, even deeper. The tip of his nose touched the fabric and it was so good, so pleasurable, he buried his face in it. The cool softness washed over his cheeks, his chin. He could smell her skin against every part of the fabric. Her breasts, her stomach. Plucking at the dress, he sniffed lower, the scent down at the hem muskier, headier. He felt himself stir and opened his eyes.

He caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, naked and half-hard, his face partially buried in the woman’s dress. In disgust of this weakness, he threw the dress into the hamper and took an ice cold shower.

As much as he may have resisted giving in, his body had betrayed him ever since. Multiple times, he woke up panting, sticky with release, his mind clouded by blue hair, pale skin and pink lips. Bitterly he had rinsed the sheets and buried them under his washing. Her scent drew him to her involuntarily and it was aggravating. When he argued with her, though, he had an excuse to come closer, to take in her sight and her smell, to be up in her face. But he couldn't let her know what effect she had on him.

Then he slipped up.

He blamed his good mood. She had just broken off her relationship with that weakling. For whatever reason, Vegeta felt victorious. Though some parts of their conversation had been uttered too softly for him to hear from where he was standing, he understood that she had sent him away for straying from her. That pathetic man was an absolute fool.

Despite looking like she was about to cry earlier, he found her in the kitchen ready to face him off in some kind of confrontation. He decided to disarm her with the truth instead. Having her stand so close, with her smelling so good, that purple dress clinging to her curves, he wanted to catch her off guard. So he said something rather forward and looked at her freely, taking her in with pleasure.

As soon as he walked out of the kitchen, he regretted it. Afterwards she avoided him, ignoring the whole thing, which was probably for the best, but it still stung. She gave him back the training bots, but not without damaging his pride.

He was still bitter about that, leaving the Gravity Room that night, when he could sense her energy. She was on her balcony. Of course, he knew he would startle her when he flew past her. What he couldn’t have known was that she was wearing that little peach coloured dress. It fit tightly over her breasts and stopped at the tops of her thighs. He could smell her on the breeze and had to keep himself very still and steady, to prevail against the shock of seeing her like a vision from his dreams. She began a verbal onslaught, referring to something he didn’t understand. When she explained it, it was the kind of insult that steered his mind towards desire. She must have caught it in his voice.

After staring at him, she turned all bratty, dropping her hand from her body, pushing her tits out, her nipples showing through the fabric. Picturing himself in a collar, with her tugging the leash, made it hard for him to swallow. Then she went from lascivious to coy with a single ‘good night’.
Turning to slip back into her room, he saw that the little dress barely covered her ass.

He had wanted to fly after her, jank her by her waist and push her against the wall. He had wanted to bury his face in her blue curls, to feel her body pressed up against him. He had wanted to strip that silly little dress off and experience the pleasure of her skin all over his.

But he couldn’t. That wasn’t part of the arrangement they had. He was not allowed to think of her that way. This was her way of toying with him. She took pleasure in being vulgar just for the sake of it, without realising or caring how much it was getting under his skin. So he followed his routine. He flew back to his room and got into the shower. This time, he didn’t set the water to cold.

Seeing her, smelling her, made him want nothing more than to touch her and to be touched by her. He missed it, touching for pleasure. What would she feel like, sound like, taste like underneath him, or on top of him or any which way she would want to have him? He took his cock in his hand and started pumping, resigned to indulge himself.

Earth’s pleasures were distractions. He would be better off if he took the spaceship, blasted off into the stratosphere and secluded himself on some forsaken rock, where the woman couldn’t invade his senses and made him want to fuck her.

Chapter Text

To say that she was annoyed, would be giving him too much credit, too much influence over her mood. However, her patience, a quality which Bulma did not possess in abundance to start with, was wearing thin.

Two weeks had passed since she had flirted with Vegeta, her breasts practically spilling out of her nightgown, and in those two weeks her acknowledgement of longing had turned into a full blown craving. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen after that exchange on her balcony, but what had happened was nothing.

Zilch, nada, niente.

Seated in her deck chair, Bulma flipped the page of her book and scolded herself for deciding to be into a guy the minute he started to ignore her. In her mind she had it all worked out. She would catch him alone again, they would have a nice little argument about something stupid, she would lay on the flirting, then the flirting would lead to something more. Ideally sex. He hadn’t given her a chance!

Suddenly, he was keeping odd hours. The training equipment didn’t break and he didn’t stop by her office to pester her for anything. In the kitchen, where she was most likely to run into him, she never saw him alone. It was like he’d made it a point to show up at mealtimes with her parents there instead, so they never had a moment by themselves. She had half a mind to start spying on him. One evening she stood on her balcony, casually leaning against the railing, all the while peering in the direction of the Gravity Room, expecting him to fly by at some point. He never came and she went to bed in a huff.

So what if he wasn’t interested in her? She shouldn’t be wasting her time on men who were so dense they ignored a rich, brainy beauty like her when she was making clear advances. It wasn’t like she wanted a relationship with the guy. Vegeta didn’t exactly qualify as boyfriend material. She just wanted him to rail her, because that seemed like a task he was very much qualified for. Seeing he had been a mercenary soldier, roaming around the galaxy for who knows how long, she had expected him to be sex-starved by now. The strange thing about Vegeta however, was that although he walked around half-naked for about 70% of the time, he could act surprisingly prudish. Still, she could have sworn on the Dragon Balls that he had definitely been into her! She had dealt with enough lecherous men in her life who had casually checked her out and nothing about Vegeta’s gaze at her, nor that tremble in his deep voice, had been casual.

If anything, the fact that nothing had happened and he seemed to avoid her, made her suspicious. She would get to the bottom of this. Once Bulma had set her sights on something, she usually got it, and currently, her sights were set on the man at the other end of the pool, looking like some god sculpted out of bronze.

It was her favourite time of year: strawberry season. Summer had arrived and with that a steady supply of her favourite fruit. In the shade of her parasol, Bulma kept munching on a huge bowl of them, while flipping through a book on biomechanical engineering. Since the weather had been so fine, her mother had suggested they’d fill the outdoor pool and have a barbeque. With the promise of food, Vegeta had made an appearance and he was actually willing to go for a swim as well. From behind her sunglasses, Bulma could stare at him unabashedly.

Her mother had bought Vegeta swimwear for the occasion, which amounted to a scrap of black fabric that was smaller and tighter than his work-out shorts. They fit him rather snugly and sat dangerously low on his hips. His ass was formed to perfection and he was sporting quite a prominent bulge. Frankly, it was bordering on obscene. He kept tugging at the waistband and he looked so ridiculously hot that Bulma wanted to straddle him on a deck chair. She was under the impression that her mother had bought the swimming trunks a size too small on purpose.

Trunks. It was a good word, when she thought about it.

Leave it to Vegeta, however, to make an afternoon at the pool into a training session. He had been trying to hold his breath underwater for as long as possible and at some point didn’t resurface for ten minutes. When he did resurface, dripping wet, chest heaving, muscles rippling, Bulma considered jumping into the pool to cool off or risk suffering a heat-stroke that wasn’t induced by the sun.

While her father was overseeing the barbeque being lit, her mother had mixed a whole pitcher of strawberry daiquiri, which she was pouring into tall cocktail glasses at the outdoor bar behind Bulma. She garnished a glass with a slice of lime, fresh strawberries, a red umbrella and a striped straw.

“Bulma, be a doll and bring Vegeta a drink!” her mother called to her.

“Why should I go all the way over to him?” she said loudly from her deck chair. “Let him come here if he’s thirsty.”

Panchy beamed at her, sweet as pie.

“Honey, you know he’s shy! Be a little hospitable!”

“Shy, my foot. I’ve shown him A LOT of my hospitality already!”

She wasn’t referring to providing food and shelter.

Her mother held out the drink with an unwavering smile.

“But you have such a way with him! There’s a nice girl.”

Truth be told, this was exactly what Bulma was waiting for. She was wearing her new bikini, white with red strawberries, with a halter neck top and bottoms that tied together in bows at her hips. She slid her feet into little red mules and accepted the drink from her mother. Putting a swing into every step, she purposefully strolled, rather than walked, to the other end of the pool. Vegeta, who had finished drying himself off, lowered his towel on a deck chair and eyed her warily as she approached.

Standing across from him, she propped up her white framed, cat-eye sunglasses and held out the glass.

“Excuse me, your royal highness, would you care for a drink?” she said in the most bored, posh voice she could muster. “My dear mama has sent me to present this to your majesty.”

Vegeta fixed his eyes on the jaunty red umbrella with undisguised suspicion.

“What is that?”

“It’s a cocktail.”

His eyes widened in shock.

“A what now?” he asked.

“A cock-tail,” she repeated slowly.

Scandalised, he blushed at her as though she had said something wildly inappropriate. Repeating the word, she caught on to where Vegeta’s Saiyan mind must have wandered. She stifled her laughter.

“It’s a mixed alcoholic beverage. Don’t ask why we call it that, just try it.”

He took the glass from her, but still looked at it as though he didn’t know what to do with it.

“How do I drink this with all of these paraphernalia sticking out?” he asked.

“You suck the straw.”

Again, he gaped at her. She came a little closer and pointed to the striped stick.

“This, you suck on this.”

He shot her a look as though he was going to throw her into the pool any second.

“Just try the damn drink, Vegeta,” she said, exasperated.

Reluctantly, Vegeta did as he was told and sucked the straw. His frown melted away.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Right? It’s made with strawberries, they’re my favourite!”

She smiled and gave a little wiggle of her shoulders for effect. For a second Vegeta’s eyes darted towards her chest, where he seemed to register the strawberries, amongst other things.
Catching himself, he whipped his eyes back up.

“Are you sure this contains alcohol?” he asked.

“Yup, pretty sure.”

She couldn’t resist giving him three amiable pats on his solid biceps. Gods, he was hot.

“Enjoy your cock-tail,” she said and lowered her sunglasses.

When she walked away from him, she made sure to sway her hips again. Coming back to her deck chair, she noticed with great satisfaction that Vegeta was slurping his cocktail, his cheeks hollowed out. She settled back into her chair and her mother came over, handing her another strawberry daiquiri.

“Did he like it?” Panchy asked her.

“I think he did,” Bulma said and took a sip.

Her mother’s smile was almost as self-satisfied as her own.

“Good to hear.”

***

After two strawberry daiquiris and hours of leering at him at the pool, Bulma was determined that tonight was the night she was going to get a reaction out of Vegeta. Any reaction. She was going to carry out her plan, catch him alone, confront him and whatever happened after that… Well, she would just have to deal with that once she got there.

With this objective in mind, and a little tipsy, she went out into the garden. Before dinner she had thrown on a red cropped cardigan which she kept unbuttoned over her bikini top and white shorts over her bottoms. An hour earlier, Vegeta had been stuffing his face during the barbeque, but she lost track of him after that. Curious as to where he wandered off to, she started walking in the direction of the Gravity Room. She would simply barge in like he would barge into her office, if he had gone back to train. This wasn’t the case as she saw a familiar shape sprawled out on the lawn a few feet away.

Vegeta was lying on the grass, staring up at the fading pink streaks in the darkening sky. He, too, had thrown on a pair of shorts to cover his swimwear and a short-sleeved button-up shirt, left carelessly hanging open, his torso on full display. He perked up when Bulma loomed over him.

“What are you doing down there?” she asked.

Abs flexing, he heaved himself up on his elbows and gave her that fucking look.

“I’m admiring the view,” he said.

He looked dishevelled, breathing a little harder than usual, his cheeks flushed. His eyes were roving her body, but he also had trouble keeping them fixed.

“Vegeta, how many cocktails did you have?” Bulma asked.

“I had one cock-tail, but I’ll have you know it was a big one.”

“What?”

Of all the things he could have said, she hadn’t expected something like that to come out of his mouth. Vegeta smirked at her wide eyes, then he gave a jerk of his head.

“I’ve had four of those strawberry drinks,” he said.

That was a lot of rum. Bulma could have sworn that the second batch Panchy had made, had been stronger than the first. She’d assumed that because of their inhumanly large appetite, Saiyans were also capable of drinking more alcohol. She had never seen Goku drunk, but then again, she couldn’t remember if she had ever seen Goku drink alcohol to begin with. Apparently Saiyans couldn’t hold their liquor any better than humans.

“You’re drunk,” she giggled. “I can’t believe you’re drunk.”

“Are there any more of those drinks?” Vegeta asked.

“I’d say you’ve had enough. I think you need to get off the lawn.”

“Are you going to get me off?” he asked.

He had the audacity to smirk at her again and raise an eyebrow.

Oh Good Gods, what am I in for? Bulma thought. Perhaps it was best to play it safe for now.

“I am going to kick you, if you don’t stand up,” she said.

“Harsh threats from the Earth woman,” he growled.

As if to humour her, he peeled himself up very slowly, stretching himself like a big cat. Once he was on his feet, he stood much closer to Bulma than she had expected him to be. Since his height was similar to her own, his face levelled hers.

“There, I’m up.”

He had even managed to make that sound lewd.

“Anything else you want me to do, woman?” he asked.

His voice was both raspy and silky smooth and sounded exactly like the kind of trouble Bulma had been looking for. The problem was, however, he was drunk.

“I think you should go to your room,” she said.

“Not your room?” he asked.

There was a genuine possibility her head might explode this evening.

“Oh my gods,” she said, rolling her eyes at him, but she was smiling way too much to convince Vegeta that she was annoyed.

“You’re vulgar to me all the time, see how you like it,” he said, with that infuriating smirk.

She liked it a lot, but this complicated her plan. On the one hand, to have Vegeta flirt with her like this, was too good to be true. He was terribly sexy and he had no filter whatsoever. On the other hand, even though Bulma herself was tipsy, Vegeta was drunk and she really shouldn’t be taking advantage of that. She wondered how long it would take for things to get out of hand.

“You’d better stop talking,” she said.

He made a sound low in his throat, tension pulsating off of him.

“Make me,” he said, leaning into her.

It was a classic trap and she had stepped right into it. Her best option was to deflect, or the situation would escalate. Trying her best to look stern, she held up her index finger in front of his face. He stared at it expectantly. Soft as a caress, she pressed her finger against his lips.

“Shhh,” she whispered.

Thrown by this tender gesture, he kept quiet, softly breathing against her finger. He looked so beautiful that Bulma didn’t want to leave him. Not yet. When she lowered her finger from his face, he staggered forward one step, before regaining his composure.

“Let’s get you to your room, tough guy,” she said. “Before someone ends up getting hurt.”

Looking back at him over her shoulder to make sure he didn’t stumble along the way, Bulma led him back inside. Vegeta followed without taking his eyes off of her.

***

Of all the bad ideas Bulma had had in her life, taking a drunk and eager Vegeta to his bedroom, was probably in the top five. Up until this point it had been fun and games, but now she actually stood with him at his bedroom door, she had no idea what move to make. Vegeta had such a predatory look in his eyes, she suddenly felt quite stupid that she’d been so willing to walk into a lion’s den.

“This is where I bid you goodnight,” she said.

She wanted to give a nonchalant little smile or a hairflip and walk off, but she quickly learned that that was a naive strategy. Vegeta wasn’t done playing.

He threw open the door and shoved her inside.

Falling forward, she regained her balance in the middle of his room. In the blink of an eye, Vegeta was standing in front of her. He hadn’t turned on the lights, but she saw him clearly, illuminated by the full moon shining in through the large windows and glass balcony door.

You dick! Asshole! she wanted to yell at him and shove him back, even though she knew her strength was so inconsequential, it was laughable to him. However, he was watching her so intently, studying her face, her hair, that she gazed back at him in surrender.

Since the moment she had pressed a finger to his lips to keep him from speaking, he hadn’t said a word. Gauging her response, he took one of the curls that framed her face and coiled it around his finger, twirling it slowly, over and over. Hypnotised, she stared at him. Then he held the strand of hair firmly between his fingers and gave it a sharp jank. She gasped in indignation.

Before she could do anything else, he had pushed her again, making her fall backwards. Hitting her calves on the bed frame, she landed on his mattress and clutched the bedding to remain sitting upright. To her left sat Vegeta, observing her, his eyes sharp like flint. He had moved so quickly beside her, she hadn’t registered it happening. On the floor, lay his discarded shirt. His naked skin emanated a heat that made her head buzz. Being so close, she could smell the sticky sweetness of strawberries and liquor on him.

She took a deep breath and he watched her chest rise and fall, as though he could see her heart beating wildly inside.

“Vegeta…”

“Yes?” he said, his voice low and cunning.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes.”

“I’m leaving now. I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret.”

He gave a devilish sort of smile, white teeth glinting. Up close like this, it struck her how unnatural he looked. The texture of his tan skin was so fine he barely seemed to have any pores, his canine teeth were sharper than any human’s she had ever seen and his eyes were so black, they were like voids, pulling her in.

“Am I being bad?” he asked.

Bulma thought he was a demon. A Demon Prince from outer space, come to Earth to torture her. Her stomach lurched, a heat spread between her thighs.

“Yes, you’re very bad,” she said, softly.

He was circling her like prey, breathing harsher, sniffing the air. Leaning in, half behind her, he moved his left hand to her left leg. He touched her knee with the tip of his middle finger, which she had expected to feel rough and calloused, but instead was smooth like velvet. Achingly slow, he traced his finger over her thigh, running from her knee, up and up, to the hem of her shorts.

“Shouldn’t you keep me in check?” he whispered against the side of her face.

That fucking bastard.

A flare of anger helped her regain sanity and she shot off the bed. Still leaning on his right arm, Vegeta sat watching her with a quiet, amused curiosity. He could have dragged her back to his bed, but he had let her go, simply toying with her.

Bulma stomped to the bedroom door which had been kept ajar and turned around to give him a final glare.

“Sleep it off, Vegeta,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

With burning cheeks, she slammed his door shut behind her and rushed down the corridor.

She was angry at him for shoving her into his room like that! She was angry at finding him drunk when she had needed him to be sober! But mostly, she was furious because she was so turned on that her pussy throbbed against her swimming bottoms, her own wetness sticking to her.

Reaching her bedroom, she slipped in and closed the door behind her, letting her hot back fall against the cold surface. Trembling, she undid her button, her zipper and reached her hand down into her shorts, her strawberry swimming bottoms. That single fucking finger on her thigh had gotten her so wet that all she wanted, all she needed, was release. She pushed her bikini top aside to cup her breast, she circled her clit, so swollen it ached.

She imagined she hadn’t left his room, that she’d stayed on his bed, transfixed by that one finger on her thigh. She would have looked up into those black eyes and then the trap would have snapped shut.

Vegeta would crash his mouth onto hers and pin her unto his bed so tightly, she would be unable to struggle against him. That wicked mouth of his would trail her neck, his hand would claw at her clothes, ripp away her top, her shorts and bottoms. He would lick her tits, tease her clit and grin with satisfaction at how wet she was. He would pull down his shorts and swimming trunks, spread her thighs wide with his knees.

This is what happens if you go out looking for trouble, he’d say in a voice like gravel, before he would ram his cock into her. In her mind, Bulma let him have her, splayed open on his bed, like a little plaything. She fantasised that if she’d stayed in his room, he would have fucked her hard, because he was bad like that.

Shuddering, she came with a harsh gasp against her closed bedroom door.

Chapter Text

“Oh… hey.”

“Hi.”

Her blue eyes grew wide by this simple verbal acknowledgement of her presence, walking into the kitchen where he had finished eating barbeque leftovers.

Vegeta hadn’t seen the woman all day. Despite the late hour, she was fresh faced and even from a distance smelled of artificial fruit and cleanliness. It had been another warm day and she was wearing shorts in a sturdy blue material, which Vegeta knew was called denim, leaving her shapely legs bare. Her white T-shirt featuring the Capsule Corp. logo exposed her clavicles and he noticed a lack of supportive undergarments. Her mass of curls looked soft as a cloud.

“I was going to quickly grab a ramen and a beer,” she offered by way of explanation, even though this was her own house and she could come and go as she pleased without any regard for whatever he was doing.

She was testing the waters, making sure he wouldn’t run off to avoid her. Vegeta was done running.

For two weeks, he had noticed her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her eyes would search him during mealtimes, waiting for something. Hitherto, his curiosity had been steadily pushed away by the voice in his mind that he relied on when he needed to switch off a part of himself he didn’t want to acknowledge. Unfeeling, uncaring, disdainful. The woman was foolish, not worthy of his time and attention and he should never bother playing silly games with her. She was nothing to him but a distraction. After seeing her on her balcony in that peach dress, that voice had been losing out.

Why not take her, if that is what he wanted?

He allowed himself to think about her now, stroking himself to completion every night. Recklessness took over from there. He knew she liked his body, so he figured he’d let her watch him. By participating in that strange human activity of recreationally plunging in and out of water, wearing as little clothing as possible, she could stare at him. In his turn, he could steal glances at her, wearing even less than that peach dress, swaying her hips, wiggling her shoulders.

It had been those three pats on his arm that had done it. Tap, tap, tap, like rapid fire. Calculated, but made careless, because people on this planet touched each other like that for no reason at all. The treacherous strawberry drinks had pushed him further over the edge. When she came looking for him, he was glad to test her, to draw her out. If she wanted to play with fire, he could give her a blaze.

The moment of truth came to him on his bed, when he could smell it on her. Wanton arousal.
She snapped at him and put on a display of her morality, as if to save him from himself. The fact that the woman thought she had to uphold any semblance of virtue he had left like that, made him want to laugh. But he had let her go, let her be the good girl.

She stopped being a good girl until about three minutes later. He had fallen back onto his bed, still hard, breathing in the traces of her scent hanging around him, when he had felt it. A sharp rise of energy down the hall, her energy. He usually had no purpose to track her small power-level. But in his stillness, his longing, even through the fog of liquor, he could sense her then, a frantic energy building, sloppy, like she couldn’t control herself. It accumulated in a rush and came to a delicious crescendo; the woman had climaxed. He had smiled to himself, buried his face in his sheets, thrusted his hips into the mattress until he made a mess.

She had fingered herself after fleeing in arousal. Why not take her, if that is what she wanted?

“So, are you hungover?” she asked him, while walking over to the pantry.

Cheeky.

“No, I feel fine,” he said, even though he had woken up with a headache.

“Lucky you.”

She took out one of those cups he would see her eat out of and went over to fill the water kettle. Pressing the button to boil, she gave him a look, still assessing the mood. He jerked his head towards the cup she had placed on the kitchen counter.

“How does that taste?” he asked.

“You mean you’ve been here over a year, but you haven’t had instant ramen yet?” she asked, like she was stunned.

He shook his head.

“Would you like to try some?”

“Yes, I would.”

“I’ll make one for you. It’s really simple, though. Even you could do it.”

“Don’t try me, woman.”

Smiling, she grabbed another cup from the pantry and placed it next to the first one. After having opened them, she filled both cups with boiled water and placed the lids back on.

“Now we wait,” she said and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

Hopping onto the kitchen counter across from him, she opened her beer can. In a gesture that could only be described as deliberate, she took a strand of hair and played with it, twirling the curl around her finger like he had done last night. She gave him a long, hard look. He returned it openly and watched her bare legs dangle. Raising an eyebrow, she hid a smile behind her can of beer and sipped it.

“You really just had three plates of leftovers as a bedtime snack and still want ramen?” she asked, referring to the empty plates sitting in front of him on the kitchen island.

He shrugged.

“It’s funny,” she chuckled, “Ever since I met you and gained a little insight into Saiyans, a couple of things have started to fall into place. Particularly about Goku’s eating habits.”

“Don’t compare me with a low-level Saiyan like Kakarot,” he warned.

She rolled her eyes but then looked as if she remembered something amusing.

“Do you know how I met Goku for the first time? I ran him over with my car,” she said.

“You did not.”

“I totally did! I was sixteen and I went to look for the Dragon balls. I already had two of them and I saw a third one nearby on my Dragon Radar. So I was driving in its direction and out of nowhere came this wild little kid dragging this gigantic fish! I just ran right over him.”

He snorted. That certainly was a beautiful visual.

“Wait, what were you going to wish for at sixteen?” he asked.

“A lifetime supply of strawberries,” she said. “Then I changed my mind and wanted to wish for a boyfriend - don’t say anything! It was the only thing I didn’t have!”

He pictured the woman at sixteen, a spoiled little princess with a cushy life, whose biggest concern was boys and went on a wild treasure hunt, just because she could. All of a sudden, it made sense why she had gone on a dangerous space expedition to Namek.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I ran over Goku but I didn’t hurt him, I only made him angry. He thought I was some kind of monster. So he grabbed my car and flipped the whole thing over, with me in it, like it was nothing! I was fine, but I panicked so I shot him in the face with a gun.”

“Woman, you tease.”

“I swear, I shot him right in the face! I didn’t do any damage, thank Kami, or I would’ve gone to jail for the rest of my life. Let’s just say I’ve always been a bit impulsive. I’m just happy you Saiyans seem to be bullet-proof.”

She looked at his chest thoughtfully and licked a drop of beer from the corner of her lip.

“I’d say the ramen is about done,” she said.

Sliding off the counter, she turned around to grab the instant ramen cups, giving him a full view of her ass. She placed one of the cups in front of him with a fork and settled herself opposite from him at the kitchen island.

“Enjoy,” she said, before tearing the lid off her own cup.

He observed how she twirled the noodles onto her fork and he did the same, then took a bite. It was one of the most delicious things he had ever had the pleasure of tasting. The slick noodles went down so smoothly! The spicy broth was so salty, so savoury! He practically inhaled the contents of the cup.

The woman was eyeing him with satisfaction.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“So… good,” he said in between bites.

The cup was empty too soon for his liking. He could have had four of them in one sitting, but right now, there were other pressing matters at hand, like the woman across from him, who had also finished eating with speed.

“That was excellent,” he said and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Wow, high praise from the prince,” she said.

Taking both their empty cups, she stood up and walked over to the bin. She really did have gorgeous legs and he wondered what they would feel like wrapped around his waist, what it would be like to have his head in between those lush thighs.

“Why have you been keeping something this delicious from me for over a year, woman?” he asked her, pointedly.

Turning around, she narrowed her eyes at him and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“I haven’t been keeping anything from you, Vegeta. It’s been sitting right there, ready for you to take,” she said, sounding snarky before slipping into a more suggestive tone.

“Maybe if you’d shown a little more initiative or asked nicely, you could have gotten it sooner, but that is not your style, is it?”

She was goading him now and it worked because for a moment his anger flared up.

“I show plenty of initiative!” he snapped.

“Maybe after four cocktails you do.”

That was a direct hit. Before Vegeta could finally breach the topic that had hung so heavily in the air from the moment she’d stepped into the kitchen, the woman had already thrown another quip at him.

“Speaking of which, how about you explain a Saiyan cock-tail to me?” she asked.

“It’s pretty straight-forward,” he muttered, willing to continue this little game between them. “Once upon a time, I could have shown you.”

She grinned in delight.

“You know, I could probably make one for you.”

“Make what?”

“A tail, I could engineer one,” she said and raised an eyebrow. “Then you could show me exactly what you mean.”

As fun and intriguing as that sounded, Vegeta had to clear up something that had been progressively bothering him over the last year.

“Although your vulgarities are entertaining, woman, I will have you explain one thing. I recall that when you extended your offer for me to stay here, you explicitly stated not to do anything naughty. Yet why do you talk of nothing else?”

“You actually listened to me back then?” she giggled, before coming to some sort of epiphany.

“Hold up! Are you telling me you’ve tried being a gentleman all this time?” she asked.

Since she had drawn the wrong conclusion, Vegeta would set the record straight for her.

Faster than she could follow his movements, he shot up from his seat to stand across from her. He trapped her by placing his hands on the kitchen counter behind her, her hips bumping against his inner-forearms. She drew in a sharp breath, pushing her chest out, and stared at him with her big, blue eyes.

“I assure you, I’ve been trying no such thing,” he growled, feeling the heat rise up between them.

Though her breath wavered and her knees buckled, the woman looked him right in the face, undaunted and seemingly pleased.

“Look, Vegeta. Clearly, you want to fuck me and that’s perfect, because I want to fuck you, too,” she said.

Such impudence from those pretty pink lips made him grow hard. He grabbed a hand of blue curls in the nape of her neck, tilting her head, and she hissed gleefully. He leaned over the exposed column of her neck to take in her scent, using every ounce of his willpower not to press himself against her. Gods, she smelled so good.

“Is that a proposition, woman?” he asked, his voice low.

She gave a coy little shrug, as though he wasn’t pulling her hair in heat.

“I’d say we get over ourselves and fuck already.”

That did it. The final, flimsy cord of restraint unravelled and the promise of pleasure won.

Vegeta kissed her hotly and she immediately responded, opening her lips against his. Her tongue slid against his own and he closed his eyes. The taste of noodles and beer lingered on her and Vegeta thought that this, her mouth, was the most satisfying thing he’d had on Earth so far. His hand was still buried in her hair and he tugged it tighter, kissing her deeper, harder. She hummed in approval and kissed him back, matching him in ardour and eagerness.

Her hand snaked up, over his pelvis, his stomach, his chest. Touching her more seemed crucial. His free hand went from the counter to her hip, slid up to her waist, then to her full breast. As a response, she hooked her leg behind him to pull him closer, his groin colliding onto her. Savouring the friction, she moaned into his mouth as he pressed fully against her, so she could feel his erection straining his shorts.

Her fingers started to pluck at the material of his tank top, as though she was annoyed he was still wearing it. He felt the woman’s other hand on his ass, squeezing him. She hiked up the leg that had pulled him in, wrapping it half over his waist, grinding her hips against his. The smell of her arousal was intoxicating. He shuddered, a low moan emitting from deep inside his chest and this caused the woman to let out a soft whimper.

He let go of her hair and grabbed her leg on his waist, slid his hand over her thigh and hip to cup her ass. Lapping at her mouth, he kneaded her breast with his other hand and met the rhythm of her hips with his own, hungry for more. The hand she had kept on his chest trailed down and she slid it under his tank top, her palm on his abs. She felt perfect on his skin, in his mouth and in his hands, against his cock.

He could have devoured her right then and there on the kitchen counter, if it hadn’t been for an instinctual alertness that disturbed him. From beyond the haze, the rush of his blood, a steady rhythm of footfalls approached from down the hall. Someone was coming towards the kitchen.

He was going to blast this entire fucking house to pieces.

Quickly, he broke away from the woman and she looked at him in confusion, her lips parted and glistening, her hair tousled. Both of them were out of breath, panting like possessed. Vegeta grunted, his cheeks hot. Before he could offer her an explanation on what was happening, why he had stopped even though he didn’t want to, he darted away.

In a flash he passed the woman’s mother in the hallway, in her dressing gown and house slippers, before she had reached the kitchen where she would have disturbed them.

Chapter Text

Bulma was having her kitchen counter fantasy fulfilled and it was better than she could ever have imagined. It was true that over a year ago, before he had returned from space, she’d dreamed about kissing Vegeta. That dream kiss had been very good, but rather chaste and soft, romantic even. The kind of first kiss a princess would receive from a prince in a fairy tale. This was nothing like that dream. Then again, a princess usually didn’t suggest to a prince that they’d fuck while he was growling at her in heat. It had been a bold move, but it did the trick.

Vegeta was a good kisser, as foretold by her dream. Nothing about his kissing, however, was chaste or soft or romantic.

His kissing was pure sex. Animalistic, all consuming and so, so fucking hot.

When it happened, she wondered for a second, with a strange curiosity, where he had learned to kiss like this. As he kissed her deeper though, all coherent thoughts were lost in a daze of passion. He touched her, kissed her, like he had been starving, enthralled by the way she was kissing him back, by how she was moving against him.

When she pulled him in and his groin impacted her, she thought she would pass out. The man was big. That was another fantasy proven to be true. His tongue, the heat of his skin, that growl of his she felt through his chest, everything about him drove her wild, in the very best way. She simply had to have him, right then and there on the kitchen counter.

She had grabbed his ass and slid her hand under his shirt, finally touching those mouthwatering abs of his, and was ready to demand he would take off his clothes, when Vegeta suddenly stopped and broke away from her. Bulma worried she had done something wrong, but he was looking at her like he’d been denied his favourite toy.

He made the cutest frustrated noise and then he was gone, faster than lightning. Clueless as to what just happened, Bulma remained standing against the kitchen counter, grasping air.

After a few moments, all was clear to her when Panchy sauntered into the kitchen, wearing a floral robe and bunny slippers. Her blonde hair was set in pin curls peeking out underneath a pink hair scarf and despite it being almost midnight, she still had on her false eyelashes.

“Hello, Bulma dear! I was just going to make a cup of tea,” she said brightly.

Great timing.

“Hey mom,” she said, trying hard not to show her annoyance.

Feeling hot all over, she probably looked a mess right now. She casually smoothed down her hair, while her mother picked a mug from the cupboard.

“You know, Vegeta just passed me in the hallway at full speed and startled me! That man can walk so fast, he is like a blur when he goes by!” her mother said.

Her beer can stood abandoned on the kitchen island next to Vegeta’s used plates and cutlery and Bulma grabbed it to have something to occupy herself with.

Holding the water kettle, Panchy looked at her quizzically, growing suspicious.

“Honey, is everything alright? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Bulma murmured into her beer can.

With a bang, her mother smacked down the water kettle on the counter, her face lit up as if experiencing a divine awakening.

“Oh my Kami! Were you having a moment with Vegeta just now? Did I interrupt something?”

“You didn’t interrupt anything!” she said testily.

Bulma certainly wasn’t going to spill the beans to her mother five minutes after it had happened, but Panchy wasn’t buying into it.

“Oh my KAMI! I was hoping something like this would happen!” she squealed like a schoolgirl and clasped her hands. “I figured that after last night, with you looking so pretty in your new bikini and after a couple of daiquiris, something would finally happen between you two.”

“Mom…”

“You know I loved Yamcha, but Vegeta, well… there’s just something about him, isn’t there? He’s such a stud and a PRINCE no less!”

Mom!”

“You could probably still make it happen if you go after him right now!”

“I AM NOT GOING AFTER HIM, MOM!”

“Honey, it couldn’t hurt to show a little more initiative! Vegeta is so shy!”

“Oh my gods.”

This is why her sister had moved to a tropical island in the middle of nowhere. All of a sudden, being a grown woman in her thirties living with her parents was a terrible idea. What was the point of having a gigantic complex for a house if your mom would still manage to walk in on you making out with a guy?

“Gosh darn it, why did I need to get a cup of tea!” Panchy muttered to herself.

That is a very good question! Bulma wanted to yell at her, but instead she drained her beer and threw the can in the bin, a little more forceful than necessary.

“Good night, mom!” she said through gritted teeth, and left the kitchen.

***

Torn between desire and stubbornness, Bulma stared into her mirror, balling her fists. What her mother had said to her, had pissed her off so much, she had gone straight to her room. As soon as she’d closed the door however, she regretted that decision.

It was infuriating that everyone had been right about her all along. Her mother, her sister, her ex-boyfriend and even her damned receptionist! What was more infuriating was that when she’d finally gotten Vegeta where she wanted him, he had slipped from her fingers and she feared that the opportunity would never come again, unless she acted on it immediately.

Having freshened up and changed into her slip dress, she was now summoning the courage to literally sneak up to Vegeta’s bedroom in the middle of the night to pick up where they’d left off. She had to follow through, be brave and show initiative one more time.

“Get it together, B.” she whispered to herself.

After one more steadying breath, Bulma was walking towards her bedroom door. Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard a soft tapping, coming from somewhere far behind her.

She turned.

A shape moved behind the gauzy curtain hanging in front of the glass balcony door.

Her heartbeat accelerated as she walked forward, no longer feeling her legs, the carpet beneath her feet. She drew back the curtain and opened the door to her balcony.

In the light of the full moon, Vegeta stood leaning against the balcony railing, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

He turned around and for a split second, the shadow of an emotion she had never seen on him before lingered on his face. But then he looked at her and that emotion vanished. Instead, there was only hunger.

He was here and for tonight, he was hers.

As if she was watching from a distance, she saw herself take a step towards him, without hearing, without feeling. Only once she was in his arms, she regained control of her body.

She kissed him and her senses flooded over, the touch of her hands sliding over his muscular sides, the sound of his breath hitching, the taste of his mouth, the tang of mint on his tongue, the smell of soap on his warm skin. She pulled away to look at him and saw fire in pits of black.

He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, pushing her back against the wall. Tilting her head, he brushed the curls away from her shoulder and kissed her neck, trailed it with his lips. He bit a spot underneath her jaw, softly, as if to sample her. She felt the gentle pressure of those sharp canine teeth, nipping so sweetly at her neck, and thought about their dangerous glint in the moonlight. She moaned and he bit harder, flicked his tongue to lick her.

His left hand moved from her waist to her breast, where his thumb rubbed her nipple through the peach silk. Clasping the side of her thigh, his right hand crept up under the hem of her slip dress and followed the curve of her ass. His breath strained and he took a step away from her. She winced at the loss of his hands all over her, his mouth leaving her neck.

He frowned, lips parted, looking at her slip dress as if it was the most offensive thing he had seen in his life.

“Take it off,” he said.

As a rule, Bulma hated being told what to do, but this might be the exception.

She cocked her head and gave him a sly smile.

“What did you say to me?” she asked.

“I said, take off your dress for me, before I rip it to shreds,” he growled.

She was already wet, but now she could feel herself getting soaked. Still, she was not going to make this easy for him. She put her hands behind her, pushing her chest out at him, and shifted her weight onto one leg.

“You get undressed first,” she said, looking his body up and down.

His heavy stare turned into a smirk.

He stepped back, as if to let her enjoy a show, and hooked his thumbs behind his waistband, slowly pulling his boxers over his hip bones. Bulma raised an eyebrow.

He carefully lifted the material over his cock and let his boxers fall, without taking his eyes off her. He really had the nerve to strip naked on her balcony, just like that, and Bulma understood why.

His cock was perfect; thick, large and fully hard. Her wet pussy clenched at the sight of him. With every inch of his body looking that good, no wonder he was such a smug bastard.

In response, Bulma took hold of the left shoulder strap of her slip dress and pulled it down, letting the silk fall to the top part of her breast. Vegeta observed her expectantly and she pulled down the right shoulder strap as well. With a caress over her own body, she peeled off her nightgown and let it pool to her ankles, leaving her exposed apart from a pair of skimpy briefs in black lace.

She knew she had great tits and loved how round and full they were, creamy with pink, pert nipples. With a smile, she noticed the effect on Vegeta. His eyes had widened, his chest trembled ever so slightly. His tongue ran over his teeth and he locked his gaze onto hers.

In two steps, he was all over her again, holding her hips and kissing her. She threw an arm over his shoulder and cupped his face with the other, before threading it in his hair. Despite how spiky it looked, the texture was soft to the touch, like fur.

Vegeta’s hands were on her breasts now, stroking and squeezing. He was standing so close, his cock rubbed against her stomach. Bulma wanted to feel the full friction of his body against hers again, so she trailed her hand from his shoulder to his back to draw him in. Once she reached the curve of his lower back however, her fingers found a small bump just over his ass. It was the scarring of his tailbone. She rubbed it and Vegeta moaned into her, making shivers course down her spine. He squeezed her tits roughly and she gasped.

Tearing himself from her mouth, his eyes clouded over, he started licking the hollow of her neck, her sternum. He sank lower to her breasts and began to nip and kiss them greedily. Taking a nipple into his mouth, he sucked and licked it, while playing with the other one, stroking a soft little circle and then pinching it hard.

Bulma dragged her fingers through his hair and pulled it, savouring the feeling of his hot mouth on her tits, but also wondered what that mouth would feel like on her pussy. As if he knew what she was thinking, Vegeta’s hands went from her breast to her stomach, before stroking the black lace covering her crotch. His mouth followed, licking down past her waist to her pelvis. She watched him, mesmerised, as he got on his knees.

He buried his face in between her legs, dragging his lips over the black lace, and he breathed in deeply. Bulma’s arousal won from her self-consciousness as she realised he was smelling her, her wetness soaking her lacy briefs. His hands were already on her hips, his fingers curling over the waistband and if she didn’t stop him, he was going to eat her out right there, against the wall on her balcony.

She tugged his hair and he looked up, the Prince of all Saiyans, on his knees before her, breathing heavily over her cunt.

“Take me to the bed,” she whispered.

Without hesitation, he threw her over his shoulder, like she was a doll, and carried her inside. He deposited her gently, with full control, sitting up on the side of her bed. While he was standing before her, all muscles and power, she wanted nothing more than to touch him, to feel that big, thick cock in her hands.

Reaching out to pull him in by his hips, she caressed the patch of fine black hair over his cock and then wrapped her hand around his shaft, which felt smooth like velvet. Looking up at him, she gave him a slow pump. Vegeta’s abs tensed as he watched her stroking him, biting his bottom lip.

Even now he looked arrogant, a spoiled prince receiving pleasure. Bulma was so turned on she wanted to taste that perfect dick, but Vegeta had other plans.

Grabbing her wrist tightly, he removed her hand from his cock.

“Don’t distract me, woman,” he said with a smirk.

Then he got down on his knees before her shins. Stroking her thighs, he shot a look at her lacy briefs.

“Take those off and spread your legs for me,” he demanded.

Bulma decided that no, she definitely had no problems following orders for a change. While keeping her eyes on him, she stripped off her underwear and kicked it away. Slowly, she sat back on her elbows and opened her legs for him. She thought she would wither under his consuming gaze. No man had ever looked at her quite like that, both with reverence and an assurance to make her come violently.

Inching forward, Vegeta rested one hand on her thigh and caressed the soft blue hair on her pubic mound. That devilish smile she had seen before played on his lips as he slid his fingers along her slit, making her tremble.

“Do you always get this fucking wet?” he purred.

She hated him.

“You better start using that mouth for something other than talking,” she glared.

He raised his eyebrows. Without warning, he pushed a finger fully inside of her. Before she could appreciate the sensation however, he had already drawn it out. He put his finger in his mouth and sucked her wetness off.

“As you wish,” he said, licking his lips, and Bulma thought she might not survive the night.

Settling himself with one hand on her thigh, he leaned in over her and spread her folds with his fingers. She shivered as he swiped his tongue over the length of her pussy a few times. He dipped into her opening, licking her on the inside and she gasped. Then his mouth melted onto her and Bulma moaned without restraint. He latched on her clit, drawing slow circles, his nose buried in her pubic hair. She felt his breath coming out in small contented sighs. His languorous tongue on her clit was making her stomach tighten already, a delicious heat building up.

He continued lapping at her lazily, one hand under her ass and the other stroking the inside of her thigh. There was something decadent about the way he was eating her out, having her spread open for him like a feast. When she arched her back and pushed against his mouth in rapture, his pace became achingly slow. The bastard was teasing her.

She closed her thighs, pressing them firmly against his cheeks. Grabbing a hand of his black hair, she pushed his mouth onto her pussy. Vegeta moaned, his breathing instantly strained. He sped up his tongue, licking her clit with vigour. The harder she tugged his hair and pushed his face into her cunt, the more he seemed to relish it. He hummed, a dark, low sound, reverberating through his throat and Bulma’s spine lifted off the mattress.

“Fuck, yes!” she cried out.

Through the building pleasure, she peered down at him. He had his eyes screwed shut, working his mouth on her pussy, one hand tightly gripping her thigh. His body was moving to the steady rhythm of his tongue, rocking forward, and she realised that he was jerking himself off. She spread her thighs wide to watch him, to see his hand dip below the bed frame. He opened his eyes and while watching her, he let go of her thigh and pushed two fingers inside of her.

She saw stars, planets, as he started pumping, curling his fingers just right. His tongue kept up a rapid tempo on her clit, and she felt herself falling, spiralling. Vegeta hummed again, a sinful purr, and that was her undoing. With one hand in his hair and the other one in her sheets, she bucked her hips into his mouth and was met by a white hot wave of ecstasy. Whimpering and moaning, she let it wash over her, again and again and again.

Letting the shocks of pleasure wane, Vegeta was still lapping softly at her pussy with his fingers inside of her. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her until the final twitch died down, before he removed his fingers and shifted to drag her hips further up the mattress. He leaned over her, his stomach against the bed frame, his hands underneath her ass. Watching him while trying to catch her breath, he gave her a dark look, before lowering his mouth on her again.

He didn’t want to stop.

She cried out at the feeling of his tongue on her oversensitive wet cunt, but Vegeta was relentless. He was less careful and she could feel the scrape of his teeth, the pressure of his jaw as he devoured her. Three fingers were inside her now, pumping at a brutal pace. He sucked her clit harshly, demanding she would come for him again. She did, embarrassingly fast and hard.

Her second orgasm hit her without warning. It shook her legs, rippled her body into a void of bliss. Vegeta kept at it, growling hungrily, riding her through her climax. She heard herself curse, mewl like some little slut, completely out of it.

With his fingers stroking her quivering pussy, Vegeta watched her come down from her high.

When she had first seen him in the flesh on Namek, he had threatened to hurt her, to kill her, if he wasn’t given the Dragon Ball she was hiding. She had seen with her own eyes how he’d butchered one of Frieza’s soldiers with a punch going right through his gut and a blast to finish him off. That ruthless man lay panting between her legs now, his lips slick from eating her out thoroughly.

“Fuck…” he whispered and bit the inside of her thigh.

Chapter Text

Vegeta couldn’t remember seeing anything as beautiful as the woman looking completely ravished underneath him. Her creamy skin was flushed, her blue eyes dazed. Her full breasts were rising and falling while catching her breath; a curvy little vixen reclining after climax.

Eating her out had been for his own pleasure just as much as hers, since the woman was blessed with such a delectable pussy, it had made him gluttonous. He was still painfully hard, his erection straining into the mattress, and he nipped her thigh once more, earning a whimper from her.

After that, he couldn’t contain himself. All that mattered was getting inside of her.

He crawled up to face her, to kiss her rosy mouth, and kept her legs in place with his knees. She sighed into the kiss and threw her arms around his neck, tilting her hips towards his groin. His cock twitched at her eagerness. The kiss was the gentlest they’d shared all night, even if Vegeta gave her a taste of her own wetness on his tongue.

Lifting up from her, he positioned his cock at her entrance, teasing the head between her folds, slicking himself up. She bit her bottom lip, looking down in between their bodies, and spread her legs even wider for him.

Slowly, he pushed forward, filling up her tight heat. She moaned while he stretched her open inch by inch. Her eyes fluttered closed and he stared at that pretty face, intoxicated by how she was taking his cock.

“F-fuck!” he groaned, when he was fully sheathed inside of her.

It was cruel how good, how perfect, she felt.

Vegeta had to hold still to suppress himself. He turned his face away, kept his breath steady.
It had been so, so long since he had melted into someone like this, his cock enveloped into a body as delicious as hers. The woman was caressing him, his back, his sides. Her nose nuzzled a spot behind his ear, her lips pecked at his neck. She dug her nails into his hip bones.

“Please,” she pleaded, her voice dripping with shameless need.

He raised himself on his forearms and gave her a sharp thrust. The woman cried out, a sound so lustful, he wanted to hear it again, coax it out of her. He snapped his hips against hers and she threw her head back into the mattress, giving him what he craved.

Enraptured, he drew himself out slowly and pushed in hard and fast. The sounds she made spun his head. Her hands roved his body in greed, explored the ridges of his muscles. She squeezed his ass and grazed her fingers over his tailbone. When she had done this before, the sensation had taken him by surprise. He’d never had sex without his tail and still mourned its loss from time to time. But when the woman rubbed that spot, it had sent sparks up his spine. They ignited that old energy of transformation, of becoming a beast with nothing on his mind but ravaging. What he wanted to ravage was her.

So when she pressed her fingers to that spot now, it made him growl through gritted teeth. His pace fastened and he fell into a steady rhythm. He looked at the woman’s face as she gasped, her breasts bouncing with each crash of his cock into her. He wanted to drown her in pleasure, to be the best fuck she’d ever had.

He grabbed a pillow from the headboard and lifted her hips. She seemed flustered by being moved so easily, but caught on to what he was doing. Propping the pillow under her ass, he sat on his knees and threw her legs over his shoulders. Then he continued to plough into her, slanting his hips.

“Ohh - right there!” she moaned.

He obliged. Like a machine, he pistoned himself where she wanted him. He licked his thumb, coating it in spit as the woman watched him, half-way blissed out. He reached in between them to rub her clit, fast and hard. At this she cried out and arched her back. The woman thread one hand through her hair and squeezed her breast with the other. Determined to send her into overdrive, Vegeta leaned over to kiss her other breast, suck her nipple.

As much as he wanted to last, his body was starting to push him towards the edge. She was close, too, clamping her walls down on him, her eyes screwed shut at the preamble towards release. He wasn’t going to give it to her just yet.

Abruptly, he stopped and drew himself out. Before she could protest what he was doing, he flipped them over, landing on his back with his head on the pillows against the headboard. He had pulled the woman along on top of him, who was floundered by the sudden change in positions, looking a little angry.

“Ride me, Earth woman,” he purred at her.

He knew she hated it when he called her that, which is why he did it. So she would glower and snap at him and he’d see that fire in her eyes. But the woman gave him a lascivious smile.
She straightened herself and straddled him, sitting on his groin.

“I’ll ride you like a fucking toy, Saiyan,” she said.

She took hold of him and lowered herself on his cock. Her chest and stomach trembled, her breath hitched at fitting him inside of her. Again, Vegeta marveled at how she felt, tight and hot, like she was made for him. She really was a gorgeous creature, this blue haired beauty from Earth.

Leaning on his broad pectorals for leverage, she rocked forward slowly to adjust to his size.
Aware of his eyes taking her in greedily, she smiled and bit her bottom lip, rolling her hips. Vegeta hissed in pleasure.

She started to grind into him, careful and shallow at first, and he held onto her hips for balance. Tilting herself, she gained momentum and rode him faster. Suddenly, she took one of his hands and put two of his fingers in her mouth. While staring him in the face, she sucked them, making them wet. Then she put his hand to her pussy, stretched over his cock.

“Finger me,” she ordered him.

His breath shuddered. He fingered her swollen clit like she told him, watching her sink onto his cock. Heat pooled his groin. He grabbed her ass with one hand and pumped into her, every thrust meeting her hips. The woman was now riding his cock like she owned him. She moaned louder, her pussy feeling even tighter. Her nails scratched over his chest. One hand reached up to his throat, pressing his Adam’s apple. That delicate hand of hers could never do him any real harm, yet the pressure was making him breathless. While fucking her, the gradual loss of air made him feel like he was losing his mind, snapping his hips faster.

The woman crashed onto him one more time and then froze. Tossing her hair back, she came loudly, while Vegeta kept thrusting into her clenching pussy, rubbing her clit.

It was ridiculous how much he got off on this, on how he had come to the woman’s bed for her to use him however she liked. She knew what he was, that he had killed without mercy, that he could snap her neck with one hand if he wanted to and yet she still wanted to fuck him, just because the mood struck her, bouncing on his cock, squeezing his throat, like he was a plaything. The woman must have some deathwish and he was fucking spellbound by it.

“I want - I want to come inside of you,” he groaned.

“Fuck yes, ahh - fill me up,” she gasped, high from orgasm.

That was all he needed to send him reeling. He gripped her thighs with bruising force and emptied himself into her with a strangled cry. She moaned on top of him, pressing her hips down with every shock of his body. It was so good, he wanted it to go on forever. The woman collapsed onto his chest with a sigh of contentment.

It took him long to come down, his muscles contracting in little twitches of pleasure. When he finally had softened, the woman pressed a kiss to his jaw and rolled onto her back next to him. For a moment they just stared at the ceiling, catching their breath. He turned his face to look at her and saw that she was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow. The woman put a hand over her face and giggled.

With half-hooded eyes, he watched her curvaceous figure peel up from the bed and tread to the en-suite bathroom. Only then he became mindful of his exact surroundings, which was out of character for him, as getting a scope of the playing field was what he usually did first.

He had never been inside the woman’s bedroom before. She had talked about putting him in a collar, but the woman lived like an animal herself. In the soft lighting of the lamps on her nightstand and near her mirror, he saw objects strewn around all over the room, occupying every surface. Things he had seen her paint her face with and her nails, various tools, some of which he had no idea what their function was, bottles with scent and lotions, books the size of fists, hairbrushes and combs, coffee mugs, candles and numerous articles of discarded clothing. In the middle of this chaos, lay Vegeta on her bed, tangled in pink sheets that smelled like sex, like in a nest of some siren’s cavern.

The woman emerged in a short robe, the same colour and material as the little dress she had taken off. Supposedly, she had thrown it on for modesty, but Vegeta considered it ineffective. Her crotch was barely covered and it was tied haphazardly, showing more of her breasts than it concealed.

He felt himself stir again, ready for more, if she would have him.

Observing him from the door-frame, she stepped forward tentatively, as though she had become shy in the five minutes she had been away. Some verbal sparring should snap her out of it.

“Your room is a mess,” he informed her, sitting up and leaning on his arms in her mass of pink sheets.

She frowned and crossed her arms, pushing her breasts together.

“Shut up. It’s not like I was expecting company.”

“Don’t put the blame on me. You’re just a messy woman.”

“Fuck you, Vegeta,” she scoffed.

“Gladly. Come here.”

He rolled onto his knees and inched towards the side of the bed in her direction. The woman’s eyes sank to his groin and grew wide.

“How are you hard again?” she stammered, approaching the bed as if to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Considering her surprise, this was a genuine question. Apparently, human men didn’t regain an erection as fast as Saiyans. Or perhaps she had just been unlucky in her previous trysts.

“Poor Earth woman,” he said, in mock sympathy.

He grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her in towards the bed. His knees dug into the mattress while he held her close, standing in front of the bed frame.

“I’m nothing like that pathetic human weakling you used to fuck,” he sneered blisfully.

“Can you maybe not mention my ex right now?” she said, annoyed.

He liked how she glared at him when he provoked her, sparking some dormant memory he had of Saiyan women. He wanted to prod her more.

“Bet you never had dick this good,” he grinned into her sweet-smelling hair.

She gasped and tried to pull her wrists from his hands, which was futile since he held her firmly in his grip.

“Bet YOU never had PUSSY this good!” she shot back. “I thought you’d never come up for air again with the way you were swallowing me whole. You’re certainly the biggest, most arrogant dick I’ve ever had, that’s for sure! Your cock matches the size of your ego.”

“I’ve been practicing holding my breath. And let’s just say I finally understand what a frail Earthling woman like you is good for.”

“You’re such an asshole!” she yelled, pummeling her small fist at his chest.

So feisty! Looking at her face, screwed up in vexation, aroused such a deep desire within him that he had a liking to throw her across the bed and take her again. He drew her closer, her tits pressing against him. Lecherous thoughts and wants bubbled up and left his lips before he could stop himself.

“You’re a sordid girl with a fucking delicious, tight little cunt for me to put my cock in and I bet your vulgar, pretty mouth feels like heaven sucking me off,” he said in a low voice.

Her eyes flashed venom. For a moment Vegeta thought he had taken it too far and she might try to lash out and slap him. That would have caused him a thrill as well, but instead her posture changed. She relaxed in his hands and pushed her shoulders back, eyeing him smugly.

“Of course,” she said, like she had figured him out. “The bad man likes it dirty.”

Her movements were so languid, so self-assured, that her wrists slipped from his hands without any resistance from him.

“You act high and mighty, the snooty Saiyan Prince who’s above it all and you have the nerve to call me vulgar,” she said with a feline smile, “But what you really want is this…”

She guided his hand into the folds of her robe, in between her legs, onto the heat of her sex.

Her left hand snatched his chin, the tips of her red nails digging hard into his jaw. She took his hard cock in her right hand and squeezed it while giving it a firm pump.

“Isn’t it?” she asked, her blue eyes fierce.

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly.

She stared at him for a moment, as though giving him a stern assessment, then let go of his jaw. Her hand stroked his cock, deciding to want to play with him after all, and she smiled.

“Well badman, do you want me to taste that Saiyan stamina of yours?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice raspy.

She squeezed him hard.

“Yes, what?”

“Please.”

The word sounded strangled, foreign.

She gave him another devastating smile and let go of his cock.

“Sit,” she commanded and stepped back.

He sat down with his legs over the bed frame. He had been trained to follow orders, after all.

She pulled at the strap of her robe to untie it, showing her magnificent body, and let it slide off her shoulders to the floor. He watched eagerly as she ran her hands over her breasts.

“You like looking at me, don’t you?” she smiled. “I bet you were wondering what it was like to fuck me all along.”

He glared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction. He wanted to accuse her of the very same, but she pressed her finger to his lips.

“Don’t worry, Vegeta. I promise I won’t tell,” she said softly.

Then, she slowly got on her knees in between his legs and stroked his cock.

Looking up at him, she put the head in between her lips to taste him, swirling her tongue around. She sucked and teased his slit, gave an appreciative little moan. Then she lowered her mouth on his cock, taking in as much as she could. Vegeta leaned back on his arms and watched in awe; it was bliss.

She gently bobbed her head, her breathing a little strained from his size. One of her fists held the base of his cock, stroking the shaft. When her lips met her fist, she pressed her tongue hard against him. He had been right; her mouth felt heavenly. He buried a hand in her hair and tugged it, making her moan around him. She started sucking him off, her head moving up and down in his lap.

Clearly, the woman knew exactly what she was doing. He felt so good, so aroused, delivered to the whims of this human seductress, he suspected he wasn’t going to last long with that mouth working his cock so well.

The woman’s other hand had snaked behind him and rubbed the nub of his tailbone over his ass. He cried out and arched into her mouth. Her breath hitched, but she continued in determination. She pumped her fist at his base, sucked him off harder. Vegeta’s chest heaved, all of his nerve-endings sang.

“I’m going to come,” he growled.

She hummed but kept on going, bobbing her head, rubbing his tailbone. It was too much.

With a guttural moan, he spilled his hot seed into her mouth. On the second wave of his climax, however, her mouth let go of his cock. Her hand kept pumping him and he fell back onto the bed. Ribbons of cum pulsed over his abs, up to his chest. Her nails dug into his tailbone, making him spasm, his teeth clenched. He let his release wash over, gave himself up completely.

When he lifted himself on his arms, he found her looking at him from between his legs, dragging her nails over his thighs, her mouth a swollen pout.

She licked her lips.

“You look like a fucking mess, Prince.”

Insolent brat.

Before she could even stand up to procure a tissue, he shot up to snatch her arms and pull her in. She tipped over and landed on his stomach and chest.

“Oh my gods, Vegeta!” she yelled out in surprise and he crashed his mouth onto hers.

That should teach the woman not to underestimate him, for she had been right. He liked it dirty.

***

The green tinge of dawn was already on the horizon when he left the woman’s bed. She was sleeping soundly in a halo of blue curls and it reminded him of when he had seen her asleep at the desk next to him, when he woke up in the infirmary after the Gravity Room exploded. For some reason she’d gotten it into her mind to watch over him, to check on his recovery and had dozed off in her chair. Before he had allowed himself to spare her presence at his bedside another thought, he had snuck out to resume training.

She had called in to scold him, he had yelled at her to leave him alone. There was no time to spare being soft, he reasoned. The woman had looked truly hurt and they hadn’t spoken for weeks after that, before they fell back into goading and bickering and developed their routine of push and pull.

After that incident, he had tried to stave off the realization that he had hurt her and you cannot hurt someone unless they care. For a moment he had entertained the thought that the woman might care for him, which was absurd. No one cared for him, just like he cared for no one. The only person to look out for him was Vegeta himself. However, these humans had ridiculous notions about compassion and mercy, a soft-hearted way of thinking Kakarot had picked up during his time on Earth. Vegeta was not going to let that rub off on him and he didn’t want to think about any nonsense involving the woman and whatever her feelings were.

Except now, he was clambering out of her sheets, covered in their mingled scent, with the knowledge what she felt like coming undone.

Stark naked, he padded to the balcony, not looking back at her, to retrieve his discarded underwear.

When he slipped on his boxers, his hands shook. He stared at them in the pale dawn, willing them to be still, to stop the barrage of looming thoughts.

What now? his mind threw at him.

Nothing. He would treat this as nothing.

He’d gotten what he wanted and she’d gotten the same. They scratched an itch and that should be the end of it. He could put the thought of this tryst into a box and stuff it away, amongst so many other thoughts that weren’t worth his attention. He would swallow down the embarrassment that crept up and ignore how once he’d come to her room, he’d shown more of his true desires than he cared for, that he had relished giving her control over him.

What had happened between them meant nothing. It was a means to an end, a physical need fulfilled, like all the other times Vegeta had had his physical needs fulfilled. A casual fuck, nothing more.

He turned to fly back to his room and saw that her peach coloured dress lay in a puddle on the smooth balcony tiles. He left it there for her to find.

***

“Goodmorning, sleepyhead!” the woman’s mother chirped at her daughter who trudged into the kitchen.

It was nearing noon and on Sundays, a wide variety of breakfast foods was served in the Briefs household. Vegeta sat at the table, shoving a third helping of something called waffles into his mouth, after already having had eggs and bacon. Next to him, the old man was preoccupied reading a folded out paper, his black cat clinging to him as usual. The woman’s mother was at the counter, flipping a machine into which she had poured a concoction for these waffles.

“Good morning,” the woman answered.

She was wearing a deep blue dress with a high, white collar but a very short hemline, fitting tightly over her ass. Her curls were piled on top of her head, fastened with a clip, a few strands framing her face. Walking over to the coffeemaker, she didn’t look at Vegeta even once.

When she had prepared coffee for herself, she took her mug and a plate of waffles and sat across from him at the table. He wasn’t given a single word, a single glance of acknowledgement.

The woman’s mother kept darting looks between them, which Vegeta decidedly ignored.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked her daughter.

“Oh yeah, I was completely knocked out,” she answered and poured syrup over her waffle.

She tucked into her breakfast and addressed her father, going over something to do with testing modules in the lab. Absolutely nothing in her demeanour betrayed anything of what had happened last night.

The woman was also resolved to ignore the whole thing and carry on with life, just like Vegeta had planned to do. It was an unspoken agreement between them, then.

That was until he felt something brush his leg under the table. For a moment he thought it was the black cat, but it had remained on its spot, sitting on the old man. The sensation continued, softly at first, but then firm, pressing into the side of his shin travelling up to his knee.

It was the woman’s foot. She was stroking his leg under the table, chatting with her father and eating her damn waffle like Vegeta wasn’t even there. She really had some fucking nerve.

He was trying to ignore her, perhaps gripping his cutlery a bit too hard, when the woman’s mother approached the table. The stroking, which by now had moved up to his thigh, stopped.

“Well, I am off to water the garden,” the woman’s mother said. “Vegeta sweetheart, don’t forget to put your plate in the dishwasher when you are finished. Last night you were in such a hurry, it seemed like you had forgotten!”

He could swear the woman was hiding a smile behind her coffee mug. He grunted in response.

When the woman’s mother left the kitchen, the old man rose to his feet as well. He muttered something about the testing modules, excusing himself, and exited with his black cat trailing behind him.

Slowly, the woman looked up at Vegeta, her expression neutral. A moment of silence passed.

Then she got up. Without a word, she took her mug and went to the coffeemaker again.

Vegeta’s blood began to rise. He had no inclination to play whatever game the woman was instigating! Tersely, he stood up from the table with his empty plate. Unfortunately, the dishwasher was located next to the coffeemaker and the woman was still there, leaning against the counter with her ass sticking out.

Refusing to be bested by her, Vegeta walked over and put away his plate. He could tell she was trying not to look at him.

She was so close now, he caught a whiff of her scent. Her skin smelled clean, of soap suds, but there was something off. A familiar, heady trace lingered on her that immediately brought him back to the memory of climaxing last night, his hand in those blue curls, and he felt a sharp twist in his lower stomach. It was then that he realised that she hadn’t washed her hair.

He stared at her, so sharply, she had no choice but to look back, her blue eyes betraying questioning anticipation. Leaning in, his face close to hers, he whispered darkly.

“Your hair still reeks of sex, woman.”

On impulse, he smacked her ass.

Chapter Text

Having succumbed to his desires, Vegeta found himself on unchartered territory.

It was the novelty of his involvement with the woman, Bulma, that threw him off.

The last time he’d had sex was so long ago, he had trouble recalling when and where it had taken place. It had to have been before his sojourn into space where he was trying to find Kakarot. Before the battle on Namek, where he had briefly died. Before coming to Earth to claim the Dragon Balls and fight the humans. Before that bug planet he obliterated as a stop in between and the planet he wiped out when he had heard Raditz talk about the Dragon Balls on his scouter. Had there been a brothel on the planet before that? No, that was planet Shikk, he wiped that one out as well. Before that one, then. Five years and one resurrection ago.

The acknowledgement that he craved sex was worsened by a peculiar loneliness, one that he had never experienced before. Even while following his training regime, he had too much time on his hands on this planet which caused his mind to wander. He wasn’t in stasis in a space pod, he wasn’t high on adrenaline from bloodshed. Despite his proclivity for self-control, seeking a rush of some kind came natural to him.

Part of the novelty of this situation was that he never experienced being in the constant vicinity of a sexual partner. Nobody in Frieza’s army had lived up to his requirements to tempt him. All of them had been downright ugly creatures and, for the majority, male. No wonder the feminine species had remained enigmatic to him, with so few of them around in his everyday life.

Serendipitous encounters were few and far between. There had been that princess on Aimena, in allegiance with Frieza for a while, who had wanted to bed him as soon as she saw him. There had been that second commander-in-chief of Vector 5, who was extremely aroused from battle and he just happened to be around. These were one-off occurrences and generally he had too much contempt for anyone to consider them worthy of his attention. In his turn, he inspired fear into people before any sexual desire.

However, every so often when he felt on edge, he did what he was taught to do to take care of his urge: fork out his earnings for physical fulfillment. Though murder wasn’t an issue, he detested taking by force. He had his pride. The look of terror on anyone’s face made him want to kill them, not fuck them. There was no shame however, in a business transaction. Besides, he could pick them out how he liked them, always choosing a pretty, shapely looking thing with compatible anatomy and a fire in her eyes. He liked them bold, unafraid of the armour signifying he was one of Frieza’s soldiers, not meekly cowering or bored. A creature that could resemble a Saiyan woman, if he used his imagination. He never had the pleasure of being with a Saiyan woman, since Frieza had destroyed them before he became of age, but he noticed his preference stemmed from the way he was wired.

Before he could frequent any establishment as a regular, however, he would get sent on another mission in a different part of the galaxy. This suited him fine, since any sort of attachment was a weakness waiting to be exploited. He was used to having a woman just once.

So when he came back from his meal before bed that night and the Earth woman, Bulma, was lingering in front of his bedroom, he was confused.

She was leaning against his door, barefoot, still wearing that blue dress from earlier that day, but her hair was flowing loose over her shoulders.

“Well, are you just going to gape at me and wait for someone to walk by?” she asked.

In a few paces he closed the distance between them.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, looking her up and down.

She rolled her eyes at him, like he was slow and stupid.

“Seriously?”

He reached behind her to turn the doorknob and wanted to push her into the room, but there was no need. Bulma stepped in of her own accord.

She surveyed the room with her hands behind her back, waiting for him to follow and close the door.

Vegeta had assumed that their single night of sex was the end of it. He felt foolish that it hadn’t occurred to him that this dalliance didn’t have to stop after one time, if both of them were willing. And although carrying on like that seemed unwise in even his most cynical, devil-may-care moods, he walked up to her, thread a hand through her hair and kissed her deeply before she could speak.

In the half-dark, he could sense a smile on her lips. Humming into the kiss, he slid his tongue against hers and grabbed her by the waist. Her hands were already under his shirt, her fingers caressing his abs. He pressed his groin against her hips so she could feel him, ready for her. In truth, he’d been hard from the moment she rolled her eyes at him in the hallway.

“To be clear, this is just sex,” she panted when she broke off.

Such a clever girl for thinking up an arrangement like this. She really was a genius amongst humans.

“Obviously,” he agreed.

He wanted to kiss her again, drag her to his bed, but Bulma had other plans. Stepping away from him, she switched on a single lamp, bathing them in a soft glow. She walked over to the wardrobe, to stand before its full length mirror. Slowly, she hiked up her short dress and stuck her ass out, looking at him over her shoulder with a devious smile.

She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

He was going to fuck her until she couldn’t breathe.

Ignoring the tremble in his legs, he peeled off his shirt and walked up to her. He placed his hands on that round, plush ass of hers and stroked her, before gripping her flesh. Looking up, he saw himself reflected behind her, his eyes dark, his mouth hard-set. She was watching him in the mirror too, a smug little minx, whose smile he longed to wipe off.

“Did you come here to get your ass smacked again?” he asked, hotly.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she said and wiggled her hips.

“You’re so fucking filthy.”

He gave her ass cheek a firm slap, its lashing sound a hiss.

She cried out, leaned over further, her palms splayed on the surface. Vegeta drank in her flushed face, open-mouthed, her breath ghosting the mirror.

The woman was insane to come to his room and wag her ass at him like a bitch in heat, knowing all too well he could break her in half with one slap. If he’d known that she was capable of this, of how good she could give it to him, he would have fucked her months ago, regardless of whether that weakling was in the picture or not. The thought of doing that gave him sadistic satisfaction.

He slapped her again and grunted, earning another little cry from her, which he wished to turn into a scream. He pulled her thighs apart, making her widen her stance and pressed his fingers to her slit. She was soaked.

“Say it,” he hissed at her.

He smacked his palm down on her and pushed two fingers into her wet entrance. He would treasure the mental image of the expression she made, her eyes lidded in lust, her mouth gasping. The upper-half of her body was still clothed, her chest heaving underneath the prim white collar, her lower-half bare, wanton and willingly abused.

“Say why you’re here,” he taunted.

“I’m here for you to fuck me, Vegeta,” Bulma said and pushed back against his fingers.

Any restraint he had left, snapped.

Removing his fingers, he pulled down his shorts. In one swift motion, he thrust his cock into her and started pounding. He gave her no mercy, no time to adjust to him. Instead, he bent her over and drove himself deeper into her, one hand on the curve of her hip, the other one pressing into her back, holding up the dress over her ass. He stared at their joined bodies, at their reflection in the mirror. They looked obscene to him, and it felt amazing. Her cries spilled into screams. She slumped down with the force of his thrusts, sobbing against the glass.

He took one step forward, pushing her back up, impaled. Letting go of her hip, he gripped her hair and tugged it, to tilt her face up to the mirror while he kept thrusting.

“Look at me,” he grunted.

Her eyes focused on him. She grinned, like she’d orchestrated the whole thing, like she was the one who was in control. No terror, no fear.

Vegeta pumped his hips. The line between pleasure and pain was so thin. He could go harder, faster, and hurt her. So easily. He could knock her out, or worse, and she let it all happen.
She planned it.

“You want this?” he asked, his voice hoarse, “You want me?”

She moaned, not holding back, the truth plain for him to see.

“Yes! Vegeta, yes! I want you - Ahhh!”

She deserved a reward for taking him so well. His hand left her hair and reached down to her front. When he started fingering her, she threw her head back, exposing the column of her neck above the white collar. He wanted to sink his teeth into her.

Still working his fingers, he grabbed her collar with his other hand and tore the material away from her throat. The fabric ripped revealing her pretty neck and breasts in a gash between white and deep blue. He pulled at her waist, leaned over her frame and bit her in the crook of her neck. The sound she made teetered over the edge from pleasure to pain, and back again. He looked in the mirror, his teeth scraping against her, to see her watching him, completely dazed.

Her arms struggled to keep her up. She cried out and came, keeping her eyes on his reflection. Her legs trembled as she rolled her ass against his groin, riding her orgasm, and Vegeta lost control. He let go of her neck and fucked her so roughly the wardrobe shook against the wall.

“Again! Say-y it!” he groaned, tearing at her dress.

She understood.

“I- I want you, Vegeta,” she whimpered.

He came so hard everything went blank. Frantic desperation dissipated into euphoria and kept him suspended, until his body slumped over hers.

They looked at each other in the mirror. Uneasiness overtook him and he didn’t know why.
After gorging his eyes on her while fucking, he found it hard to look at her right now and turned his gaze away when he slid out of her. He pulled up his shorts.

In the past, he never had sex with someone he had known for longer than a couple of hours, let alone someone who he’d lived with for over a year. For months his desires had culminated until he had let them run rampant. It had been her face, her body and smell that dominated his fantasies. He had thought about her while eagerly fisting his cock. Not the memory of some night he had in the past, with some woman he paid for whose name he didn’t bother to remember. It was Bulma, specifically, he’d wanted. He had never known that kind of longing.

Now he’d had her, twice. It might not be enough.

A kernel of fear nestled into the pit of his stomach.

You fucking fool, he thought to himself. With ease, she’d made him turn greedy.

Bulma pulled her dress down over her ass, swaying a bit on her feet. She held up the white collar he had torn from her neck to cover her bare breasts. Turning around to face him, she sighed.

“I’ve got an early day at the lab tomorrow.”

She touched his arm softly, not detecting his discomfort. He looked at her face. Her eyes were without malice or mockery. Her stance was relaxed, trusting. She wasn’t going to hold anything against him.

“I hope I can still sit down,” she winked.

He couldn’t help but smirk at that.

Bulma leaned in and pecked his cheek.

“See you around, Prince,” she whispered against his face.

***

How many times did it take for something to become a habit? Once was an incident. Twice might be a mistake. Thrice was inexcusable.

Vegeta’s head was buried in between Bulma’s thighs, looking up at her writhing on the control panel. She moaned in delight at his lapping tongue. Her top was pulled up over tits, a faint mark still visible in the crook of her neck.

She’d never walked in on one of his training sessions before. The past week she’d been busy working in her lab and he only saw her briefly during mealtimes, exchanging a couple of words. Neither of them spoke about what had happened over the weekend.

Then, on Thursday afternoon, the gravity system suddenly shut down, meaning that someone was entering the vessel. Vegeta got to his feet and wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel, ready to strangle anyone who walked into the room.

Of course, it was Bulma.

“Excuse me for interrupting, your Royal Highness,” she said sweetly. “It’s the darndest thing. I got notified that there was some kind of malfunction in the Gravity Room. I’ve come here to inspect and fix the problem.”

She stood there in a top that looked about two sizes too small and she would never wear out in public. The toolbelt she’d put on seemed wider than the shorts underneath it. Her hair was pulled away from her face, so he could see the fading bite mark between her neck and shoulder. He’d done that.

“Oh my, you’re all sweaty. You must have been training so hard,” she said and ran a finger down his sternum. “I’ll just take a quick look and I’ll be out of your way.”

He didn’t yell at her to complain about how this silly act was cutting into his training time.

No, he watched her saunter to the control panel in those little shorts, bend over and press a few buttons, humming and hawing. He knew she’d just put the panel on the safety lock. Still, she got on her knees and crawled underneath the dashboard pretending to look at circuitry.

“Hmm, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the controls,” she mused, face down, ass up.

She was acting out a scenario and he was entertained. If this was supposed to be enticing, he had to hand it to her that it was working very well.

She backed up on all fours and turned around. Kneeling on the floor, her cleavage on full display, she looked up at his groin.

“I think I found the problem,” she purred. “Let me see if I can fix that.”

And so she sucked him off right there in the Gravity Room, in the middle of the day. She must have guessed that this was a fantasy of his, to have her on her knees before him while he leaned against the control panel. She let him roll his hips while holding her head, carefully fucking her mouth. This time, she drank up every drop of him.

He felt a little crazed and picked her up to put her on the panel. He hoisted up her top to lick her tits, suck her nipples. She discarded the toolbelt with a giggle and he yanked down her shorts.

So what if this became a habit? Who really gave a fuck? Why shouldn’t he keep on indulging himself like this with her, exchanging pleasure? It was a simple transaction, after all.

He gave her something she wanted. She gave him something he needed.

Chapter Text

She shouldn’t be doing this. That’s what she told herself in the mirror as earnestly as she could before going off and doing it anyway.

Was this really her, Bulma Briefs, cheerleader for the good guys who guarded Earth’s safety, sneaking down the corridor, no bra, no panties, to have sex for the second night in a row with a mass-murdering alien renegade who was decidedly not one of the good guys?

Vegeta was good, though, very good. In fact, he might have been the best she’d had, however, to prevent his gigantic ego from growing beyond the bounds of the compound, he didn’t need to know that particular information.

Sure, he had been a good lay in her fantasies, but she was well aware that didn’t need to translate into reality. Imagine her surprise when in the flesh, he exceeded all expectations. Like with everything he did, Vegeta was eager to prove that he was better than anyone else at something. That something was making Bulma come. Hard and repeatedly.

The casual flings she’d had during her breaks from Yamcha had been mediocre at best. Let’s just say there was a reason she had gone back to her ex so often. At least with Yamcha, the sex had been enjoyable. With Vegeta, however, she lacked the adequate superlatives to describe the experience, settling on something unsophisticated like holy fucking shit.

After that first night, she woke up alone yet satiated and forgave him for bailing without a word because he had given her five orgasms. It’s not like she had expected morning cuddles from him.

What now? she thought to herself while she was getting washed up and dressed.

The answer came to her when she saw him sitting at the kitchen table, quietly eating his waffle. Though he was cool as a cucumber, she caught him stealing sneaky glances. That dichotomy, of acting detached and aloof in public, yet being a seething fire in the privacy of her bedroom, made her slide her foot from her slipper and up his leg. Why let a perfectly fuckable man in her house go to waste?

Pissed off at her playing footsie, he smacked her ass and she nearly died of embarrassment right then and there, not because of what he did but because of how much she liked it. How pathetic would she be, if she threw herself across his lap, said ‘please’ and let the bad man slap some more sense into her? She had to have him again and she knew he wanted it, too. So she waited for him that night.

Gods, he was so rough. A hurricane of barely 5’5”, his hands clutching at her hips and bending her over to fill her up. To see his stoic shell shatter brought her a rush of power she always suspected she’d craved. Vegeta thought himself untouchable, but between her legs he was reduced to a mortal man, his proud face undone, knitting his brows while chasing release. Those strangled, desperate sounds he made low in his throat, she did that to him.

“You want this? You want me?” he asked, both a challenge and a plea.

It seemed ludicrous that she had let this simmer for a whole year, that this demon had been lurking down the corridor all this time while she had clung to guilt and the familiarity of a relationship that was dying since its resurrection. Now that she’d had him, fucked danger personified, she couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

Yes, she told him. Yes.

She wasn’t mad when he ripped up one of her favourite dresses, tore at her throat like some wild animal. The bite mark in her neck, the faint handprint on her ass, she welcomed it. The man had sex like he was on death row, like it could be the final time he ever had it and therefore he gave it his all. As much as she wondered how this compatibility of passions was possible, how this alien knew exactly what to do with her human body, why he fit into her so perfectly, where he had learned to do what he was doing, she knew better than to question it.

It was because of how good Vegeta was that Bulma wanted to be bad so badly. He could slap her, rip her clothes, bite her, come in her mouth; she would let him, take him, swallow him. He could do anything he wanted to with her and she needed to have more of him.

“I’m keeping my balcony door unlocked,” she murmured in his ear, buttoning up her shorts that afternoon in the Gravity Room.

“You’re an insatiable wench,” he replied and shoved her towards the exit with another smack to her ass and a smirk that looked an awful lot like an actual smile.

Wench or not, his majesty came. Hard and repeatedly.

All he had needed was a little push, but once he was set in motion, he kept going like an automaton made for carnal pleasure.

A few nights later, she was rubbing lotion on her legs after her bubble bath, when the balcony door slid open.

“Look who decided to show up,” she smiled as she slinked toward him.

Her lips were covered by a tense, flat palm.

“Shut your vulgar mouth,” he gritted out.

Bulma blinked. So this was the mood for tonight.

“You are not to talk unless I say so,” he said, “Or else you’ll suffer the consequences.”

She distinctly remembered whimpering behind Krillin on Namek when he’d threatened her with similar vague consequences and wondered if he remembered it too. If this was the kind of suffering he’d been referring to back then, she would have held on to those Dragon Balls a little longer.

“Do you understand?” he asked, cocking his head.

She played along and nodded, learning that sometimes he liked being kept in check and other times, he wanted her to let him be bad.

Slowly, he dropped his hand from her mouth and slid it over her silk robe. He toyed with the strap and then pulled it, untying the bow like a present. The silk fell open to naked skin, scented like strawberries and coconut. He inhaled her as he took the robe off, making her stand before him completely nude. Grabbing a fistful of blue curls, he tilted her head. He appeared to be inspecting the spot he had bitten before, which had now faded. With a thrill, Bulma waited.

She didn’t feel his teeth on her next, but his tongue, licking the column of her neck. His other hand roved her chest, before he cupped her breast and played with her nipple. Then his mouth latched onto her neck and he started sucking, greedily. In a haze, she wondered if this was a Saiyan thing, this compulsion to mark her somehow and what he would do if she were to mark him as well. For now however, she let him be in control.

Vegeta detached himself from her neck and rubbed the spot he had marked with his thumb, seemingly content. He lifted his shirt over his head to reveal his torso. It was a sight Bulma couldn’t get enough of, though to her dismay, a large bruise bloomed over his hip bone like a purple splotch of ink.

“You’re hurt!” she stammered.

He grabbed her face with a cold stare.

“I said, don’t talk unless I say so.”

“But…”

He whipped her around so her back collided with his chest. She could feel his cock pressing into her ass through his shorts. His hand was on her throat, rubbing it before he gave it a squeeze.

“I warned you,” he murmured against the side of her face,“Be a good girl and keep quiet.”

Bulma honestly didn’t know which option she preferred when the punishment felt like a reward. She nodded again, as best as she could with his hand choking her ever so gently. His grip on her loosened, but he didn’t let go.

“Good girl,” he repeated in a purr, dipping his other hand between her thighs.

She moaned and his deep laugh reverberated through his chest against her back.

“Look at you, already dripping. What would dear Yamcha say if he saw you like this?”

She bit her lip. It would be Yamcha’s worst nightmare to witness this and Vegeta knew it.

He started to finger her, achingly slow.

“You certainly wasted no time between dumping the weakling and fucking me instead,” he continued.

That bruise made him especially mean tonight.

“Is that why you want to fuck me?” he hissed in her ear, “To get back at him?”

She shook her head in truth. Vegeta didn’t know. He didn’t know that she hadn’t thought about Yamcha after ending their last phone call, after seeing Vegeta on her balcony that one night. She didn’t want him for revenge, she wanted him because she couldn’t help it, because giving in to this overwhelming need was the only thing she could think about. Other people had noticed it too and Yamcha had been right. Ever since she climbed aboard the spaceship to Namek, Vegeta had entered her thoughts and never left. He had always been there.

“No, that’s not it, is it?”

She could feel him grin next to her face.

“You know, when I first met you on Namek, mooning over Zarbon before I ripped out his reptile guts,” he whispered, “I thought you acted like a slut.”

He pushed his fingers deep inside of her, savouring the gasp she gave, one hand still on her throat.

“But that’s what you actually are, isn’t it? A slut.”

He let go of her abruptly and took a step back. Shuddering, Bulma turned to face him. He looked both cruel and expectant, like he was waiting for what she would do after undergoing a little sadism. She held her head high and laughed. He was so transparent.

“Aren’t you glad I am?” she defied him.

Before the snarl left his mouth, Bulma captured him with her lips. Their kissing was messy, vicious. She tugged his waistband down his hips.

“I need you inside of me,” she breathed.

He spoke angry words in a language she didn’t understand, as he grabbed her waist and threw her onto the bed behind her. Just like she once imagined he would, he pinned her hands over her head, pushed her knees open and slammed into her. He immediately set a pace that made Bulma cry out, watching his abs flex with every thrust, his face enveloped in some kind of rapture. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass.

“Harder,” she whimpered, “More.”

He sped up and used more force, throwing his head back. Again, he said harsh things Bulma didn’t understand.

“What are you saying?” she asked breathlessly, in between his thrusts.

“Good,” he groaned, “You feel so fucking good.”

His hands had let go of hers and one of them was on her throat again, squeezing it. He lowered himself on top of her, closing the space between them, all while he remained thrusting. Then he kissed her deeply, making it impossible for her to breathe. At this point Bulma didn’t care if she would come or pass out as she kissed him back, all air leaving her lungs, Vegeta’s body pressing in on hers completely.

Suddenly, Vegeta broke off their kiss. He stopped moving inside of her, released her neck and drank in the sight of Bulma gasping for air underneath him. It was like her heart was pounding against her ribcage in the rush and he put a hand over her breast, as though to feel it beating in his palm. Her breathing steadied and she felt calm, high even without having come.

Vegeta kept staring at her with the same dark look, until he slid out of her. He rolled onto his back, pulling Bulma on top of him.

“Get on my face,” he whispered.

Fuck. Yes.

She sat up to straddle him and carefully inched closer. Any self-consciousness she might have felt vanished at sight of Vegeta licking his lips. His chest trembled and he stroked her thighs in encouragement to go on. She had never seen a man so eager to have his face ridden.

Lifting herself up, she thread a hand through his black mane and planted her knees next to his head. With a whimper, she lowered herself onto his mouth.

Vegeta took a sharp breath and moaned, a primal, guttural sound. It buzzed on her clit and felt so good, she sank further. He gripped her ass and worked his mouth, lapping his tongue steadily. Bulma stared down at her breasts, at Vegeta’s blissed out expression underneath her pussy, his eyes screwed shut, and she felt that surge of total power again.

Finding leverage while clutching at his long spiky hair, she started to slowly gyrate against his mouth. Moaning once more, Vegeta pulled her down even further, so she was all but sitting on his jaw. Bulma understood then. He was smothering himself with her.

That thought, his tongue on her clit, his soft moans, made her touch her breasts, run a hand through her hair, caress herself. She threw a look behind her at Vegeta’s body, his legs tangled in her sheets, his hard cock twitching on his lower abdomen. But before she could reach him and pleasure him in return, she already felt the unmistakable build-up of climax. Vegeta’s eyes flew open when she started to shake and he sent her over the edge with another deep hum in his throat. Bucking her hips, she rode it out, mewling uncontrollably.

She released him by moving onto his chest. Vegeta gulped for air, his lips slick. Panting, she cupped his face, his expression still dazed. Then, before he could fully catch his breath, she turned around and lowered herself to cover his body. Careful not to rest a hand on the bruise, she clutched his other hipbone instead. She kissed him along his abdomen until she lay flush against him, her face hovering over his cock. Taking hold of him by the base, she slid her lips over the head, sucking off the pearly beads of pre-cum. Behind her, she could hear Vegeta groan, feel him stroking her ass. She held him in her mouth, breathed in his musky scent and hummed.

Vegeta crunched up to continue licking her clit, pressing her down by gripping her ass cheeks. At that, she started sucking him off in earnest. She felt so dirty, his dick in her mouth, with him eating her out, his face buried in her pussy. So dirty, yet so, so good. Like the slut he had called her out to be, she came again, moaning around his cock.

She still lay panting with her head in his lap, when Vegeta moved from underneath her. He let her softly fall to her stomach on the sheets, but propped up her knees, so her ass stuck out.

With her head down, Bulma breathed into her sheets and waited. For a moment, nothing happened, until she felt Vegeta kissing her lower back. The kisses, soft and tentative, trailed further down.

Oh.

He bit the fleshy part of her ass, gently, as though she was allowed to stop him. Bulma, however, aroused beyond measure, remained still and buried her fists into her bedding. His biting turned into kissing, before he licked her across her ass cheek. Feeling completely debauched, she was glad to have taken a luxurious bubble bath before this. Vegeta went on licking and kneading her ass, until he came to her centre and stopped. His voice was hoarse, thick with need.

“Can I?” he asked.

He’d never asked anything this nicely before. She nodded.

He spread her open and swiped his tongue, his hot breath ghosting her hole. He really had no business calling her a slut, Bulma thought, with how much of a pervert he turned out to be. Vegeta went on lapping at her, moaning like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He applied more pressure to her hole and then pushed his tongue in, while with one hand he fingered her clit.

“Oh gods,” Bulma mewled into her sheets.

It was too much. Even after having come twice already, she didn’t last long and came again. Vegeta kept sucking on her flesh until her knees gave out and she melted onto her bed. He pushed himself up behind her, spread her legs wide and slid into her pussy. His pace was quick and filthy, his hands squeezing her ass cheeks while he spread them open. Soon, he withdrew with a sharp cry. In a verbal stream of foreign profanities, hot spurts covered her ass, her hole, the small of her back and dripped down the sides of her hips.

She lifted her head and looked at him over her shoulder. He sat panting on his knees, looking at the mess he’d made of her while stroking the back of her thighs. When they made eye contact, he had the audacity to look flustered as though he hadn’t just thoroughly eaten her ass and ploughed her into the mattress.

Without a word, he plucked some tissues from the box on her nightstand and started wiping her clean. It was oddly endearing. He even blushed while doing it, making sure he didn’t miss a spot. Bulma couldn’t resist.

“So you’re an ass-man who’s into choking, huh?” she smirked.

“One of these days, I will gag you, woman,” he grunted.

“You promise?”

***

On the surface, nothing had changed. Bulma went through the motions of her day. She worked at the lab, assisted her father and gave presentations to the board. She attended her pilates class, grabbed a coffee at her favourite coffee shop and went shopping. She read up on the latest articles in science journals by the pool and called her sister to chat. All of it, however, became a waiting game, mere hours to kill before the next moment she had the opportunity to have him again.

During the day, they might run into each other in the garden, the kitchen or hallway. She would snap at him about something dumb and insignificant and he would bite back, until there came a tipping point.

“Vegeta, stop being such a royal pain in my ass!” she’d shout.

If nobody was nearby, he would grab her from behind and squeeze her hard.

“I haven’t even begun being a pain in your ass,” he’d say.

Every interaction was foreplay, every exchange an invitation for more.

She didn’t tell anyone about what they were doing. It all felt very raunchy and forbidden. Weirdly, she enjoyed this aspect of the whole thing, of doing something nobody was supposed to know. It wasn’t like she was embarrassed for sleeping with Vegeta, it was that the thrill of having something this delicious and potentially dangerous entirely to herself, made her feel more alive than she had felt in ages.

Her mother was probably on to something, though. People mistook Panchy for a ditzy blonde, while oftentimes that was just the facade for her shrewdness. But in this case, Panchy also knew better than to pry and she just smiled her bright smile at Bulma and Vegeta during dinner.

Despite it being July, Bulma took to wearing little silk scarves to hide the hickeys and bite marks Vegeta kept leaving in her neck instead of caking them with concealer. Though it probably didn’t matter to Vegeta, she stocked up on pretty new sets from Agent Provocateur and Honey Birdette anyway, for her own pleasure. Moreover, she found herself getting wet all the damn time, going through panties like soiled tissues. She had realised he could smell it on her when she was aroused, which turned her on even more.

At night, they would sneak into each other’s rooms and have sex for hours on end. Before long their trysts moved outside of the bedroom as well, occurring at random places, at all hours of the day. One afternoon, as she pulled into the driveway back from her appointment at the beauty parlour, with her perm touched up and fresh red nails, Vegeta hopped into her car.

“Drive me somewhere in your stupid little tin can,” he breathed into her ear as he put his hand on her crotch.

With her squirming behind the wheel on account of his fingers slipping underneath her lace panties, she took him to a quiet spot in the mountains. Making out in her car, Bulma felt like a horny teenager again, until she climbed onto his lap in the passenger’s seat and rode him hard. Afterwards, the bastard just flew back to the compound by himself, having lost the patience to sit through the drive back together with her.

To get back at him for that, she pounced him two days later, while he was taking a shower. He looked genuinely surprised.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, woman!” he sputtered.

“For real?” she laughed and then he dragged her down to fuck her on all fours, right there on the wet tiles of the shower stall.

Later that week, he barged into her office just before lunch. She noticed he was wearing a very smart polo shirt for the occasion, as though to make a point he had listened to her complaints that he should adhere to office etiquette.

“Where are my bots, Earth woman?” he asked. “You should have repaired them by now.”

The faintest tremble coloured his voice, but otherwise he was very convincing. Obviously, there were no broken bots. This was a retaliation for the time she walked in on his training session in the Gravity Room. He was showing her that he could play any game she could play.

Bulma placed her hands on her hips and gave him her most bratty look.

“I haven’t repaired your stupid bots yet!”

He sucked his teeth and came forward with his best predatory prowl.

“I don’t appreciate your tone. Your incompetence is a damn shame, don’t you think?”

Though he gave another stunning performance of dominance, Bulma figured it was time to put him in his place. When he came to a halt in front of her, she grabbed him by his neat shirt and flipped the script.

“I’m not keeping you here for you to bark orders at me, Saiyan,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m keeping you here because you are good for two things and two things only. One is fighting.”

She took a couple of steps back to perch on her desk and Vegeta let himself get pulled along by his shirt with a kind of fascinated obedience.

“And two is fucking me until I can’t stand on my legs anymore,” she said in his ear.

She hooked an index finger behind the top button of his shorts and drew him in closer.

“So how about you make yourself useful?” she smiled.

With a groan, he was all over her, pawing at her lab coat, kissing her neck. Bulma reached over to the phone and pushed the button for the front desk.

“Margie, hold my calls!” she croaked.

Before Vegeta swiped the entire desk clear and pushed Bulma on top of it, Margie’s honeyd voice came cackling over the speaker.

“Sure thing, sugar!”

Chapter Text

“You know, you’ve been screwing me for over a month now. How about you start using my name?”

She squeezed his dick.

“Bul-ma,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

“Bulma,” he moaned.

“Good boy.”

He came embarrassingly fast after that, from a mere handjob after she had pulled him into a supply closet. He buried his face in her hair and while she wiped her hands on his shirt, he could sense she was smirking.

Oh, how he would make her pay.

Against his expectations, Vegeta had not grown bored of this, of her. Weeks after it had started he still wanted it, wanted more of her. It almost disturbed him.

The part of himself he had learned to close off and ignore for months, years if need be, was now a rushing stream. He found himself growing hard constantly. Thoughts about her invaded not only his sleep and meditations, but also his training. Distracted by the prospect of seeking her out in her bedroom later, he got hit by one of those blasted training bots. After that, he might have taken out his anger on her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She had laughed defiantly, fully aware of what he was doing. He had lost it then.

In a language she didn’t understand, he told her things she wasn’t supposed to know. How good she felt, how badly he had wanted to fuck her, how beautiful she was. The heat of the moment had made him say those embarrassing things, he reasoned. It made him worry that one day, he might mess up, say or do something that would take it too far. He learned however that Bulma’s limit for the kind of depravity he wanted from her, didn’t seem to exist. She played the game and let him squeeze her pretty throat in perfect trust. In fact, her ferocious responsiveness made him dial it up a notch. A worthy opponent, she reciprocated and pursued him in return.

Any semblance of rationality that would have held him back before, was willingly drowned out by greed and lust.

Let me have this, let me have her, he pleaded to himself every time he slipped into her.

And so he had her, anytime and anywhere. In her bedroom, in his bedroom. In his shower, in her shower. In her stupid little car, in her office, sprawled out on the desk. On the kitchen counter at four in the morning, when he was sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. On the sofa where she had been watching some insipid television show. In the garden, on one particularly warm night, covering her mouth so no one could hear her scream, her skin even iridescent in the dark.

Swimming in mindless bliss, Vegeta never wanted to think a coherent thought in his life ever again.

And yet.

A parasitic feeling, like some horrific worm, ate at his insides. He felt it most in the moments in between, when he left her bed, when he powered down the Gravity Room. Despite all the punches he had thrown, all the shots he had dodged, this gnawing feeling turned into thoughts. Thoughts about Kakarot and that fucking no-name purple haired kid who had beaten Vegeta’s worst enemy in under five minutes.

Then the thoughts turned into questions.

Why haven’t I ascended yet? Why am I not a Super Saiyan?

It was now the height of summer, and he had been training daily, without mercy, for a year and two months. Surely, it was bound to happen soon. Surely.

For all his perseverance, a growing frustration overtook his patience. He woke from dreams chasing down the purple haired kid, demanding answers, in a state of agitation which persisted all throughout his morning workout.

By noon, he was so fed up he felt inspired to blow up the Gravity Room and the entire Capsule Corps compound with it. He could only imagine how angry Bulma would be if he did. He was overtaken by quite a different frustration then. What he needed was his newfound cure, his private pastime to switch off his mind entirely.

After a quick shower, he sought out his pastime. Around this hour, she would be at work, either in her office or laboratory, tinkering with tools in her overalls, or scribbling out formulas on a big white board.

He skulked into the main hall of the corporate building and wanted to duck into the corridor where Bulma’s office was located, when he heard a voice from the reception desk call out to him.

“She ain’t there, sugar.”

It was the woman with the ridiculous pink dome of fluff for hair, her voice high-pitched yet simultaneously like gravel. By now she had stopped trying to ask how she could help him or if he had an appointment. She simply let him walk on while she ogled his ass.

Today however, she pointed a thumb to the grand staircase right from the reception desk.

“There’s a board meeting in conference room three, though she’ll probably be down for lunch soon.”

He nodded and went up the stairs without a word, where he followed the sign for conference room three.

Arriving at the doorstep, he focused on picking up Bulma’s energy. He recognised it instantly, strong and vibrant amongst a sea of dull, weak humans. Then he heard the scraping of chairs and the approach of murmuring voices. He hid behind a pillar left of the door just as it opened. A throng of people walked out of the room dressed in attire called business suits, which he had learned was appropriate for these kinds of formal corporate surroundings. They were carrying rectangular bags and talking amongst themselves about money and Capsule Corp products.

The last to leave the room was Bulma, holding a file of papers and her planner, flanked by some man she was chatting to.

She looked different today. Her curls had been swept up and arranged very neatly. She had covered up the marks Vegeta had left on her neck with a little scarf, which was cream with black dots. The blouse she was wearing had billowy sleeves that cuffed at the wrist and was a deep, rich red. Her lips were painted to match her blouse, as were her fingernails. The black skirt she was wearing was tight, but covered her knees. She had on black shoes with a pointed toe and a high heel, that made her legs look incredible. Her clothes covered more of her than usual, yet Vegeta found it all the more intriguing to imagine her without them.

He noticed that the man next to her couldn't take his eyes off her. He was fair-haired, wore a clean-cut navy suit and had a very square chin. He was also at least two heads taller than her, which meant that he was also two heads taller than Vegeta himself. Whoever he was, Vegeta despised him already, which was only exacerbated the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

“Would you be interested in having lunch with me?” the man asked.

“You mean right now?” Bulma replied, checking the small gold watch on her wrist. “Sure, I’ve got half an hour. I can ask Margie to order some sandwiches and we can go over the expenditures again.”

“No, I mean like on a date.”

“Oh.”

She halted and stared at him.

The man had the audacity to give her a smile.

“I said lunch, but dinner would be even nicer.”

“Um…”

Her eyebrows knitted together as though she was doing some hefty calculations, which prompted the square-jawed buffoon to elaborate.

“I’ve come to understand that you’re currently single and without trying to sound like a dork here, I’ve admired you for quite some time.”

She continued to stare at him with a reluctant sort of smile and in the seconds that ticked away, Vegeta’s blood was starting to boil.

“Look, Jasper, I’m really flattered…” she finally stammered.

“Oh dear,” the man winced, “An acknowledgement of flattery usually comes before rejection.”

Bulma laughed.

“It’s just that…”

She shifted from one high heeled leg to another.

“I haven’t been in the dating field yet since I became single again.”

“And here I was thinking somebody might have snatched you away already,” he replied, his grin still plastered on.

She gave another half-hearted laugh. Her hand shot up to her face, probably to fidget with her hair, which was a tick she had. Since her hair was tucked away, her fingers pulled on the ends of the scarf around her neck instead. Vegeta had never seen Bulma look so lost for words. The man called Jasper noticed her floundering too.

“Tell you what, just in case you didn’t already have it, here’s my number,” he said and gave her a small card he had pulled out of his jacket pocket.

“If you’re playing the dating field again, feel very free to give me a call.”

She accepted the card with an unusually shy smile.

“Thanks,” she said.

The idiot made her a bow and Vegeta had the impulse to crush this man’s skull, to snap his spine in two. How dare he tower over her like that?

“Until next time, Bulma. Always a pleasure,” the man winked.

When he walked away towards the stairs, it took all of Vegeta’s willpower not to fly after him and blast him through the wall.

Bulma loitered in front of the door, still flustered, fiddling with the card. She shoved it into her hot pink planner and slowly walked on, her eyes to the floor, lost in thought.

Vegeta slipped from behind the pillar, caught Bulma by her arm and dragged her back into the conference room.

“What the…!” she exclaimed in surprise as she almost dropped her stack of files.

Once they were inside the conference room, Vegeta snapped the door shut and pressed Bulma against it.

“Oh, it’s you,” she smiled, back to her confident self. “For a moment there I wondered if our security system was lacking.”

“Your security system is laughable,” he said and pried the stack of files and her planner from her hands and dumped them on the large oval table behind him.

Bulma offered little resistance as she searched his face.

“Were you… hiding somewhere, waiting for me?” she asked.

He trapped her by placing his palms on the door, alongside her shoulders. She was taller than him now, in her high heels. Vegeta didn’t mind the slightest, feeling his lower abdomen tighten in anticipation.

“Were you spying on me?” she asked again, amused.

He wouldn’t dignify that with an answer and instead, he looked her up and down.

“Is this how you dress when you’re bossing around puny Earth men?” he asked.

“Do you like it? You should see me in a proper suit.”

“I’d rather see you without it.”

He undid the little scarf she had tied to her neck. On her right side, she still bore the faint marks of their previous tryst. He dropped the scarf to the floor and latched onto her left side instead.

“I have another meeting in half an hour,” she squirmed.

“Do you want me to stop?” he rasped against her neck.

She kept herself very still and steady, weighing her options.

“I can make you come real fast,” he whispered.That ought to convince her.

He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, which he wanted to kiss badly, but he knew the red paint would be smeared everywhere if he did. He ran his hands over her blouse which felt soft and liquid, like her peach little dress.

“Don’t tear this! I just bought it,” she said and he knew she’d caved.

She pushed him back and looked at him as she undid the pearly buttons.

Involuntarily Vegeta thought about the man from five minutes ago who had salivated over her and whose advances she had politely rejected. How he would have loved to be in Vegeta’s position. Of course Vegeta knew that Bulma could have any man she wanted, but what was happening now, consolidated something that both elated and confused him.

Of all the men she could have, she was taking off her blouse for him. Just him.

The undergarment that cupped her breasts was red like her blouse, delicate and gauzy with an intricate pattern. Lace, he had learned. Her smile betrayed that she knew he liked how it looked on her. She leaned back against the door as though she allowed him to continue however he pleased.

He buried his face in her chest and indulged for a moment in her scent. She smelled differently today, too. Tangy and sweet, like pink citrus fruit and the white flowers from the garden that bloomed at night.Through the sheer fabric covering her breasts, he mouthed her nipples. Running his hands over her tight skirt, he squeezed her ass and pressed his groin against her.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered.

He had to have her, he would become sick if he didn’t. He would kill someone if he couldn’t have her right now.

Frantically, he took off his shirt, undid his trousers.

“Hike up your skirt, but keep the shoes on,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed pink as she did what she was told. Vegeta dropped to his knees and peeled off her panties, a little pool of red lace around her shiny black heels. Carefully she stepped out of them, leaning on his shoulder.

He kissed her shins, her knees, her thighs. He held up her skirt and swiped his tongue over her pussy before he got back to his feet.

“You better not mess up my face and hair,” she warned as he pulled down his trousers and underwear.

“Oh no,” he said in a tone of mock understanding.

He grabbed her thigh, which he wrapped around his waist and positioned himself at her entrance.

“You can’t have them all think you got fucked on your lunchbreak, can you, Miss Briefs?” he said as he held her hips and slowly pressed himself into her.

She made such a wanton sound that had Vegeta known she was capable of doing that, he would have pinned her against a rock wall on Namek. He would have told the bald midget to keep their stupid Dragon Ball and dragged her off to have his filthy way with her.

She flung her arms around his neck, the red material of her sleeves deliciously cool against his hot skin. As he started thrusting into her, her nails scratched across his back. He had to stand on his toes, but he didn’t care. He would hover above the ground if he had to, fucking her like this with those heels on.

He imagined ripping apart the man called Jasper, tearing him limb from limb, and saw her blouse, the lace, her lips, like a gush of blood. The marks he had left on her neck stood out in red and purple against her creamy skin. One phrase dug into him, as he pounded into her.

He hated himself for thinking it, but there it was. A claim he wanted to stake. He pressed his lips together, refusing himself from saying something as absurd as that and moved his pelvis in a way he knew would make her come.

“Oh yes,” she gasped, “Fuck me just like that.”

Vegeta looked away from her in order to keep on pumping and fulfil his promise, before slipping over the edge himself. This proved to be more difficult than he’d thought with how wound up he was. He blamed his bad night’s sleep, his abysmal training session, that arrogant prick from before coming on to Bulma. He blamed Bulma, how tight and wet she was, how nice she smelled, how pretty she was dressed. Her red lips and black heels, the beautiful red lace rubbing against his chest.

Her energy peaked as she pulled him even closer. She came shuddering against the door, moaning like she didn’t care who’d hear, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, her heel pressed into the back of his thigh.

They looked at each other as she was riding out the final waves and Vegeta couldn’t hold on anymore. Clutching at her hips, he kissed her red mouth and came deep inside of her.

He didn’t stop kissing her until he had emptied himself in her completely. Only when he pulled out, did he realise what he had done.

Strands of curls had come down from her elegantly tucked up hairdo and Bulma’s pretty red lip paint was smeared across her entire mouth. It was like she had gorged herself on blood, a little beast feasting on prey. Vegeta suspected he looked quite the same.

He had expected her to yell at him, to make a fuss about the mess he had made of her.

But she wasn’t angry at all.

Instead, she smiled so sweetly at him that his stomach turned.

“You couldn’t resist me, huh?” she said.

Nausea overtook him and he broke into a sweat.

Nobody had ever smiled at him like that.

It felt very wrong.

***

There were few places on Earth that were completely devoid of people. Within two weeks Vegeta had seen and experienced them all.

He had flown from frosty ice caps to hot desert sands in search of solitude and space to train. Finally he settled in a place of wind and high stony cliffs, which reminded him of Namek. He hunted what he had to eat, washed himself in a cold stream and slept in a cave. He had only brought the clothes on his back: his torn battle armour, the last physical remnant he had of his past life.

What had made up his previous expeditions, surviving in the wilderness, getting by with his bare hands, felt stale now. Like he had feared, he had already gotten used to his cushy existence here on Earth. He craved good food, a hot shower and a comfortable bed. Also, if he were completely honest with himself, which he found extremely hard on this particular subject, having a beautiful blue-haired woman in that comfortable bed.

Perhaps flying out to the ends of the Earth had been a mistake. He could break as many rocks as he liked, but he didn’t feel any closer to ascension. In truth, even out in this desolate place, he was holding back. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy a part of this planet which had given him so much pleasure. Training in the Gravity Room had been more of a challenge than literally moving mountains and meditating until he turned blue in the face.

A better plan would be to continue his training at Capsule Corp and ask Bulma and her father if they could get the Gravity Room up and running like a spaceship again, to seek out new challenges in outer space.

The thought of facing Bulma made his stomach flip. He had tried to resolve the jumble of thoughts and feelings he had experienced during their last tryst by ignoring them. Two weeks and many pulverised rocks later, he found he couldn’t. No matter what, his mind drifted back towards her. It was aggravating and he was annoyed with himself that the whole ordeal bothered him so much.

Had she fished out that little card from her planner and dialled that simpering man’s number?

To hell with it! So what if she had? It had nothing to do with him.

He didn’t want to acknowledge any of it. Not why she had smiled at him the way she had nor how that made him feel, nor the phrase that had almost left his mouth in the throes of it all, an instinctual cue, drumming out a beat in him.

He enjoyed having sex with her, he enjoyed her energy. He admitted he even enjoyed talking to her, once they got around to it. Couldn’t he just leave it at that?

He wouldn’t go back to Capsule Corp with his tail between his legs. That fatso with the sword had cut it off a long time ago. He would go back with a new battle plan and for that, he needed Bulma’s help.

In the end, he resolved not to be such a coward, to run from a woman just because she had smiled at him.

***

It was well after midnight when Vegeta returned to Capsule Corp. He had wanted to avoid dealing with the two elder Briefs by getting back at a late hour. Bulma was more of a night creature by nature, either occupying herself with work related projects, grooming or, as of late, with Vegeta.

He’d contemplated either restarting his routine like nothing had happened and walk into her eventually, or make his presence known beforehand. He strategized that the latter was the safer option if he wanted her to help him, to test out the grounds.

Tonight however, Bulma was nowhere to be found. To seek her out was pointless, since her energy was not present anywhere in the compound.

Still wearing his torn battle armour, Vegeta went to his room and sat on his bed, which felt heavenly after two weeks of sitting on stone slabs and grass.

It was odd. Bulma didn’t make a habit out of staying out late, yet she was spontaneous enough to often throw him for a loop. Annoyed, Vegeta caught himself imagining all kinds of scenarios of where the hell she could be, and with whom. He distracted himself by having a long, hot shower and scarfed down a big, hearty meal in the kitchen.

He figured he should just go to sleep, but he was too energised. Back in his bedroom, he stared at the ceiling. It was three o’clock.

Then, very faintly, the sound of a car pulling up the driveway out front. Bulma had come home and she was by herself. He sensed her entering the living quarters, going up the stairs to her room.

He shot up from his bed, decided against putting on a shirt and went to his balcony in the boxers he slept in. For one moment he faltered, then scolded himself and took flight.

Her balcony door was still unlocked. He slid it open and peered inside past the gauzy curtain.

Bulma was standing in front of the mirror. She was wearing a short, tight dress, once again in a beguiling shade of red. The marks he had left of her neck had faded away. She had taken off her shoes and was wiping the red paint from her lips with a tissue.

Vegeta gave two soft knocks on her window so as to not startle her.

She caught sight of him in her mirror. Her energy flared up hot and prickly, yet she addressed him as though she was unphased.

“I see you’ve remembered the way to my bedroom. Guess you’re not lying dead in a ditch somewhere after all,” she said and removed her gold hooped earrings.

The problem was this: Bulma’s attitude signalled she was ready for battle, but to Vegeta, she couldn’t be more enticing if she’d tried.

He came up behind her and carefully placed his hands on her hips.

“Seriously?” she asked, incredulous.

Bulma shoved his hands away and turned around.

“You disappear for two weeks without a word and come back expecting me to just lie down all wet and ready for you?”

“Are you under the impression I owe you some kind of explanation of my whereabouts?” Vegeta asked, to rile her up more.

“You could have said ‘By the way, Bulma, I’m going to fuck off for I don’t know how long, don’t count on me for dinner.’ It’s a decent thing to do, as a houseguest.”

“You only want me to be a decent houseguest when it suits you,” he replied. “Do you want to exchange schedules now? I’m not asking where you go out at night, dressed like that.”

Bulma huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Like what, Vegeta?”

He crossed his arms and shot her dress a look.

“You’re unbelievable!” she yelled.

She looked so angry and pretty in her red dress, he had the inexplicable urge to pick her up and carry her off, to keep her entirely for himself. Vegeta decided he would do just that.

He came forward, wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up by her knees. Carrying her in his arms, he hovered over the carpet to the open balcony door.

Panicked, Bulma threw her arms around his neck.

“Vegeta, what the fuck are you doing?” she hissed.

“Be quiet,” he said, “I’ve got you, I won’t let you go.”

She stopped thrashing around and relaxed a little until he hovered over the threshold of the balcony and lifted off into the air.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” she squeaked.

“I said be quiet. Do you want to wake up the whole compound?”

She shook her head and held on to him extra tightly. With ease, he flew her higher and higher and set off in the direction of the city.

It was a gorgeous night, one of the balmiest yet, with no wind. As they approached the city, Bulma gasped excitedly. Vegeta knew she liked the night’s sky, the stars and the city lights, the moon she had restored with the Dragon Balls, having seen her look out at them many times.

He flew in a sweet spot, right in the middle, so that the city lights were a twinkling carpet beneath them and the stars blanketed them from above. The moon was almost full, and despite losing his Oozaru powers along with his tail, Vegeta could feel its energetic pulse.

Up and over the city traffic of air cars, he flew her past the tops of skyscrapers in South West city. Bulma beamed at him with child-like wonder, like nothing bad had ever happened to her or the world she lived in.

“It’s so beautiful up here,” she said.

“Yes,” Vegeta agreed quietly, surprised by the effect this spontaneous little flight had on her.

From the moment he took off with her into the air, Bulma’s mood had shifted entirely. Vegeta had learned that though she was quick to lose her temper, she was just as quick to forgive and cheerfully move on like nothing had happened. She must have flown her air car through the city thousands of times, though flying was very different when unencumbered by a metal vessel. He fought the urge to ask if her former lover had never done this with her. For how undeniably weak he was, Yamcha could fly too. But Vegeta didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to pull her out of the sheer joy she was experiencing, flying through the city in his arms, her body pressed against his own.

Since Vegeta hadn’t planned on doing this, he had no idea where he was taking her. He decided that for now, he would make a big lap over the city and fly back to Capsule Corp.

At the compound, instead of returning to Bulma’s balcony, he flew to the East tower, which was the tallest building on site.

He landed on the rounded glass dome and put Bulma back on her feet.

“Wow, I’ve never been up here before!” she exclaimed.

She giggled and twirled around on the roof of her own house, bathed in moonglow.

Something inside of Vegeta ached so badly, clenched at his stomach, his chest, yet he couldn’t put it into words.

Bulma noticed he was staring at her.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered in truth.

Then he kissed her until she dragged him on top of her, lying on the glass roof.

Bulma pulled down his boxers and Vegeta took off her dress. He was delighted to see that underneath it, she was wearing the red lace undergarments again. He didn’t even bother taking off her panties this time, but merely pushed them aside and entered her.

After a while, she flung off the red lace herself. He let her ride him, silhouetted by the moon and stars, before he pulled her close, covering himself with her so that all he could see was Bulma.

Afterwards, they lay next to each other in silence, their arms and legs entwined.

“Aren’t you curious about where I was tonight?” Bulma asked suddenly.

“No,” Vegeta lied.

She untangled from him and propped herself up on her elbow.

“Margie is getting married. For the third time, mind you. Do you know what a bachelorette party is?”

Vegeta sat up on his elbows.

“I have a suspicion.”

“It can get pretty wild. Anyway, Margie asked about you tonight. She wondered if I could give you a call to see if you were interested in earning a few extra zeni by giving her a lap dance. She was very drunk.”

Vegeta laughed heartily.

“How much was she willing to pay?” he asked.

Bulma was staring at him with the most curious look on her face.

“Do you want me to call her for an estimate?” she asked.

“No, that’s quite alright.”

On the horizon, the sky had grown from a pale blue to a faint orange. Dawn was calmly breaking and Vegeta still felt weird and light.

“By the way, while you were off being an inconsiderate asshole, I was thinking about your armour,” Bulma said.

“You want to have sex while I’m wearing my armour?” he asked, expecting to follow her vulgar trajectory of thought.

“No! Well…maybe.”

She giggled.

“Actually, I was thinking you might need new armour, since the battle suit you came back in from space was all but shredded.”

“That suit is all I have left.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But I could try to make you a new suit, to help you.”

He looked at her in surprise. Here he was, returning to ask for her help and she was offering it of her own accord, even though she had been pissed off at him for leaving without a word. He was so stunned, he realised later that he had forgotten to ask about the spaceship.

“You would do that for me?” he asked.

“Of course I would. Besides, if you have proper armour, you can fight better, which would be in our advantage against the androids.”

“At least you’re honest when you’re being selfish.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and grinned.

To bring her down a peg, he grabbed her dress and underwear, rolled them into a ball and threw them from the rooftop.

Instantly, her grin was wiped off her face and she grew very pale. Vegeta chuckled.

Her grip was surprisingly strong as she snatched his wrist.

“If you even think about flying off and leaving me here by myself, I will murder you. I will find a way to get down, stark naked, and I will murder you.”

In the first rays of the rising sun, Vegeta laughed and cut off Bulma’s death threats by kissing her, hard and deep.

Chapter Text

Bulma realised she was in trouble when her mom had asked her, during dinner, if she had any idea where Vegeta had gone. She hadn’t seen him in four days then.

“How should I know?” Bulma had mumbled, shoved her food into her mouth and excused herself from the table. 

In hindsight, it was hard to tell when it had started. Perhaps it had always been there, behind her bravado, which put up a good fight, but wasn’t an inexhaustible well to draw from. 

Sure, she would have casual sex with the killer alien prince she harboured in her house for an impending danger, without having any deeper feelings for him whatsoever. She was Bulma fucking Briefs and she could do whatever she wanted, is what her internal monologue said over and over.

Therefore, it was all the more embarrassing that she caught herself walking past his bedroom to peep in if he was there, that she took a detour to check if the lights were on in the Gravity Room or if she heard the hum of the machine running. 

It was an unspoken agreement that Vegeta could come and go as he pleased. He had disappeared before, most notably during that time the Namekians were staying at Capsule Corp. Not once had they sat down and discussed the terms and conditions of him living in her house, but now this thing between them, whatever the hell it was, warped everything even more.  

Bulma wondered if she had been the cause of him leaving, which was stupid because he was probably not even thinking about her. He was the kind of selfish bastard who wouldn’t care enough about anything she would do. Besides, Bulma was perfection personified and never did anything wrong. She was a saint, an angel. She even hadn't gotten mad when he messed her up the last time they were together, because he had looked so cute afterwards, all dazed and guilty, covered in blood red lipstick. She was disgusted at herself for overthinking the situation and went shopping to relieve the stress.  

In the second week of Vegeta’s absence, to her horror, the dull ache of pining set in and out of sheer spite she almost rang up Jasper from the board, who was decent and adequate and totally boring. Before she punched in the number, she changed her mind. She wouldn’t let herself be that petty. Not just yet. 

To distract herself, she put on her sexiest dress and went to her receptionist’s bachelorette party where she got hit on all night. The attention was supposed to boost her ego, but instead she was annoyed by it. 

“How should I know?” she answered nonchalantly and sipped her Pornstar Martini, when Margie had asked Bulma where her hot, crabby boy-toy had gone off to.

The flutter in her chest when she spotted his reflection in her mirror that night came as a deep disappointment to her then, a personal betrayal. 

“Did you honestly think you could get away with it?” it mocked her. 

Acting like she didn’t care was impossible when he put his hands on her hips. What was worse, was that she did want him, despite the rage that rattled her ribcage. 

Of course they argued and that menacing scowl of his was rather endearing, the timbre of his voice gave her a tingle. 

Then he flew her through the city, princess-style, enveloped by the starry night’s sky and she had to remind herself sternly that it all meant nothing. That what any normal human would interpret as a grand romantic gesture, was just Vegeta acting out.

Somehow he seemed confused by his own behaviour, until they ended up horizontally, naked, entwined. After that, the world made sense again and Bulma felt fine. But then her heart leapt at hearing him laugh, talking to him, joking around with him. He flew down to retrieve her dress and underwear which he had thrown from the roof, and handed it back with his trademark smirk. It was almost like he cared, almost as though he actually liked her, and she hated it, because she knew it couldn’t be true. 

This was just a game they played, to fend off some kind of existential dread, where thinking about what they were doing wasn’t allowed. Because if she thought about the situation, she would have to acknowledge there was a problem. The sex wasn’t the problem, however. The problem was this: 

She got a thrill from watching him do normal human stuff, like leafing through a newspaper her father had left on the kitchen table, hearing him whistle while putting a plate of food in the microwave. Also, she got a thrill from detecting all the things that made him decidedly not human, like examining the petals of the yellow roses her mom had put in a vase, words and phrases that spilled out of him when he got angry or when he fucked her. One time she saw him pet Scratch, her father’s black cat. Thinking himself alone, he gave the creature’s tail a good-humoured little pull. 

“I used to have one of these,” she heard him tell the cat.

She couldn’t stop smiling to herself like an idiot for hours afterwards. It was that bad. 

The problem was the pang of sadness, however small, of waking up alone in the morning even though she hadn’t expected otherwise. The problem was that her pulse accelerated whenever he entered the room, whenever he manifested himself out of the realm of her imagination into her physical space. She never knew what would come next, but she did know she felt fiercely alive when he was there. 

The problem was that he had sunk himself into her being now and she never wanted him to leave and that terrified her.

Still, she kept quiet and carried on with this big, scary thing lodged into her, hoping it wouldn’t show. She knew that if he caught a glimmer of the truth on the surface that it would be over and she’d rather have him like this than not have him at all. 

***

“This is just an excuse for me to take my clothes off again,” he said.

“As if you need an explicit command for that! You’ve been pretty good at taking off your clothes for me all of your own accord lately,” she snorted.

“Besides, you barely wear any clothes as it is.”

During lunch, Bulma had caught Vegeta in a rare moment when he was fully clothed and summoned him to her lab. There she had told him to strip down to his boxers, which was something she had done before, though not with her current intended purpose.

“Like I said, I’ve studied the PTO uniform and though I like the quality of it being one-size-fits-all, I want to make one custom for you, too.”

Bulma unrolled a tape measure with one end fastened to a small device.

“Hence, I need your measurements.”

Vegeta considered the device for a moment, then started undressing. Perhaps she could have measured him with his T-shirt and shorts still on, but she wanted the uniform and breastplate to be skintight. It was also more fun this way.

“Now stand up straight and hold still,” she told him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A rule she had imposed on herself was that whenever she wore her lab coat, she meant serious business.This rule had already been broken a couple of times when she’d let Vegeta hike up the skirt she wore underneath to take off her panties and eat her out on her desk.

This time, she wanted to be the professional that she normally prided herself on being. Today Vegeta was just a specimen, a subject for study. 

She started with the breadth of his shoulders. He was staring her in the face, a cat ready to pounce, but she was having none of it and ignored him. 

“Raise your arms a little,” she said.

He obeyed and she wrapped the tape around his chest. After each measurement, she clicked a button on the device. 

She moved on to his waist next, feeling his breath on the side of her face. He generated so much heat, his body was like a furnace, warm and smooth. For a species that had a tail and could turn into gigantic furry beasts, Saiyans hardly had any body hair. Vegeta had just a very thin line starting below his navel, which dipped into his boxers. 

She measured the distance from his shoulder to his waist, before wrapping the tape over his hips. The memory of when she first touched his body came back to her, when she had pulled him out of the rubble of the Gravity Room he’d destroyed by accident. He was bruised and bleeding and she needed to hold him steady, one arm supporting his shoulders and one around his waist, to get him to the infirmary. Back then, she wasn’t thinking any of the thoughts she ended up having later when recollecting the moment, the feeling of his weight leaning into her and what it would be like to have that lying on top of her.

When she put the tape around his neck, it was hard not to make eye contact. 

“Are you going to fit me for a collar, too?” he asked.

“You’re still thinking about that collar, huh? Maybe I really should make you one.”

He smirked and though the synapses in her brain fired with pleasure, she was also begrudging the fact that she had created this monster, that she had brought it into existence with her excessive flirting. Now that Vegeta responded at every given opportunity and even initiated flirting, it was hard to focus on anything else.

She measured his biceps and then the distance from his shoulder to his wrist, and from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger. 

“Don’t look down and keep your posture straight,” she warned before she got on her knees. 

She wrapped the tape around his lower hips and ass.

“And don’t get too excited,” she added.

“I notice you’re not writing anything down,” he remarked.

“I don’t have to,” she said, wrapping the tape around his thigh. “This is a digital tape measure. When I press the button, it records your measurements and files it in my system.” 

“Is this another clever thing you made yourself?”

“Yes, actually,” she said, measuring his leg from hip to foot. She also measured the circumference of his calf, just to be sure.

“I have been meaning to ask you something,” he said.

Bulma got back on her feet, a vague sense of dread creeping up her spine. 

“About what?” she asked.

“The Gravity Room, was it rebuilt as a functioning spaceship?”

“Yes, though we might need to make some improvements to keep it up to date.” 

“But it is fit for space travel?” 

“Yes, of course. Why?”

He looked away from her and stared at her white board as though he was pondering a complicated subject, his mouth ajar. Bulma suddenly felt cold and folded her arms against her chest. 

“Do you want to leave?” she heard herself ask calmly.

“I might have hit a plateau in my training. I push myself daily, but still find myself lacking, not moving forward. In all honesty, I feel restricted. I don’t want to destroy your house or your planet, but I need to unleash my potential. Out in space I can find some place where I don’t have to hold back. Plus I would be removed from the distractions I have here on Earth.”

He said all of this without making eye contact, as if he was reciting some rehearsed speech.

Bulma’s head was spinning. Does he mean me? Am I a distraction?

“But… the andr-” she started.

“I’d be back in time for the androids, of course. But I need to test my limits if I want to ascend. You do understand, don’t you?”

Always pragmatic, Bulma had to agree, even though she felt like she had been hit by a truck.

“I do, it’s a good idea.” 

He nodded, seemingly relieved by her answer.

“You need to give me some time, though,” she said, “A couple of months at least, to update the system and get extra parts. In that time I can also finish your suit, so you can wear that while you’re training in space.”

She smiled brightly and hoped he was convinced.

“Thank you,” he said. 

It sounded so genuine and he looked so happy, he might as well have just shot her.

She didn’t respond, but kept a pleasant smile plastered on, feeling stupid. At her computer, she opened a couple of files to see if the data of his measurements had been transferred correctly. When it had, she clicked another button on the tape measure and it rolled up again.

“There, all finished!” she declared. 

Vegeta was still undressed, standing on the spot where she’d measured him. 

“You may go,” she prompted and sat down behind her computer to continue her analysis on the suit. 

As Vegeta approached her desk, she could feel his eyes on her.

“You don’t require anything else from me?” he asked. 

“Not at the moment.”

She picked up his clothes from the edge of her desk where he had folded them and thrust them at his chest.

“Put your clothes back on and stop acting slutty, I’m working.”

She said it playful enough to make him roll his eyes and grin before he got dressed. Truth was he needed to leave asap, so Bulma could have her mental breakdown in peace. 

As soon as the door clicked closed behind him, she buried her face in her hands. 

Rationally, she acknowledged that Vegeta’s plan made perfect sense. Better he’d blow up some uninhabited rocks in space to reach the level of Super Saiyan, than the entire southern hemisphere on Earth. But the thought also made her feel hollow, like someone had scooped out her insides and in turn that made her chastise herself. Why did this have to bother her so much? Why couldn’t she just shrug, upgrade the damn spaceship and send him on his merry way?

Moreover, all this thinking about Vegeta, or thinking about how she wasn’t supposed to think about Vegeta, had taken up so much headspace that she’d almost forgotten about the most important day of the year which seemed to have appeared on the calendar out of nowhere.

The 18th of August: her birthday.

Six days before Bulma would turn thirty-three her sister brought it to her attention and the realisation nearly knocked the wind out of her.

“So tell me, what kind of party are you having this year?” Tights asked during their call. 

“It kind of slipped my mind to organise something,” Bulma admitted.

“You haven’t planned anything? It’s unlike you to skip a birthday celebration, little sis.”

“You know, I don’t really care anymore. Like, I’m past thirty, there’s no need for me to throw a big party with all the trimmings, right? 

On the screen, Tights arched an eyebrow at her. 

“That’s bullshit, Bulma. You love celebrating your birthday! Last year you took Yamcha and Puar on a week-long tropical cruise on a five star yacht, complete with a fireworks show and a cake that had to be hoisted on board and could feed the entire staff of fifty crewmembers and their families, so I’m not buying this. Care to share what’s really been going on?”

“You know, I think I hear dad calling and I promised to help him in the lab, so I’ve got to go, bye!” Bulma rattled, hung up the video call before Tights could say another word and then collapsed face down onto her bed.

“Stop it, B!” she yelled into her duvet.

The remedy, the cure that healed all, was either to go shopping or to immerse herself in work, and since she had already bought all of the cute summer clothes she could find, returning to the lab would be the best option. 

***

For the next few days, she holed up in her office and laboratory, ignoring the world. She had her meals delivered to her desk and went straight to bed after she had finished for the day. Once, Margie came by to check on her and tell her she had missed calls from Krillin, Master Roshi and Chi-Chi, who had all wondered if she was throwing a birthday party this year. 

Vegeta hadn’t come around, and why would he? If he didn’t disturb her, she would finish the projects sooner and he could take his leave.

She was mapping out the upgrades for the Gravity Room, to see what would be needed for its improvement when it occurred to her that she must be some kind of masochist, to actively work on achieving something that would cause her pain. She had never meant for that fucking ache to be there in the first place. 

Let him leave, she concluded. It’s for the best. 

On the 17th of August, twenty minutes to midnight, she had finished a sample of the material that would be used for the breastplate and she was so pleased that she wanted to treat herself with a snack.

She stretched herself, traded her lab gear for a baby blue zip-up hoodie sporting the Capsule Corp logo and denim shorts, after which she padded to the kitchen on her socks. 

At the kitchen counter, her mother was stirring a steaming cup of tea. Her hair was up in curlers for the night and she was wearing a lavender dressing gown and her bunny slippers. 

“Hi, mom,” Bulma greeted her and pecked her cheek. 

“There’s my girl!” Panchy perked up. “Are you in the mood for something sweet?”

“Always.”

Looking very pleased with herself, Panchy got a square white box from the fridge.

“I got you a little something, for your birthday. You seemed a bit down lately and even though you haven’t planned a birthday party, I thought it would be nice for you to have a pretty cake!”

Bulma sat down at the kitchen table and pouted.

“Mom, what are you talking about? I’m not feeling down, I feel perfect. I’m thirty-three and thriving.”

“If you say so, sweetie.”

Panchy placed the box on the table in front of Bulma.

“There’s a big cake arriving tomorrow for everyone at Capsule Corp. But this one,” she lifted the lid of the box, “This one is especially for you!”

Shaped like a big love heart, the cake was a confectionary dream. It was covered in pink buttercream, with big tufts of decorative whipped cream along the rim and a copious amount of gleaming red strawberries. White frosting spelled out ‘Happy Birthday Bulma!' in a pretty curly font.

“It’s triple strawberry!” her mother squealed. “Strawberry jam, strawberry ganache and fresh strawberries on top!”

“Wow, it’s almost too beautiful to eat!”

“By all means, have a nibble! I was heading to bed, but it’s almost midnight. Do you want me to stay and do a birthday-countdown with you?”

“No, that’s fine. Thanks, mom, the cake is lovely.”

Suddenly, while she was still sitting in her chair, Panchy enveloped Bulma in a big hug. She smelled strongly of vanilla and the setting lotion she had used for her hair and gave Bulma a kiss on her cheek, leaving a mark of her frosty pink lipstick.

“Happy birthday, baby. I love you very much. I’ll see you in the morning so we can celebrate!” she said.

Bulma closed her eyes and savoured the hug, ignoring the surge of emotion in her chest.

“I love you too, mom,” she said.

Panchy squeezed her one last time, then took her mug of tea and waved goodnight as she left the kitchen.

Even though the cake was a work of art, it would also be a waste not to eat, so Bulma got herself a plate and fork. She cut herself a generous slice.

The cake tasted like heaven. The sponge was so fluffy it melted in her mouth, the ganache had just the right amount of sweetness and the jam had a tart zing to it that gave the flavour a punch. Whichever bakery Panchy had bought this from, they had made something exceptional. As she considered this thoughtful gift from her mother, she spotted the clock on the wall. It was one minute past midnight.

“Happy birthday to me,” Bulma mumbled to herself. 

Maybe she did believe in what she’d said to Tights. Past the age of thirty, what’s there to celebrate about turning another year older? More wrinkles? Though she was happy and hopeful by nature, Bulma had never liked thinking about the future. In her mind it was this shapeless blob of time, not defined by anything in particular. Too often, she had been thankful for the fact that her planet still existed, so she took on life day by day. With each birthday, her beauty would fade away, though she hoped that her mother’s genetics would help conserve it. Panchy was in fact in her sixties, but didn’t look a day over 45. If all else failed in that regard, she still had the Dragon Balls. 

Once upon a time, she had imagined herself married to Yamcha by this age, maybe even having a kid or two. That vision had proved to be too simple, too cookie-cutter. The truth was that Bulma got bored easily and even the drama Yamcha had provided had become stale. She was already rich and famous, what more could she want? Naturally, as a woman who had everything she could ever desire, she would gravitate towards wanting something that she could never have. Which had now resulted in her being thirty-three and not-quite single, fallen into a situationship with a toxic, emotionally unavailable, bad man. 

Half-way through the piece of cake she cut herself, that very man walked into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Vegeta said. He was wearing blue jeans, which Bulma had never seen him wear before, and a black T-shirt which fit tightly over his chest. To say he looked good, would be an understatement.

“Hi,” she answered and stuffed herself with another bite to block the somersault in her stomach.

“What are you eating?” Vegeta asked, eyeing the table with interest. 

She swallowed.

“Birthday cake.”

He stared at her as though he was expecting some kind of further explanation.

“It’s my birthday,” she said, almost accusingly. 

Having realised he was required to respond, Vegeta shrugged.

“And?”

“You’re supposed to say congratulations.”

“On what?”

“You don’t know the concept of a birthday?”

“Is this some kind of Earth custom?”

“Are you kidding?”

Bulma put down her fork and folded her arms.

“Here on Earth we celebrate the day each individual is born. Each year, on the date of your birth, we celebrate the fact that you’re another year older. We throw a party, give gifts and eat cake.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s nice! It’s fun! Do I need to explain the concept of fun to you too?”

He gave her a lascivious grin.

“Guess I’ve already taught you how to have fun recently,” Bulma muttered.

"Of course you'd like any occasion that makes you feel special," he said. 

"Says Mr. ‘Let me remind you that I am a Prince at all times’." 

“I don’t recall you having a cake like this last year.”

“Last year I was away with Yamcha on my birthday. Usually I throw a big party and invite all my friends, but this year I kind of didn’t feel like it.”

“And why is that?”

Bulma stared at him and shrugged. A moment of silence passed.

“Do you want some of my cake?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you have to give me a present.”

“I have to do what?”

“You give the birthday girl a present and then she gives you some cake. That’s how it works, I don’t make the rules.”

“And what kind of present should I give you?” he smirked as he sauntered forward. 

She pushed a chair out with her foot.

“Sit down.Talk.”

He halted in front of the chair and stared at it.

“Talk?”

“Yeah, you’ll be giving me the gift of conversation.”

“Talk about what?” 

“Anything.”

“You know I can just take that cake from you.”

“But you won’t.”

She patted the seat of the chair.

With great reluctance, Vegeta sat down and folded his arms. 

Smiling wide at getting her way, Bulma fetched a plate and a fork and cut him a very large slice of her heart-shaped cake.

“Usually, at a birthday party, you top the cake with tiny candles. The guests will sing a song, after which you make a wish and blow out the candles,” she explained as she sat back down. “You’re not supposed to say your wish or it won’t come true, this is very important.” 

Vegeta squinted at her.

“That sounds like very weak magic, or else you wouldn’t gather the Dragon Balls at every minor inconvenience.”

Bulma frowned.

“You said I had to talk, not that I had to be nice,” he said as though he was being terribly clever.

“I’m not sure if you’re even capable of being nice, Vegeta.”

He looked as if he was about to say something lewd when Bulma cut him off. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said. “Here’s your cake, you perv.”

She pushed the plate and fork towards him. Vegeta’s face lit up after the first bite. 

“This is delicious,” he said in between chewing.

“Right?” she agreed.

As she continued eating, Bulma thought of a question that had been burning in her mind for some time now.

“How old are you?" she asked. 

Vegeta paused eating to consider. 

“In Earth years, I’m thirty-four.”

“We’re actually not that far apart! I turned thirty-three,” Bulma smiled. "It’s so hard to determine age with you Saiyans. Goku looked about nine years old all throughout his teenage years.”

“Saiyans age very slowly. We have a growth spurt when we fully mature,” he explained.

As she watched him eat cake, she imagined meeting Vegeta as a teen, she at sixteen years old looking like jailbait, he at seventeen still looking like a kid. She had to suppress a giggle.

“Do you even know when your birthday is?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I don’t remember being told which day I was born.”

“You must be a fire sign,” she mused, “I bet you’re an Aries.”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind, it’s too much to explain.”

With how relaxed Vegeta seemed, Bulma grew a little bolder.

“Do you have any siblings?” she continued.

“I have a younger brother. However, I don’t know where he is. My father banished him from our planet for his weakness. For all I know, he might be dead.”

His father banished his brother? She’d understood that Saiyans were ruthless, but this was intense. She knew she’d be treading on sensitive territory now, but still pressed on.

“What were your parents like?” 

“Why do you want to know these things?” he frowned.

“Because you’ve been living at my house for like two years and I feel I hardly know anything about you.”

“I’d say you know plenty about me,” he said, putting some weight behind his words.

Giving him her princess-attitude, she pouted. 

“It’s my birthday, indulge me.”

He gave her a long, hard look. Then he sighed and started talking.

“My mother died in battle when I was very young. I hardly knew her and my father refused to speak of her, since her death was very painful to him. He swore to never have another wife. My father trained me until he was forced to hand me over to Frieza to fight in his army. Before he could rebel against Frieza, he was killed by him.”

She knew better than to show that she felt sad for him about his past, so she highlighted the one positive aspect she could find in this story.

“Your father must have loved your mother very much.”

“Saiyan concepts of relationships are different from those here on Earth,” he said. 

Feeling cheeky, she asked something she had been dying to know.

“So you never had, like, a girlfriend?”

He took a final bite of his cake and chewed it slowly before he answered.

“Forming attachments was neither wise nor encouraged in the PTO.”

Bulma leaned in across the table. 

“Then, how did you… learn all of it?” she grinned at him, “Since you clearly know what you’re doing.”

He put down his fork and looked away all bashful, but Bulma could tell the question had also stroked his ego. 

“You pick up things here and there,” he muttered.

“Nothing contagious, I hope?” 

“I didn’t choose them if they were sickly.”

“You didn’t choose them…?” Bulma repeated.

In the silence that followed, Vegeta’s cheeks flamed up red, as if he’d just now realised he said something he maybe shouldn’t have. Bulma put two and two together. 

“Oh…” she mumbled, “I think I get it.”

She had never seen him look this flustered and self-conscious, but now it was as though he was internally struggling between scoffing at her and defending himself or fleeing from the room never to return again.

Refusing to be a naive little girl, she reached out and closed her hand over his, before he could leave the table.

“Would you like some more cake, Vegeta?” she asked.

His hand was tense underneath hers, but Bulma smiled at him reassuringly. How could a killing machine be this adorable when embarrassed, she thought. He relaxed a little.

“Yes,” he said. 

As a reward for not running off, she cut him another large slice with her name spelled out in white frosting. Perhaps a return to more light-hearted questions would put him at ease again.

"What’s your favourite food?" she asked, handing back his plate.

"There's so much good food here, you cannot possibly expect me to choose," he said as he tucked into his slice of cake. 

"Fair enough. What's your favourite colour?" 

"What kind of absurd question is that?" 

“Research. I need to know which colour to pick for your armour.”

"Blue,” he said after a while, “I like blue." 

She batted her eyelashes at him.

“The man likes blue.”

He rolled his eyes at her.

“Just don’t make the suit in your ridiculous hair colour.”

“You’re gonna be glad with whatever I give you, buddy!” 

“As long as it’s not another pink shirt! I’ll never forgive you for that,” he grumbled, but a smile played on his lips.

Bulma laughed, marvelling at how good it felt to just be with him, like being tipsy without having drunk a drop.

She remembered how she’d sometimes heard music coming from the Gravity Room.

"What’s your favourite music? And don't say you don't listen to it, because I know you do." 

“I don’t know what it’s called,” he said, “It has very loud snare instruments and drums. Loud vocals, too.”

“Rock music,” she giggled, “Of course.”

He had nearly finished his cake and she wanted to squeeze one more personal question out of him now she had the chance.

“Did you ever have friends?” she asked, “Not people who served you or fought with you, but actual friends?”

A foolish part of her was hoping he’d say ‘yes, you’, that he would at least acknowledge the friendship between them. 

But he looked straight into her eyes and said: “No.”

Then he leaned across the table in a conspiratory sort of way and started talking.

“You have an older sister and doting parents, who have allowed you too much and spoiled you rotten. I wish I wasn’t acquainted with the weakling you have let into your bed for the past sixteen years, but there have been others, too, and they have all been unsatisfactory. You like strawberries and instant ramen. Your favourite colour is pink, or red, depending on your mood. The music you listen to sounds happy and upbeat. You like to dance to it, when you think nobody is watching. You are too smart for your peers or any of your so-called friends to truly understand you and that is why you get lonely and bored and do stupid, dangerous things.”

You could hear a pin drop in the kitchen. Bulma felt as though she had been sitting at the table naked and huddled into her hoodie, suddenly fearful that he could see all of the parts of her that she didn’t want him to see.

“This is really good cake,” he said after swallowing the last bite. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Bulma asked.

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I think I’m done talking.”

***

He clung to her the moment she put the rest of the cake in the fridge, nuzzling her neck from behind, his hands snaking around her hips, her waist. Closing the fridge, she turned around and pushed him back.

“Since it’s my birthday, I think it’s only fair if you do anything I want you to.”

“Is that so?” he questioned, but looked as though he had already accepted the challenge.

“Yeah,” she said and took hold of his right hand.

“You’re going to be very good tonight,” she told him and led him out of the kitchen, up the stairs, to her room.

In the dimness of her bedroom lights, he was immediately all over her, his hands under her hoodie, cupping her breasts, his mouth lapping at hers. Again she had to push him away firmly.

“Uh-uh, you can’t touch me unless I tell you to.”

He groaned with frustration and Bulma almost regretted wanting to play it like this tonight. But there were some things that she craved doing to him and for that, she wanted total control.

“Can you do that?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Good boy.”

He took a sharp breath and Bulma noticed his chest trembling.

“You like it when I call you a good boy, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She smiled and slowly unzipped her hoodie, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath she wore a little white tank top, her pink lace bra showing through. She prayed to the gods it would lift smoothly over her head when she took it off and it did. Unbuttoning her denim shorts, she shimmied them over her hips, revealing pink lace panties. Hopefully she didn’t look too awkward as she took off her socks and threw them aside with her shorts. 

She swayed her hips as she approached Vegeta, who stood there looking at her darkly, his hands twitching at his sides. Carefully, she took hold of the hem of his shirt and guided it up and over his head. She stroked his chest, her touch feather-light, following the slashes of his scars. 

“You’re so handsome,” she said as she undid the top button of his jeans.

She had expected a cocky retort, but instead he looked away in a flash of embarrassment.

It was these kinds of things that made her completely crazy for him. 

Bulma softly cupped his face and it was the tenderness that seemed to surprise him.

“You’re very handsome, Vegeta,” she repeated as she looked him in the eyes.

He opened his mouth, seeming to choke on words he wasn’t used to saying.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, finally.  

Though she smiled, she hated it, absolutely fucking hated it, how good it felt to hear him say that. She slid a hand in his jeans to feel his cock, the damp patch on his boxers. Vegeta closed his eyes and sighed.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his chin before kissing his lips. Her kisses were soft, sensual, like she had all the time in the world. He kissed her back in the same manner, though she could tell by how he trembled, he was trying to hold himself back. 

She stroked him through his boxers and ran a hand through his hair. Every movement was slow and deliberate, sweet until she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled it hard. 

He moaned deliciously and she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She kissed him deeply but broke it off just as quick, leaving him gasping for breath. 

She tugged his jeans down to his knees.

“Take them off for me,” she said. 

He stumbled a little when he stepped out of his jeans and it occurred to Bulma that for some reason Vegeta seemed nervous.

She stroked his strong arms, then took him by his wrists and guided him to her bed. 

Gently, she lay him back with his head on her pillows, pressing her knees into the mattress next to him. She caressed him down his sides, until she reached the waistband of his boxers. 

“Lift your hips,” she told him.

He did and let her take off his boxers, his cock twitching on his pelvis. The sight of having him lie before her like that, completely delivered to her will and anticipating her every move, was intoxicating. Bulma smiled and clambered on top of him.

Straddling his groin, her lace panties rubbed his cock. She slipped off one bra strap, then another. Through the lace cups, she caressed her breasts, while grinding down on him. Vegeta took hold of her sheets and moaned savouring the friction.

Reaching back and unhooking her bra, she tossed it aside and was treated to the sight of Vegeta biting his bottom lip. 

She leaned over him, crawling over his chest, to push her breasts into his face.

“Suck them,” she said.

He latched onto her like a man starving, licking and sucking her just the way she liked it.

“Hmm, you’re so good, Vegeta,” she moaned.

With one hand holding on to the headboard, she buried the other one in his thick hair. The texture, so much like fur, felt luxurious against her naked skin.

She pulled his hair to make him look up, to kiss him on the mouth. Shifting her weight, she moved down his torso and left a trail of kisses all over his throat, his pecks, his shoulders.

She licked up the column of his neck, sucked on his earlobe.

He made a keening sound, one she’d never heard him make. He was gripping the bed sheets so hard, she thought he’d tear them. She trailed her lips down and bit a spot on his neck, wanting to mark him like he always marked her. 

Suddenly, he shook all over and whimpered like he never had before. 

Alarmed, Bulma stopped and looked into his face. He was staring back at her, his black eyes wild.

“Are you alright?” she asked, “Is this okay?”

“Please,” he groaned, “Do it.”

He spilled out a phrase she couldn’t understand.

“What are you saying?” she wanted to know.

“Mark me, claim me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Claim him?

Losing all constraint, she latched her mouth onto his neck and continued biting, sucking, licking. Vegeta thrashed beneath her and nearly lifted them both off the bed. 

“Oh, fuck Bulma…” he moaned.

She wanted to dig her nails into him and carve him open, to devour him. She wanted to have him like some little space hooker could never have had him. 

She started kissing and biting him all over his torso, rubbed her face against his abs. She both caressed him and dragged her nails over his muscles.

“You smell so good,” she murmured into his skin. 

Coming to his navel, she nuzzled her nose into the fine line of hair, licked his pelvis until she reached his cock. She lifted him at his base and wrapped her lips around him. 

She started sucking him off, languid and slow, more for her own enjoyment than his. He lay heavy in her mouth, throbbing, perfect.

Vegeta moaned underneath her, his legs tangled in her sheets. He had shoved his hands behind his back in an attempt to restrain himself. He was being a very, very good boy. 

With a soft pop, she let go of his cock and crawled on top of him.

“You taste so good, Vegeta, you make me so wet. Don’t you want to taste how wet I am?”

“Yes,” he grunted.

She sat up on her knees, and pushed down her soaked pink panties. While caressing her breasts with one hand, she stroked her pussy with the other and inserted two fingers deep inside.  

Eyes blazing, Vegeta lay back entranced, his wide chest heaving. He was covered in her love-bites and hickeys. Pride and pleasure surged through Bulma, made her quiver. 

She pulled out her fingers and pressed them to his lips, which he greedily accepted. 

He sucked her fingers without taking his eyes off her. She could look at that face of his forever.

She took her fingers out of his mouth and leaned in, licked his jaw.

“Do you want to fuck me, Vegeta?” she asked, her breath hot in his ear.

She teased him by rubbing her wet pussy against his cock, without letting him slip in.

“Yes,” he groaned, “Please…”

“How badly do you want to fuck me?”

He rasped out something she didn’t understand.

“Translate that for me.”

“I’d kill for it.”

He meant it, she knew he did. 

She was supposed to be horrified by this, yet instead she had never felt more turned on in her entire life.

She kissed him deeply, caressed his cheek. 

“Take me,” she whispered.

As though he had been waiting for her command, Vegeta grabbed her waist, firm yet gentle, and flipped them over.

Before she could stop him, he removed her panties and had his head in between her legs.

He was looking up at her as he licked her, his black eyes glazed over. She lifted herself on her elbows and watched him, caressing his hair. He pushed two fingers into her, circling them inside of her, pressing at her walls. Instead of devouring her like he usually did, he licked her pussy softly, kissed her pubic hair. Something about it made her feel worshipped, treasured.

He looked up into her eyes, moaned into her and she lost it.

She came hard and fast, mewling with abandon, her legs shaking. Somehow she felt more wet than she ever had before.

In between her knees, Vegeta wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, before leaning over and lowering himself on top of her. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said and pushed himself inside. She savoured the delicious stretch of her body giving way to him. 

“How do I feel?” she asked him, “How do I taste?”

“Like heaven,” he answered.

She took his hands, placed them over her head and locked their fingers. 

“Do it slow,” she said.

He nodded and started thrusting into her. Bulma’s mind got hazy, clouded. Time didn’t exist, everything was a blur. All that ever existed, that ever mattered, was Vegeta moving inside of her, his face next to hers, breathing in her hair. 

She couldn’t help herself and bit his neck again, eliciting a sound of pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, yes!” he groaned, “Oh, Bulma…”

He lifted himself to sit on his knees, tilted his hips and did that thing which made her go wild, his thrusts deep and powerful. Looking into his eyes, she came a second time, her spine lifting off the mattress. 

After she had rode out the final waves of her orgasm, he came to lie close on top of her. He held her shoulder with one hand and wrapped the other one around her body. 

He looked at her with the strangest, most tender look in his eyes, before he turned his face away.

“Please,” he said and Bulma understood what he wanted. 

She sank her teeth into his neck.

He fucked her like this, with her biting the crook of his neck, until he came, holding down her hips, pulsing into her. She listened intently to his climax, addicted to his moans and grunts. All tension left his body, his weight pressing her down, yet he remained sheathed inside of her, catching his breath. 

Bulma let go of his neck, which by now was darkly bruised.

She wondered if he was okay, until he finally lifted himself on his forearms and kissed her. 

After that, Vegeta rolled over onto his back. 

Bulma propped herself up and petted his tousled hair. Vegeta said nothing but smiled, his sharp incisors glinting. Drowsy and content, he gave no indication of wanting to move.

When she came back from the bathroom, to her astonishment, he was already half-asleep. Usually, he either wanted to go for another round or he would bail. But now he lay nestled in her sheets, watching her through half-closed eyes. She turned off the lights and lay back down. Vegeta crawled against her, his body warm and relaxed. He put an arm over her hips, nuzzled against her back and just… lied there. His breathing became slow and steady. 

Vegeta had fallen asleep in her bed, spooning her. She felt giddy and high, wrapped in a rosy cocoon. Listening to the beat of his heart, she drifted off.

***

It was still dark when Bulma was awoken by the movement of tossing and turning next to her.  

Through the faint light that shone in from her balcony, she saw Vegeta murmuring to himself covered in a sheen of sweat. 

Suddenly, he bolted upright.

“Bulma…,” he gasped when he saw her. He looked around in the darkness of her room.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked her. She shook her head and touched his arm. 

He lowered his voice.

“Am I dead? Frieza…”

“No, Frieza is dead, Vegeta,” she said softly, “You’ve just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

Bulma lay back and reached out to him.

“Come here.”

He didn’t question anything, didn’t resist, but simply lowered his head onto her chest. Without any words, she stroked his hair and held him close. From deep within his body she could feel a trill, like a purr, buzzing through him. His limbs became heavy as he dozed off. She had to fight the urge to kiss the top of his head. It could have been minutes or hours, before she fell back asleep as well.

In the light of morning, Vegeta was still there, fast asleep, his arm draped across her waist.

Something inside her lit up and sparkled, expanded so she could feel it from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes. It was strange to see his face so relaxed, his brow smooth instead of curving downward. He looked much younger, a sleeping prince from a fairy tale. Again, she had to stop herself from caressing his cheek, kissing his forehead.

She just stared at him, trying not to breathe too loudly or stir too much as to wake him.

Slowly, his brow wrinkled into a frown. He shifted a little and sighed.

Bulma turned half-away so he wouldn’t be startled by her gaping at him first thing when he woke up, but she still caught it, the moment when he opened his eyes.

He hummed and rolled over, floating back into consciousness. 

When he sat up, he looked at her as though he didn’t quite know who she was and why he was there.

“Good morning,” she said.

He didn’t say anything but looked away, fumbling with the sheets. The energy in the room had shifted, the rosy comfort slipping through Bulma’s fingers, through the curtains and away. 

All there was now, was a dense, dark cloud. 

Vegeta swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a while with his back towards her. The marks she had left on him stood out angry and blotched against both sides of his neck. 

Having spotted his clothes on her floor, he got up and started dressing, his movements sharp and tense. Bulma hugged the sheets close to her body.

“Vegeta, are you okay?” she asked him, her voice frail.

He turned around and the look on his face was one of pure hatred.

“Whatever the hell it was that you did to me last night, don’t ever do that again,” he spat out.

In a few strides he had crossed the room. He slammed open the door of her balcony with so much force, Bulma was afraid the glass would shatter.

He didn’t look back at her, but stepped outside and flew off. 

She would think back to that exact moment often. She imagined she could travel back in time, to do something, anything, to stop it from happening, to prevent him from giving her that look of betrayal. 

She shouldn’t have marked him, even though he had wanted her to. She shouldn’t have made love to him, shouldn’t have given her heart away just like that, be it in the shape of a cake or a piece of herself. She imagined she would have just fucked the pain away, drowned in denial.

But then she wouldn’t have seen him lying underneath her like that, of seeing him exposed, experiencing a side of him that she knew nobody else had ever experienced. She wouldn’t have had him fall asleep in her arms, turning quiet and peaceful, wouldn’t have woken up to see his sleeping face next to her.

Even though the spell was broken the moment Vegeta had opened his eyes, ending everything that could ever be between them, she didn’t want to change anything she had done. She just wished, with all of her broken heart, that the outcome had been different. 

By the time she had finally stopped crying that morning of her thirty-third birthday, the spot where he had lain in her bed was cold. 

Chapter Text

Summer rushed to its end with torrential showers leading into September. Far too soon, leaves scattered the lawn and the chill permeating the air had crept itself all throughout Capsule Corp. Bulma had been wearing cardigans and sweaters since her birthday. The season had died on a high note. Too much of a good thing had killed it in its throes. 

Vegeta didn’t show himself in public until all the marks had faded from his neck. Even then, he kept to himself. Polite and necessary interactions were exchanged with her parents, but otherwise he remained taciturn, looked straight past her and never addressed her directly. 

The sad thing was that Bulma had felt too humiliated to provoke him. She remained working on her projects, reasoning that the sooner she’d finish them, the sooner Vegeta would leave and the sooner she could pick up the shards of her heart. To have him in her vicinity like this, was becoming unbearable.  

At the dinner table, Panchy was on edge, chattering more than usual to fill up the merest hint of silence. Vegeta scowled and chewed his food. Even Bulma’s father, who was normally oblivious to such things, tried to lighten the mood with silly quips. Bulma gave him a weak smile for his efforts.

Tensions rose when Vegeta got up from his seat and walked to the other side of the table where Bulma was sitting. Without a word he picked up the salt shaker which was right next to her plate.

“You could have asked me to pass you the salt,” she hissed after he had sat back down.

Vegeta shook salt on his mountain of mashed potatoes, said nothing.

Panchy glanced around the table, nerves frayed, spilling her orange juice. Dr. Briefs sighed into his steak. Bulma gripped her knife to refrain from throwing the pepper shaker at Vegeta’s dumb face. 

It was a mess.

Afterwards, she cornered him in the hallway.

“This silent treatment of yours is getting ridiculous!” she snapped.

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed at her.

“I have nothing to say to you, woman.”

He made to step around her like she was a nuisance. With her hands on her hips, she blocked his path and gave him a death stare.

“Well, I have something to say to you! Get over yourself, you jerk!”

Before she could give it another thought, she flicked his forehead, right between his eyes on that stupid, stupid scowl of his. By some miracle, he hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t tried to deflect it. He gaped at her, completely dumbstruck. Serves him right, Bulma thought.

“You infernal harpy!” he howled when she stomped off. 

Apparently, he did have something to say to her.

***

A small break-through came later that week, which improved her sour mood. Upon hours and hours of testing, adjusting and retesting, Bulma had fashioned a prototype of Vegeta’s armour. She had kept its original colours, dark blue for the bodysuit and white for the breastplate, gloves and boots, with reinforcements on the shoulders, stomach and toes. Altogether the suit was the same as his old uniform, but looked sleeker, more streamlined. After studying the alien material, she had copied and improved its qualities. It was waterproof, heatproof, sweatproof, bulletproof, acid proof, blast proof. 

Firing bullets at the armour to test it, imaging it was either occupied by Vegeta or her feelings, had been cathartic and encouraged her to put on her big girl boots.

She clicked on the monitor and intercom, dialling for the Gravity Room. 

Her screen showed a pissed off and sweaty Vegeta mid-air.

“Sorry to interrupt, your royal highness,” she said and cringed at herself.  

What had once sounded snarky and cute to Bulma, now came off as awkward. 

Still silent, Vegeta looked predictably annoyed. She cleared her throat.

“I’m calling to inform you that your new armour is ready for its first fitting.”

She ducked out of the frame so he could spot the suit on the mannequin behind her.

His expression switched from aggravated to surprised.

“So if you have a moment, preferably after you’ve had a shower, stop by my lab,” she continued. Added a little smile to establish a truce.

Vegeta nodded.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he said.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” she said and disconnected the call.

When he showed up and needed to undress, she turned away from him, fiddling with her mouse and staring at the computer screen. The ache in her chest dictated she shouldn’t look at him too much when he was half-naked.

She put on a bright voice when he walked towards the mirror.  

“And? How does it feel?”

Vegeta turned from left to right, stretched and flexed his muscles. At a first glance, the suit fit his form beautifully, the dark blue and white complementing his colours.

“Not bad,” he said, adjusting a glove.  

“Not bad as in good?”

He threw a series of punches in the air, too fast for her track. 

“Yes,” he concluded, “It’s good. Though it feels tighter than my previous suit.”

“That’s because this one is custom and your old one was so worn out that the only things that kept it together were sweat and trauma,” Bulma mumbled as she came to stand beside him to look at his reflection. 

“Besides, you need to break it in a little. I need you to wear this for a week or so during training and give me some feedback. It’s just a prototype. After that I can make you the real deal.”

Vegeta turned in front of the mirror, looking pleased. 

“Can I check the fit?” she asked.

He faced her in a natural stance and remained perfectly still. Bulma stood back and observed, circled him twice, leaned in and tugged at a few seams.The material of the suit had bunched up a little underneath the shoulder strap of the breastplate. She reached over and smoothed it out over his collarbone, making a mental note to improve that.

“You look great!” she beamed at him and patted the breastplate. Forgot herself.

He was staring hard at her face, her mouth.

They moved forward simultaneously, pressing their lips against each other like someone had sounded a starting signal. As though they had no other choice but to kiss at that proximity.

Her hands slid down to his trim waist. His tongue brushed against her lips to seek entrance and she gave a little moan. 

As though that sound had changed his mind, he gripped her arms and broke himself away from her.

Bulma was mortified. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

“I didn’t mean to,” he muttered at the same time. 

He covered his mouth with a gloved hand, his eyes darting across her lab to look anywhere but at her. 

Before she had composed herself enough to speak again, Vegeta grabbed his clothes and marched out. 

***

A breeze had come in from the outside, the balcony door sliding open and closed. She had nearly drifted off, the book she’d been reading abandoned beside her, when the goosebumps on her arms brought her back to consciousness. Her mattress dipped tentatively. Bulma looked up in the half-dark.

As in a dream, Vegeta was sitting on the edge of her bed. For a moment she thought he wasn’t real, until he touched her leg, stroking it over the thick quilted cover. His black eyes were questioning.

She didn’t want to be reasonable, wanted to ground her shattered heart into dust.

She shot up and held onto him as if to catch him, flinging her arms around his neck. She kept her eyes open when she kissed him, wanted to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind.

But he moaned and kissed her back with greed. His hands trailed her ribcage, her waist. 

Without warning, he threw her back onto her mattress, hard.

He grabbed the top of her slip dress and tore it open, right down to her navel, so that her breasts spilled out. Her yelp was stifled by his mouth, his hands grabbing her breasts.   

He was feral tonight, his sharp teeth scraping her neck and nipples, his hands pinning her wrists so hard they went numb. He dragged his tongue over her stomach, hot and incessant, tore her panties off like they were made from paper. Coating his fingers with spit, he pushed them inside of her, staring at her gasping mouth. 

He sat up and slipped off his boxers, planted his knees next to her shoulders. Looking down at her, he stroked his cock. 

“Take it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. 

Bulma tilted her head, opened her mouth. 

Holding his shaft, he swiped the head of his cock across her lips. She licked at him eagerly, peering up at his face. Both vicious and enamoured, he took in how she was lapping at him. Bulma placed a hand on his ass to encourage him to sink into her.  

When he did, she held on to his base to fully accommodate him, trying not to choke on him. He groaned, held her head in place and started moving his hips. 

Bulma zoned out on his tangy taste, his tight, tan pelvis, the line of pubic hair. With her free hand she squeezed his ass, grazed her fingers over the puckered scar of his tailbone. He moaned louder then, his hips bucking involuntarily and she almost gagged.  

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned her. 

With shallow thrusts, his hands buried in her curls, he emptied himself into her. Bulma swallowed him by the mouthful. He was a little pent up, it seemed.

Released from him, she gasped for breath, only for Vegeta to claim her again with his mouth. He slid his tongue against hers, intent on tasting himself. Why did this have to be so fucking good, Bulma thought.

Before she knew what was happening, her legs were thrown over his shoulders, the silk slip dress sliding to her waist, her hips in the air. He drove his tongue deep into her pussy, sucked on her clit. She was so wet, so aroused, she came within minutes. Apparently she was pent up, too.

He swung her legs from his shoulders, already hard again. 

“Get on your knees.”

Limbs shaking, Bulma did as she was told and crawled on all fours. When he got behind her, he pushed her head down onto the mattress so hard, her forearms gave out. With his other hand he held up her hips and entered with one swift thrust.

Bulma cried out into her sheets. 

He fucked her hard and fast, fucked her like he was using her. Despite that, or maybe because of it, her pussy clenched with need. He felt it too. 

He reached in between her legs to finger her. 

“Go on, cum for me,” he grunted.

A few circling strokes, a few snaps of his hips and she was coming so hard she had to bite her quilted cover to keep from screaming. Vegeta laughed, still inside of her. She felt it course through her, chasing her orgasm. A low, dangerous rumble.

He pushed her onto her stomach, held her arms behind her back with an iron grip. He continued, even harder this time. The way he ground her into the mattress, hissing sharply, was almost malicious. But then he lowered himself on top of her, to breathe in her blue hair. He brushed the curls from the side of her face to kiss her, first her temple and cheek, then her breathless mouth. One of his hands reached under her body, groped her breasts and waist and settled on her cunt, as if to feel himself pounding into her. Bulma wished he would just tear her apart, but his pace slowed. He thrust in deep and held himself there.

“I can’t sleep because of you,” he growled into her ear, “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

As a response, she lifted her face to his, bit his bottom lip.

He snarled, bit back at her. Suddenly he pulled her up by her shoulders and whipped her around. 

“I want to see your face,” he panted. 

He sat back and pulled her into his lap to mount him. Though her arms were numb, she complied, sank down on his cock. He started thrusting up and into her. She ground her hips, trying to find a steady rhythm. Supporting her back and pulling down her waist, he held her like she weighed nothing, her hands resting on his shoulders. They looked at each other, the world composed of nothing else but the other one’s face and body. She kissed his mouth, his cheek, his neck.

“Do it,” he whispered.

She bit into him and Vegeta sped up, his entire body shaking. His pelvis rubbed her clit just right and she started to spiral.

“Oh, yes,” she gasped after she’d let go of his neck.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. 

Clutching at each other, they cried out and came together. She felt him pulse in between waves of pleasure, colliding and crashing. 

With her forehead pressed against his, Bulma descended, aware of every slick muscle, his hands on her back, their mingled juices. Her torn silk slip clung to her hot skin. 

She cupped Vegeta’s face. 

As his breath evened out, the warm glint in his eyes dulled. A door closing shut again. He looked away.

Softly, he pulled at her waist to get her off of him. She shifted to let his spent cock slip out, clambered away from him on the bed, her insides going numb. 

He pulled on his boxers, but remained sitting on the bed, lost in thought as though she wasn’t there.

She adjusted the straps of her night gown, to somewhat cover her bare breasts, and took a deep breath, the question she was finally about to ask forming on the exhale.

Shouldn’t we talk about this?

It was Vegeta, however, who was the first to speak.

“This has to stop,” he said, talking into his lap. 

Whatever had lit up Bulma when she saw him sleeping next to her, reignited. Not with happiness this time, but fury, starting from her core and seeping outwards.

“YOU came to ME!” she yelled at him.

“It won’t happen again. This was the last time,” he said stoically. Resolved. 

Bulma couldn’t stand the sight of him then, all righteous minutes after having come inside of her, like she was just a bad habit he had to break after a momentary relapse. 

“Get out.”

She was shaking with anger and his head whipped up, alarmed.

“OUT,” she screamed, “GET OUT!”

Vegeta scrambled from the bed to her balcony door. Seething, Bulma got up after him. Never had she felt more disgusting, than when she felt him spill out of her then, dripping down her inner thigh.

On the balcony, he turned around as though he wanted to say something. Before he could, Bulma slammed the glass door shut and locked it. Vegeta just stood there and looked at her. She stared back with hot contempt.

When he finally left, Bulma closed the curtains. In the shower, she scrubbed her skin until it turned red. Her torn peach silk slip disappeared into the bathroom bin. 

***

The following week, Vegeta’s armour and gloves sat neatly folded on her desk, the boots on the floor. A note, hand-written on Capsule Corporation stationary, accompanied it.

Suggestions for improvement of armour prototype, as per instructions , it read.

It was a list of bullet points and a sketch of the suit, with various arrows pointing out adjustments. She had never seen his hand writing before, a scratchy but neat scrawl in black ink. Torn between wanting to call him out for being a coward and not discussing these suggestions in person and being relieved she didn’t have to see his face, she’d let it go. 

They hadn’t spoken a word since she had kicked him out of her room. Though he left her alone, sometimes she felt his eyes on her. Justifying she had full right to act out a silent treatment in her turn, she ignored him.

On her fourth cup of coffee, Bulma rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. She had been feeling off for weeks now, blaming the transition towards autumn and regrettable decisions causing heartbreak. Maybe she had a vitamin D deficiency from the gloomy weather, maybe she had to cut down on the coffee, watch her magnesium intake. She had made progress in finishing the final version of Vegeta’s armour and had gathered the materials to start the upgrades on the Gravity Room. Now that she had hurt herself on purpose so badly she felt physically sick, she vowed to work even harder to get Vegeta away from Capsule Corp. If only this damn fatigue would stop wearing her down!  

At her desk, she shoved around her notes on the GR upgrade, her head so heavy she had to prop it up. She didn’t get it. She got in a solid eight hours every night. 

She dreamed a lot about the purple haired boy who had come to warn them about the androids. He would smile at her and wave hello or goodbye, as she didn’t know if he was coming or going. There was something so familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place it. She would dream about the green skies and blue grass of Namek, about letting the Dragon Ball slip into the water, disappearing into the deep, being claimed by the giant mother crab protecting her young. She also dreamed a lot about Vegeta, of him launching into space and every time something went wrong. There would be a malfunction in the software or the ship would fall apart before take-off. One time, the ship exploded when it reached the mesosphere and she watched it burn, a ball of fire next to the sun. These dreams were still preferable to the ones where she had sex with Vegeta, with him whispering sweet nothings in her ear while caressing her face. Everytime she woke up from them, with limbs of lead and an upset stomach, she wanted to cry. 

No matter how much she slept, she was tired and queasy. She was still waiting for her period to start, after messing up her cycle by taking her pill all throughout summer. Since starting sleeping with Vegeta, she hadn’t allowed her body a pause to menstruate. It had just seemed easier that way, more convenient for the both of them, though now she felt embarrassed that she’d made herself so available. After that final time, that time she would rather not think about anymore, she had ended the strip of pills, expecting her period to follow.

She leafed through her hot pink planner. This had happened around mid-September and by now they were heading into the second week of October. Still no period. 

She felt weird, so very weird. And nauseous.

When the possibility snatched at her, it wouldn’t let her go. It can’t be, her mind rationed, trying to loosen its grip. It can’t be, she had been on birth control. But the fear sank its teeth deeper, her chest and lower back clammy from perspiration like she’d been running. It wouldn’t stop biting her until it had drawn blood and she couldn’t focus on anything else anymore. 

Bulma slammed her papers in her drawers, fished her car keys from her pocket and drove to the pharmacy with shaky hands.

***

Seven weeks, give or take, her doctor had said. 

At the little ramen shop around the corner from her doctor’s office, Bulma stared at the colourful laminated menu without taking anything in. Watching a waitress go by with a pitcher of beer, she desperately wanted a drink. Of course, now she couldn’t. Which is why she had gone to the ramen shop instead of the sushi place next door. After her doctor had told her, she found herself famished. Starving. What else couldn’t she have? Raw eggs, unpasteurized milk? She tried to recall what her high-school and university friends had said they avoided eating during their pregnancies.

Pregnant. She. With Vegeta’s baby.

It was absurd, impossible. After she had taken the home pregnancy test she’d picked up from the pharmacy (positive), she had taken half a dozen more in the span of three days just to be sure (all of them positive). Then, like in some fever dream, she’d rang her doctor, her voice all shrill from panic. She had called Bulma in, ran some tests and given her the final verdict.

She touched her lower stomach, still flat from pilates. A baby was growing in there. A person.

Half-human, half-alien. Kind of like Gohan. Half-Saiyan. Vegeta’s baby.

She was going to be a mother. To her own surprise, there was no internal questioning about if she would want to. Her arms tingled with peculiar glee. A child to care for, to love. Vegeta’s child. Her own mother was going to be thrilled. 

Good gods, Vegeta. 

She had two servings of ramen, as if now that she knew that she was pregnant, the baby had decided on having a Saiyan appetite. Maybe she should call Chi-chi and ask for advice about being pregnant with a half-Saiyan child. 

First, she had to tell Vegeta. What was going to happen? She didn’t doubt he was going to be angry, furious. This wasn’t exactly part of his plan. Neither was it part of Bulma’s plan and yet she sat there on the barstool, slurping noodles and patting her stomach, already fond of the person growing inside. 

“When we’ve finished eating, we’re going to tell your daddy,” she whispered to the baby as if sharing that would strengthen her courage. 

Never had she dreaded going home so much. She nearly threw up all the ramen she’d had on her drive back home. The lights were off in the Gravity Room and the kitchen was empty. With every step up the stairs she thought her legs might give out, that she might faint, but she had to do it. He had to know first.

She gave a soft knock on his bedroom door, but didn’t wait for a reply to open it. 

He emerged from the en-suite bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, and stared at her, still clutching her handbag. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, concern colouring his voice.

She couldn’t find the words and knew no other way than to show him, so she dropped her bag and walked up to where he was standing. 

Bulma reached out for Vegeta’s hand, put it on her lower stomach and held it there.

For a second he looked confused, but then his eyes grew wide.

Vegeta snatched his hand away as though he had burned it. Every grade of emotion flitted across him, like a wheel of chance, turning and turning. 

He shuddered until landing on one word.

“No.”

With that, the tiniest speck of hope that he could ever be happy about this, evaporated. Bulma closed her eyes to hold back tears. 

When she opened them, Vegeta was shaking his head.

“No. You led me to believe you were preventing this!” 

“I was preventing it!”

“You take this medicine that stops your bleeding, this little pill that should prevent this, I’ve seen you take it,” he rattled on as though she hadn’t spoken up. 

“I have been taking my birth control like always! When I went to my doctor, the only thing she could tell me was that this is an anomaly. Believe me, in all the years before, I’ve never had this happen! For all I know, it might be your fault, some sort of impossible Saiyan sperm immunity!” 

“This is not my responsibility!” he exclaimed.

“Right, I guess I must have gotten pregnant by myself.”

He winced at the word pregnant, like it made him ill. 

“I didn’t choose for… for a half-breed ,” he spat out.

The rage he’d stoked up overpowered her sadness then, the feeling familiar yet new, because now she wasn’t only defending herself, she was also defending her child. Their child. 

“No, you only chose to fuck me!” she yelled, “A weak, lowly, good-for-nothing-else Earth woman! Your princely Saiyan pride wasn’t in the way when you chose to do that!”

He practically trembled with shame, as though she had smacked him across the face. Bulma almost wished she had. She took a step towards him and held her head high.

“No matter how you feel about it, I am going to have this child,” she said. 

Bizarrely, he looked like he was about to laugh.

“You’re lying about taking that pill,” he concluded, like he had figured it all out. “You did this on purpose! You did it to tie me to you, to keep me here on Earth, fighting for you!”

It took her a while to process what he’d said. 

“Do you honestly think I would be that shrewd?” she could only stammer.

Cold and bitter, it was the Vegeta from Namek that stood before her then.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he said.

How dare he? How fucking dare he?

“Don’t flatter yourself, Vegeta! You think I’m some temptress with an agenda, scheming to let you knock her up? For all I care, you could be the strongest man in the universe and I still wouldn’t concoct such a plan!” 

Livid, she couldn’t stop spitting words like barbed wire.

“You’re selfish, arrogant and cruel! No woman in her right mind would want you to be the father of her child! You'd be delusional to think I would CHOOSE to have a baby with YOU!”

His face froze into a blank stare, the silence that followed so palpable it lay on them like thick snow. Underneath that icy veneer of his something cracked. To her shock, his eyes glistened. 

His mouth turned downward, his lip quivering.

“Vegeta…” she whispered.

As if he had no way left to defend himself, he retreated to his balcony. She rushed after him.

“Vegeta, please!”

She grabbed his arm, willed him to stay, but he yanked it back so hard she almost stumbled to the floor. 

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed and turned to her, the tears in his eyes on the verge of spilling.

“Leave me alone, woman! Why couldn’t you have just left me alone!”

He shot up in the dark sky and vanished. Bulma sank down on the balcony tiles, his name stuck in her throat.

In her distress, impulse had taken over like it always did. She’d panicked and shot him and it turned out Saiyans weren’t bulletproof after all. 

***

“Dad, I’m pregnant.”

Dr. Briefs stared at her. His cigarette almost dropped from his mouth so he put it aside, into the ashtray that perched on the workbench. 

They were standing side by side in front of the control panel of the Gravity Room, with Bulma clutching a wrench. When Vegeta still hadn’t returned four days after she’d told him, she figured she might as well start on the upgrades now the GR was unoccupied. It was sick and twisted in a way, though Bulma would rather keep busy than tear her hair out with worry over what was to come. She had asked her father for help on a particular tricky upgrade but couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

Her father took off his glasses, wiped his face with the sleeve of his lab coat. Putting his glasses back on, he gently clasped Bulma’s arms. 

“How wonderful,” he smiled at her with moist eyes.

Bulma’s voice nearly broke.

“Is it?”

“Of course, it is!”

Her father wrapped her in a hug, scented with aftershave and cigarettes. She hugged him back, the wrench she was holding still clasped in her hand. After they broke the hug, he took it from her, put it on the workbench next to the ashtray and peered at her thoughtfully.

“Have you told Vegeta?” he asked. 

“Why do you think he disappeared?” she scoffed.

“Now, darling, it can’t be that bad.”

Dr. Briefs sat down in one of the chairs behind the control panel. Bulma wiped her hands on her overalls and sighed.

“You should have seen him, dad. He was so angry!” 

She sat down on the empty chair next to Dr. Briefs, hugging her arms to her chest.

“He said some vile things to me. I got so upset, I said some vile things back,” she confessed.

“I'm sure you didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You love him.”

It wasn’t a question, just an observation by her dry-witted scientist father, said as easily as if he was stating facts.

She shook her head vehemently. Then she broke down.

With heaving sobs, she threw herself across her father’s lap. 

“I wish I didn’t,” she cried, “What’s the point? He can never feel the same.”

Dr. Briefs patted her head. 

“Vegeta loves you, too. He just doesn’t fully accept it yet.”

Bulma sat up and wiped her eyes, hiccuped as though her father had said something offensive. 

“Oh please, dad. He’s not capable of love, not like us. He doesn’t know how.”

Dr. Briefs shrugged.

“Love can be taught with patience. Goku was taught how to love.”

“Goku is different.” 

“Is he? From what you have told me, Goku was a wild and violent child, a true Saiyan, until he suffered a head-injury. That boy had to be conked on the head before he could show affection and love his grandfather.”

Dr. Briefs reached into one of the pockets of his lab coat, pulled out a pack of cigarettes which he put aside, then reached for another pocket and pulled out a packet of tissues. He offered one to Bulma, which she accepted. She blew her nose and sniffed.  

“What Vegeta needs is a good conk on the head,” Dr. Briefs continued, “With the way he’s been carrying on, that will inevitably happen one day.”

“So what, should I sit around and wait for him to suffer head-trauma? As if!”

Bulma looked at her lap and tore at the tissue.

“Besides, patience isn’t exactly my strongest suit,” she mumbled.

“What are you talking about? You are a very patient girl! You have the patience to invent all kinds of extraordinary things. You have the patience to go searching for those Dragon Balls time after time!”

“That’s not patience, dad, that’s stubbornness.”

“In which you and Vegeta are very much alike,” he said wisely. 

He got up from his seat and rubbed his daughter’s shoulders. Then he looked around the Gravity Room and stroked his moustache in contemplation.

“Vegeta is not as bad as he likes to think he is. It’s just what he does to survive. Like I said, Goku was a wild, violent Saiyan child, but he has been brought up here. Now imagine that Saiyan violence being nurtured, encouraged even. Imagine a child soldier who lost his family, his entire planet, by the same monster that enslaved him and made him do his bidding. A fallen prince who has taken this incredible physical and mental strain upon himself to become the stuff of legends and avenge his people, his legacy, only to have it taken away by someone else.”

Dr. Briefs took up his pack of cigarettes from the workbench and put one in between his lips.  

“An alien, proud yet lonely, trying to adjust to this strange planet we call Earth,” he continued, cigarette dangling. He dipped into his pocket for his lighter, then wrinkled his brow at Bulma as though he’d just remembered something. He put the unlit cigarette in the ashtray.

“I bet he has never known kindness until you offered it to him, Bulma,” he said. “Mercy maybe, but not kindness. Not until you offered to take him in and extended your friendship. Until you cared for him, loved him. I told you before that I admire the young man, but I don’t envy him. I have your mother, two wonderful daughters. I feel safe and loved. I don’t think Vegeta has allowed himself those feelings and that before you, nobody has ever offered.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced around.

“So what’s a man to do than to run off into the wilderness and deny himself all this happiness which feels so foreign to him?”

Bulma thought back to the summer, the joy she knew they’d both experienced by being together. How he’d smiled at her with ease, the tender look that betrayed something softer. How he’d given himself to her so completely that one night. That hatred afterwards, that had been fear, in disguise. She was so stupid. 

“Of course, it doesn’t take an old rocket-scientist like me to tell you all of this,” her father winked.

Her cheeks felt hot. She hadn’t put it into perspective until her father had spelled it out like that. Dr. Briefs wasn’t as oblivious as Bulma believed, not at all. Instead she was the one who had been blind, so tangled in her own feelings, that she couldn’t take a step back and observe.  

They were both in love with each other. They were both idiots. 

“Actually, that was quite helpful,” Bulma admitted, “Thanks, dad.” 

Dr. Briefs smiled.

“Mark my words! Even though Vegeta is an excellent runner, one day the poor bugger cannot outrun his true feelings. You’ll see.” 

He put the unlit cigarette in his mouth and seemed content to just have it there without smoking it.

“A baby in the family,” he sighed in delight, “One thing is for sure. Your mother is going to be thrilled.”

Chapter Text

He could feel him approach from miles and miles away. Though Vegeta had suppressed his power level these past few days, it shouldn’t be too difficult to notice his presence, if someone was powerful enough. Admittedly, he was camping out on his turf. 

In no time at all, the Namekian, also known as Raditz’s demise, landed at the cave’s entrance. He twitched his long green ears. Another alien, a domesticated villain, integrated into Earth’s little hero club. Vegeta wondered if he could stand to suffer the same fate. 

“I thought I sensed you,” Piccolo said. 

Arms crossed, he stared at Vegeta sitting motionless on the cave floor, glanced at the burnt logs and discarded fish bones in a pit. 

“What are you doing here? It doesn’t look like you’re training.”

“Leave me alone.”

Vegeta didn’t feel like shouting. Even though he despised all of Kakarot’s friends, he supposed he hated the Namekian the least. Apart from his blue-haired problem at Capsule Corp, that was. He had tried his best to hate her, too. Sometimes he succeeded, but most often, he couldn’t. Not even now.  

Piccolo gave no indication of leaving, but continued to study him like he was trying to assess something. 

“I don’t wish to fight you, Namekian,” Vegeta said, a little louder. 

“I’m so relieved.”

Unimpressed, deadpan delivery. This fucking guy. 

Vegeta leaned his head back against the cold, damp cave wall and closed his eyes, hoping the Namekian would get the hint. He remained standing on the spot, however, his continued stare digging holes into him.

“You know this is pointless,” Piccolo said, “This… sulking.”

“Fuck off,” Vegeta lashed out. 

This judgement coming out of nowhere irritated him. What was it to the Namekian if he had spent five days in this cave, not moving except to eat, shit or cry? He didn’t care about him, nor his training to achieve his goal. Everybody always assumed that Kakarot would save them. As far as Kakarot’s friends were concerned, Vegeta could still be rotting in hell and they’d be glad. Even the one person he had believed to perhaps think differently about him, had declared him inadequate. Selfish, arrogant and cruel. So be it. 

This information wasn’t new to him, so Vegeta couldn’t grasp why it had stung so much when she’d said it.

“You should go back to her,” Piccolo said suddenly. 

Vegeta opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to look at him.

“What?” he hissed. 

They shared a long hard stare. The Namekian flounced his cape as he made to turn away.

“You heard me,” he said, and flew off. 

He shrunk to a dot in the sky and Vegeta’s insides churned in disbelief. 

Was it possible that he knew? Did he have mind-reading abilities? Or had Bulma told everyone, in the span of five days, so that even the lone Namekian knew about his transgression? 

There was no question that the child was his, he’d felt it. A miniscule piece of himself buried into another person’s body, merged and morphed, alive. In the cave, the face that came before him most often was that of his own father, calling him sordid and dishonourable. That he had brought shame to his royal house by bringing forth such an abomination. Half-breeds weren’t allowed to live. He had never meant for this to happen, had planned to let his bloodline die with him. The choice, however, was out of his hands. 

He recalled her standing before him, that first time, her finger pressed to his lips moments before she got down on her knees for him.

“Don’t worry, Vegeta. I promise I won’t tell.”

When her stomach would swell, everybody would know anyway. They would know he had given in to desire, to lust, to this odd shimmer of feeling that had made him content. Happy. They would know that for all his talk of strength and Saiyan pride, the Earth woman had made him weak. 

He spat on the ground. The best thing about confirming to the world that yes, he had bedded Bulma Briefs, would be the satisfaction of seeing the look on that fucker Yamcha’s face. 

Peeling himself from the cave floor, he cursed the Namekian and his blasted advice, another crushing blow to his shredded pride. He’d already known that he had nowhere, no one else to go back to. 

***

He found her on hands and knees, retching in the downstairs restroom of the living quarters. The door was wide open and when she heard movement behind her, she looked up. 

“Oh, you’re back,” Bulma said, blue eyes watering,“Good.”

And then she heaved into the toilet bowl. 

Aghast, Vegeta searched the corridor but nobody was near to assist. He’d never seen her this vulnerable and despite everything, something in his chest constricted. Without knowing what else to do, he half-crouched behind her and held her long curls to prevent them from falling into her face. 

He had done her wrong, he knew that. He shouldn’t have come to her that one time, weeks ago. That final time. He had lain in bed, staring at his new uniform which was folded on a chair, unable to stop thinking about kissing her. And touching her. And her teeth sinking into his neck, leaving him at her mercy. He had never, never, offered himself like that to a woman, asking her to claim him. It made him angry, and worst of all, excited. Before he knew what he was doing he was stepping into the cold night, sliding open her balcony door. Even the very air in her room did things to him. 

He figured that she had been carrying the child already then, its life too faint for him to notice in his rush of need.  

Bulma sat up, tore off a wad of toilet paper to wipe her mouth. Her hair slipped from his fingers when she moved forward to flush.

“Of course you had to find me in the worst state imaginable,” she mumbled. 

Her demeanour was soft and embarrassed. Not the spitfire that slammed the balcony door in his face. He’d wanted to talk to her back then, finally address this thing between them, but what was there to say?

I wish you didn’t make me feel this way?

She started to scramble back to her feet and he helped her up by supporting her arms. Her soft flesh made his palms burn.   

“Is this normal?” he asked her.

“Nothing about this is normal, but yeah, this is usually what happens during pregnancy,” she said.

He stood by awkwardly as she turned on the faucet of the water fountain and rinsed her mouth. When she was finished, she peered at him in the little mirror. 

“I can’t seem to hold down my breakfast these past few days,” she explained, “And I’m starving. It’s an annoying combination, to say the least.”

Vegeta nodded, as though he agreed.

She turned and folded her arms against her chest.

“So are you done throwing a tantrum?” she asked. 

“Bulma, we need to talk.”

“No shit.”

They moved into the sitting room, which Vegeta had hardly visited during his stay. It held a fireplace, low glossy tables and several sofas and chairs that looked like plush, soft pods. Vast windows showed a good chunk of the yard and a dull, grey sky. 

Bulma sat down on one of the sofas, her arms still folded, legs crossed. Vegeta sat down in an opposite chair. She looked at him expectantly, signalling it wouldn’t be her who started this conversation. He exhaled deeply. 

“I acknowledge that this child is mine,” he said. 

“Way to state the obvious,” she huffed.

“I further acknowledge that you didn’t do this on purpose, but that this was an accident.”

She was starting to look angry already, but Vegeta pressed on.

“Against my wishes, you choose to have the child. I have to accept that. But I don’t think you understand, Bulma.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and she eyed him carefully.

“I have a mission, a calling,” he said, “I have to ascend and become a Super Saiyan. I have to surpass Kakarot, I must. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, will deter me from this.”

He’d contemplated this in the cave. Bulma was a human, with her own human ways. Having a child entailed something different here on Earth than on his planet, he had observed it. Children were coddled, not drilled into fighters as soon as they could walk. Parents were not distant individuals, but thoroughly bonded with their offspring. On Earth, parents reared children as a team, both using their respective strengths to see the child reach adulthood successfully. To him, any thought of involvement with the child was foreign, unreal. He could only picture himself becoming a Super Saiyan, defeating the androids and leaving Kakarot behind him in the dust. Nothing could live beyond that vision and he had been a fool to lose sight of it these past months. 

“I acknowledge the child, but I cannot be a father,” he said. 

She nodded slowly, as though it helped sink in his words. 

“I know you can’t,” she said after a while, “I don’t expect anything from you, I just…”

She stopped herself from talking and looked away. Tears ran down her cheeks. It made him so profoundly sad that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He shifted on the chair, aware of his clenched stomach. Bulma hugged her arms closer, pressed her lips together tightly. There was something that she wasn’t saying, something that she kept hidden inside.

“Bulma, speak your mind,” he tried.

“No,” she said and shook her head, “I can’t.”

“Bulma…” he insisted. An irrational desire gripped him to sit next to her and touch her but she sprang up and started pacing the room.

“I can’t,” she repeated, wiping her eyes, “It’s no use. Don’t ask me again.”

She halted in front of the window and stared at the sky. Droplets of rain splattered the glass, their patter filling the silence.  

“Will you stay at Capsule Corp?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Why she wanted the child was beyond him, let alone why she’d let him stay there to begin with. Yet what else could he do than accept this misplaced kindness?

“If you allow me to stay here for the time being, I will,” he said, “If not, I’ll leave.”

She sighed and kept talking to the glass. 

“My dad and I started the upgrades on the GR since you weren’t training in there. It’s tough in my current condition, but I’ll have it up and running in a couple of months. You can go to space then, like you planned.”

She never ceased to baffle him. Despite the upheaval of the situation, she was still willing to work on a common goal. He would have accepted it, if she vowed never to help him ever again. Whatever happened between them, she could put all of that aside and do what she excelled at. That was her version of fighting, he realised. Of all the women he had ever met in his life, some of them the fiercest of warriors, Bulma Briefs was one of the strongest. 

What could he say?

“I’m grateful for that,” he stammered.

She turned around, her eyes both kind and sad.

“Can we still count on you to fight the androids?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then nothing really changes,” she said, “Except that it’s over between us and I’m having your baby.”

She looked about to cry again. A sudden sting assaulted his eyes.

“Excuse me, I need to lie down now,” she said. 

As she hurried past him, a searing pain burned his core. A pain equal to when his tail was cut off or when he was shot in the chest by Frieza. It grew and grew and he had to look out of the window until she left the room and dig his nails into his knees to keep the tears from falling. Just now, something had ruptured inside of him and he didn’t understand what was happening. He tried to even his breath, which came out in shallow stutters.

With Bulma affirming this severance between them, Vegeta found a bleeding heart in the cavity of his chest he’d always supposed to be empty. He could hide from her for weeks, he could convince himself Bulma fixed the spaceship in aid to save Earth first and foremost. He could pretend having sex with her meant nothing to him. He could keep on denying what he suspected since he’d seen her sleeping next to his hospital bed after the GR had exploded. 

She cared for him. And in truth, he cared for her, too. Against his better judgement, he wanted her to be his, all his. His body, his heart, had known before his mind that he wanted to be hers as well.

In her company, he had allowed himself to let his guard down. He’d surprised himself by what had been hidden behind his armour and it was Bulma who had drawn it out. She made him laugh, act playful even. She made him passionate, possessive. Her lightness of being illuminated something of his darkness. It unburdened him, made him feel like he could be good. She had made him see the possibility of being another kind of person, a different version of himself.

But that flew in the face of all he had known before, every single belief he had held true. Both Vegeta and the world he lived in, were bad. He had chosen a path for himself, one he would continue to tread alone. He’d remain untied to anyone, even though he was linked to another person by a child. Perhaps his feelings for her would fade, like those of a severed limb, yet he feared a phantom imprint would forever be palpable, no matter how much time would pass. 

Never mind that, the voice of reason inside him commanded. Let it shrivel, it said, let it die. That voice, which had returned after months of absence, sounded an awful lot like his father. King Vegeta, who beseeched him to be a true Saiyan through and through. 

As soon as Vegeta acknowledged he’d wanted to belong to the Earth woman, the thought had to be torn up and discarded. When the room had stopped spinning, he got up from his chair and prepared to continue his training.

***

The following morning he was roused by an unholy screech from the kitchen.

Fearing some great danger had presented itself, despite not sensing anything out of the ordinary, he rushed over, only for a petite and busty blonde shape to engulf him in a surprisingly strong embrace as soon as he stepped into the room.

Bulma’s mother clung to him, still holding a spatula, and produced noises that Vegeta could now identify as yelps of glee. 

“Oh, Vegeta, sweetheart! I AM SO HAPPY!” she cooed in his ear at full volume. 

Across from them, Bulma was leaning against the counter in exasperation, holding a mug of tea. Whilst being smothered, Vegeta stared at her helplessly, but she made no move to intervene.  

“Panchy dear, give the man some air,” Dr. Briefs said, seated at the kitchen table eating a cheese omelette. 

Bulma’s mother loosened her embrace to face Vegeta and he almost thought she was going to kiss him on the mouth, but instead she proceeded to yell at him.

“THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME A GRANDMOTHER!”

“Let’s not overreact here, mom,” Bulma said. She took up her own plate of omelette which sat on the counter and walked over to her father at the table. 

“Now let go of Vegeta before you scare him away.”

Bulma’s mother pressed him close again, then released him with a giggle. 

“Oh my, it’s like hugging one of those handsome Greek statues.”

Vegeta prayed for the pits of hell to open themselves and swallow him, which would be preferable to bearing this. So Bulma had told her parents. And instead of cursing his existence for impregnating their daughter out of wedlock, her mother praised and thanked him. These Earthlings were truly on another level of unsane.

Panchy heaped a plate with toast and omelette and started chattering.

“You know, I had given up on my Tights years ago, all my hope was set on our darling Bulma to make my wish come true. And then you came to live here and I knew, I KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN!”

Vegeta flinched and accepted the plate from Panchy, which she presented with a wide smile. She must have been desperate to continue their bloodline and have counted on both her daughter’s feminine wiles and Vegeta’s eventual weakness.   

“Apparently she knew before either one of us,” Bulma grumbled from her spot at the table.

“Call it a mother’s intuition, honey! You’ll soon understand what I’m talking about!”

For a brief moment, he entertained the thought that Panchy’s nefarious wishmaking had been the actual cause of all of this, instead of a faulty contraceptive method, but the notion was too absurd. Nevertheless, he did blame her for making those strawberry drinks a tad too strong that one summer night, which was but a small link in the chain of events that led up to this. 

He was ushered to his regular spot at the table and saw no other option than to sit down. While Panchy kept chattering to Bulma about impending motherhood, which Bulma bore with many sighs and eyerolls, Dr. Briefs gave him a tiny nod.  

 “Good to see you’re back, Vegeta,” he said, in a rather amused tone.

Just like that, he was back into the Briefs fold, no questions asked. He had to say something to relieve the awkwardness on his part. 

“I’d like to thank you, Dr. Briefs, for starting the upgrade on the Gravity Room with Bulma,” he muttered.

“No need to thank me. I’m just doing my small part in protecting the Earth and my family,” he said with a humorous twinkle in his eye. Nausea followed the realisation that Dr. Briefs meant Vegeta was now part of that family.

***

One day, a black and white picture hung on the refrigerator door with magnets. Upon closer inspection, it was a photograph of some strange alien creature. 

“It’s a boy,” Bulma said, when she caught him looking. She’d switched out her beloved coffee for a sweet smelling tea which she was preparing when he came into the kitchen. 

“You mean this is the child?” he asked.

“Yeah, I had a scan,” she said, “He’s doing really well.”    

“Good,” Vegeta said, because he didn’t know what else to say and grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge. 

Bulma stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“My mom put that picture up there, because she wanted you to see him,” she said and left the kitchen.

This summarised the situation these past months. Every interaction they shared was neutral, civilised even. You’d never think they’d been intimate, let alone that she was carrying their child. All those times they’d had sex seemed so distant to Vegeta, they might as well have happened in another life. Sometimes he thought he’d imagined it, that they hadn’t had rough sex on the kitchen island where they now exchanged polite conversation. Bulma’s stomach however, which was starting to protrude a little, reminded him that all of it had been very real. It was like they were strangers to each other, until inevitably a remark or a look or a memory would reveal the heaviness that lingered between them.

Though he didn’t avoid Bulma, he found it hard to be in the same room as her. He often dreamed about her, unfortunately. He dreamed that she captured him and chained him to a bed, but that instead of trying to escape, he begged her to fuck him. Much like before, he was disgusted with himself. He tried to combat it with ice cold showers, meditating and redirecting each and every thought that steered towards her. It was worse when he dreamed that he was lying next to her peacefully, holding and caressing her body, only to wake up alone. Then all that had happened since flooded back and he wanted to scream and punch through the wall. Every shred of feeling needed to be muffled, decimated. Even though she spoke of experiencing physical discomforts, somehow she was more beautiful than ever to him.

They had worked out a kind of schedule around the Gravity Room, alternating when Bulma and her father were making upgrades and when he could train. During the time he couldn’t make use of the room, he focused on meditating. He practised becoming an empty vessel, devoid of emotion. He could dwell in this abyss of nothingness for long periods, but there would always be a tendril of feeling that reached him eventually. He also tried reaching deep inside and seeking out how he used to feel, back before he’d ever heard of the Dragon Balls and met Kakarot and his cohorts. It was like looking for a place you used to know, but couldn’t find it, even though you were sure you’d passed it many times. He was convinced that if he could only leave Earth, if he could get back into space, he would find it again. 

By now, he had a year and five months left to reach ascension. The final month of the Earth calendar brought a lot of fuss with it. Similar to last year, decorated trees appeared in the living quarters, small twinkling lights hung everywhere and Bulma’s mother prepared even more food than usual. A special feast was held near the end of the month and, for a reason which still eluded him, he received gifts. There were casual clothes from Panchy and extra training bots from Dr. Briefs. Bulma gave him a stack of fresh uniforms and breastplates and a half a dozen pairs of boots and gloves, all improved according to his suggestions. 

“You tend to go through them quickly, so I thought it would be good to have a small supply for when you leave for space,” she said, presenting the gifts after the feast. She was wearing a big white sweater and had her hair brushed out in soft waves, making her look like some glowing celestial being.

He excused himself for the rest of the evening and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and wished he could stop existing for just a little while. 

In the week before the new year would start, Panchy let slip that Yamcha had called and that Bulma had told him about the pregnancy. Apparently he had fainted stone-cold, still holding the telephone receiver. Vegeta barked out a laugh at that. As he had understood from snippets of conversation between her parents, Bulma had been private about her condition and avoided the public eye. She had stopped going to functions and board meetings. News outlets were bought off, contracts were signed by employees and it remained very quiet around Capsule Corp. 

With Yamcha back from his so-called training, or whatever the hell he had been doing in that desert, and expressing an interest in how Bulma had been, she’d had no choice but to tell him. The news was so upsetting that the following day, Yamcha’s red convertible tin-can sat in the driveway when Vegeta left the GR. He could sense his energy, all spikes and nettles, together with Bulma’s, in the sitting room. 

When he approached, he heard his familiar, obnoxious sputter.

“-don’t understand!”

“I don’t know, it just happened! Like I told you on the phone before you passed out, I was on birth control! Why the hell have you even come here?”

“I came because I had to see it to believe it!”

“Well, as you can see, this is a baby bump, Yamcha! Not a few extra pounds from Christmas dinner! Do you want to see the ultrasound scan, too?”

“So he gets you pregnant and then he wants to bail and fly off into space and you actually help him? That no-good, sneaky, fucking, pint-sized ape lord?”

That was Vegeta’s cue to appear in the doorframe.

“Well, well. It seems like you’ve got something to say to me,” he said.

“Oh gods, here we go,” Bulma muttered.

Yamcha stood up from his chair, shaking with anger.

“You bastard. You dirty, rotten son-of-a-bitch.” 

Vegeta gave a low whistle.

“Those are bold words for some asshole who got dumped cheating for the fourth time.”

Bulma lept from her seat.

“I’m not sitting through this, it’s too much stress for the baby,” she said as she marched to the door, “You two can fight this one out together.”

While she squeezed herself past him, she looked at him pointedly.

“Try to not kill each other!” she urged.

He waited for her footsteps to retreat down the hall until he addressed Yamcha again.

“So you’ve heard the news and came to defend poor, innocent Bulma from the bad man who has taken advantage of her? How chivalrous!”

He walked towards him, heightening his energy. Yamcha didn’t budge and kept standing straight, fists clenched. Vegeta gave him his best smirk.

“You were nervous, weren’t you? About me being near her all the damn time. It must feel so good to be right about something.”

Yamcha winced, great gushes of resentment rolling off of him and Vegeta basked in them. He came so close, he could see the light flecks in Yamcha’s dark brown irises, the fine lines of the scar on his otherwise handsome face.

“You see, Yamcha , during all those months while you were lying in her bed, I would have fucked her all the same. All she had to do was ask for it. And guess what? After she dumped you, it took one month until she came to my bedroom and bent over for me.”

It was better than punching him in the gut. Yamcha looked ready to break. To Vegeta’s surprise, however, he spoke in a firm, calm voice. 

“You’re a piece of shit, Vegeta. Not for sleeping with Bulma, because yeah, you’re right. I knew you wanted to. There was always a tension between you two, I felt it. I knew the moment I’d be out of the picture, it would happen.”

He frowned at him deeper and stood a little taller, even though he was already towering over Vegeta.

“But then you get her pregnant and let her fend for herself? That makes you trash! She said that you don’t even want to be involved with the kid.”

All the self-satisfaction Vegeta had felt a moment ago was eclipsed by anger. His energy crackled dangerously, but Yamcha still wouldn’t budge and kept glowering at him in deep disapproval.

“I have no interest in your pathetic Earth sentimentality!” Vegeta yelled at him, “You have no right to lecture me or attempt to make me feel guilty! You, of all people! A liar and a cheater! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you on the spot!”

“Because Bulma doesn’t want you to. And despite how tough you act, I suspect you actually care about her.”

Vegeta could sense his face falling, before it registered to his brain what Yamcha had deduced. Yamcha noticed it too, his expression shifting to amazement. Spurred on by the nerve he had evidently struck, Yamcha kept talking.

“Is that why you keep your distance from her and the baby? Are you trying to fight it?”

Vegeta had murdered men for less. He grabbed a fistful of Yamcha’s knit sweater and pulled him down to his eye-level. He could do it. Vegeta could wring his neck and squeeze out that triumphant look, like that dumb oaf just had a profound revelation about Vegeta’s deepest inner self. Gods, how badly did he want to. 

Instead, he whispered to Yamcha in his most vicious voice, giving him his darkest look.

“When the androids appear, I hope they kill you first.”

He let him go and didn’t even watch him stumble backwards before he left the room.

***

“I still don’t understand why Vegeta can’t stay here, at least until the baby is born,” Panchy sniffled.

“Come on, mom. We’ve gone over this,” Bulma sighed, “Those killer androids are gonna be here before you know it and Vegeta needs all the time he can get to level up and defeat them. And it’s best if he does that away from here, where he can power up and not accidentally blow up the planet.”

“I guess, but it doesn’t feel right,” Panchy mumbled.

“We just have to accept that,” Bulma said quietly. 

The Briefs stood in front of the Gravity Room, huddled in their winter coats. Vegeta was wearing his new armour, which adjusted itself to whatever the temperature was. It was the third week of January and everything was in order for Vegeta’s launch into space. Dr. Briefs and Bulma had walked him through the additional and improved features, supplies of every kind had been brought on board and the GR resembled a spaceship again. They really had done a wonderful job.

The person who appeared to be the saddest at his farewell was Panchy. She had already given him two tearful hugs he had been unable to dodge and carefully dabbed her eyes with a frilly handkerchief. Dr. Briefs patted him on the shoulder amiably and told him to look out for himself. 

Now Bulma turned to him, her beauty so radiant that he was seized by fear and worried he might change his mind about this whole mission, if he stayed in her presence any longer. As of late he found himself drawn to her like a magnet, gauging her energy like he couldn’t help it. He wanted to get this damn goodbye over with as soon as possible. 

“I guess you’re all set.There’s plenty of food in the capsules. It should last you for about a year and a half,” Bulma said, even though she had already explained this and he nodded.

“Also, the clock has a built-in count down system. Wherever you are in the galaxy, at whatever distance from Earth, it should alert you exactly when it’s time to travel back. The computer automatically sets a course for Earth, but you can override that, if you choose to.”

He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t override the computer, that he would be back in time, but she suddenly gasped and clutched her stomach. Thinking she was about to faint, Vegeta reached out and held her by her arms. A tiny pulse of energy, which made him feel odd and warm, skipped from her body like static electricity. It wasn’t Bulma’s yet felt strangely familiar. They gaped at each other.

“What just happened?” Vegeta asked.

“The baby, he kicked,” she said.

He blinked at her and quickly let go of her arms.

“You felt that?” she asked.

He nodded and wanted to run, blast off immediately.

“I must leave,” he stammered, feeling like an idiot. 

He made to board the ship, but halted at the sound of her voice.

“Vegeta, I…” she began.

He turned around to look at her. 

“What is it?” he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, her lips opening like she was about to speak. But then she closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Nothing. Make sure you come back in time.”

“I will,” he said. 

He forced himself to walk away from her, enter the ship, sit at the control panel and take off.

***

In the vast darkness of space, Vegeta could finally breathe. He had expected to slip back into his old sense of self seamlessly, once all he could see outside of his ship was a black void. This took longer than he’d expected. Being stationed on one spot for almost two years had made it more difficult to get used to space travel again. He’d never been anywhere as long as he had been on Earth, he realised. 

Dr. Briefs had installed, in his words, a nifty little programme which sought out uninhabited planets in remote parts of the galaxy. Currently the course was set to one on the outskirts of the starsystem next to Earth. Apart from not interacting with living beings, Vegeta’s time on board wasn’t much different than at Capsule Corp. After he had regained his space-legs, he followed the same kind of regime, but with all the additional features aboard cranked up to heighten the intensity of his training. He dialled the GR setting to 450 times Earth’s gravity and made intense use of the improved training bots. He prepared his freeze-dried meals by simply opening the capsules they were stored in and popping them in the microwave. He washed himself in the new, efficient steam chamber and the upgraded pod-bed he slept in was more comfortable than before.

He was strict and meticulous, grinding himself to the bone every waking hour, making him feel like his old self. That was until, inevitably, he would dream about Bulma. His sleep had been fine at first. He’d had the occasional dream about fighting Kakarot, or of beating Frieza to a pulp. Nothing to throw him off. Then, Bulma appeared. The dreams he had about her varied from mundane to erotic to grandiose. In his dreams, she was running her fingers through his hair with that defiant look of hers in her eyes as he was pounding into her. They were eating the delicious birthday cake at midnight and her laugh made him smile. One time, he dreamed he was crowned king of Vegetasei, but that the planet resembled Earth more than anything, and that Bulma was his queen. Dreams like these soured his mood and impacted his training. It helped if he meditated for at least an hour before bed.

He had been travelling for five months, when he woke up from a dream like his insides were being ripped out. A sharp piercing scream, crying out for the gods, for release from this immense pain. A voice which called out his name, had made him turn around while boarding the spaceship. He felt an energy splicing itself, tearing itself away in waves. It went on and on until suddenly, immense relief. Drenched in sweat, he got up from his bed and he knew that the child had been born. 

Training didn’t eradicate all the thoughts and feelings that bombarded him. He needed a distraction, he had to feel something solid and alive beneath his feet, if only for a moment. There was a planet nearby, some insignificant little thing with not many lifeforms, all of them incapable of great power. On an impulse, Vegeta set a course to land. 

It was daytime and the sky was a warm, saturated blue. Like her hair, he couldn’t help but think. What would the child look like, more human or more Saiyan? Who would he resemble? 

He had sat down at the edge of a lake, some distance away from his ship, which had landed on a plain of yellow vegetation. There was a mild breeze, which was a welcome change from the still, climate controlled GR. Across the lake was a forest, shimmering with trees of orange and red. As the earth grounded him, he hoped Bulma was okay. Though he tried not to think about her, he missed her terribly. Apart from his father, she was the only person he had ever missed.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the energy of someone approaching, until they appeared in his periphery. It was a humanoid man who seemed well advanced in age. He had a shock of white hair, which was braided at the temples, greyish skin and wore a dark green tunic. He was of stocky build, but one head shorter than Vegeta. His power level was worthless.Though his energy was racked with nerves when he’d spotted him, the man put on a brave face and addressed him in Galactic Standard.

“Are you from the Planet Trade Organisation?” he asked. 

“I’m not,” Vegeta answered, “The PTO is dead, old man.”

This seemed to relieve the man and he came closer.

“I’m so sorry, but that suit you are wearing looks like the ones the Planet Trade Organisation used to wear,” he said.

The man stared at him curiously.

“You are a Saiyan, is that correct?” he asked, which surprised Vegeta. 

“I am,” he answered. He would never deny his race, not even if he weren’t keen on making conversation with random old men on random small planets.

The man’s yellow eyes grew wide.

“Are the rumours true? They say a Saiyan has slaughtered Lord Frieza and King Cold on a planet called Earth! They also say a Saiyan has squashed all the remnant branches of the Planet Trade Organisation!”

It was old news, but Vegeta supposed these kinds of things made their way slowly to backwater planets such as these. 

“It is true that Frieza and Cold have been slain by the hand of a Saiyan, though it wasn’t me who did it,” Vegeta muttered, “I did however track down the remaining PTO branches and disbanded them by force.”

Upon hearing this, the old man bent down and grabbed his hand, shook it fervently.

“Bless you, Saiyan! Our planet had been in the clutches of the PTO for decades, until suddenly all soldiers and commanders were called to their central post and never returned! It must have been you who’d defeated them!” he rattled on and genuine tears of joy appeared in his eyes.

Vegeta gaped at this open-hearted display, his irritation increasing by the second.

“You’re a hero to our people!” the old man exclaimed, “Thank you! A thousand times, thank you!”

He wanted to tell the old man, I haven’t done this for you! I wasn’t thinking about your puny people! I did it for myself, my own revenge! He pulled his hand back in disgust but the old man took no heed.

“What is your name, Saiyan friend?” he asked, “Mine is Onmo.”

“Leave me alone, old man,” Vegeta grumbled, “I have no interest in camaraderie.”

He stood up and turned to walk back to his ship. So much for his detour. As always, other beings proved to be nothing but a nuisance.

“Thank you, Saiyan! May the gods forever smile upon you!” the man cried out behind him.

A face flashed before him, like it had tumbled from the boxes Vegeta kept so tightly locked inside his mind. An ugly bug face, thanking him profusely. Arlia, the planet where he and Nappa had killed the people’s oppressor, because he’d had the audacity to capture them. Together with Nappa, he was heralded a hero, celebrated. Then he had blown up Arlia, and all the revolting, liberated, bug-faced people on it. He had obliterated it into nothing, because the planet was worthless to him and the PTO. 

Who was it then, that walked away from this nosy old man in mild chagrin? Who had let go of an irritating weakling who’d scolded him, while prying into his psyche? Not that same Vegeta from Arlia, who killed without a second thought. Would that Vegeta have accepted the fact he had a half-breed bastard son with an Earth woman, or would he have done what was now an unspeakable horror to him? To exterminate everyone who thwarted him?

He entered his ship and made to get the hell away. It was foolish to think he would feel like his old self again in space. There was no old self to return to. Something had irrevocably changed and his old self was dead. 

***

The abandoned vulcano planet, all craggy rocks and oozing lava, had been crackling with an electric storm when he landed on it, a perfect visual representation of what was raging inside of him. It was a threatening, dangerous place, which was just what he needed. Vegeta had been in space for so long now, he feared that any day the clock would strike the hour he had to return to Earth. He had been on three planets for his training, yet he was no closer to being a Super Saiyan than he had been before. 

As though the inky sky had heard his plea for a challenge, a meteor shower descended upon him. He blasted rock after rock, let off a series of brutal attacks. He had to push his limits, give his all to protect himself and his ship. Training in 450 times the Earth’s gravity for months and months on end had taken a toll on him, however. Whilst avoiding lighting bolts and splashes of lava, he was pummelled by debris, but he took it. All that mattered was keeping his ship safe, his only way back to Earth. The sky went quiet and he thought he’d made it through. He was beyond exhaustion, his powers unable to stretch any further. But then a shadow fell over the smouldering, rocky valley. He turned and his heart sank.

A meteor, gigantic and menacing, loomed over him. Vegeta looked down at his torn armour that had been crafted so meticulously, his red soaked gloves. The blood was his willpower, leaving his body, his very soul. It was too much, too big. All of it. He couldn’t do it. He simply didn’t have what it took. He sank to his knees in the grey, glittering dust, a warrior defeated.

It was not his own life that flashed before him, but the lives of the ones he had left behind on Earth. He saw it play out with perfect clarity. Piccolo, Gohan, Krillin, Tien and Yamcha patrolled the city on the day the androids appeared. When the androids came, they fought them off bravely. Kakarot was nursed to health from the virus the boy had predicted he would contract. Just in time, Kakarot arrived on the scene and defeated the evil androids. Bulma was holding the baby. Yamcha reached out for her hand and they smiled. She was happy. Once again, Earth was saved and everyone was better off without him. 

He had never deserved her, anyway. He’d never deserved happiness. He should have stayed dead and buried on Namek until the planet had burst, his corpse obliterated, scattered throughout the universe. There were no second chances for people like him. He should die again, for good. He didn’t care anymore. Kakarot was superior to him and nothing mattered. 

He closed his eyes, ready for the impact.

A voice within objected.

No.

From deep inside, a trickle like molten gold followed. Slow at first, then flowing, rushing until it coursed his veins. His muscles convulsed and he opened his eyes. 

A phosphorus glow crackled over his arm, like bolts of lightning, static and shining. It cascaded down his body, cocooned him and he ignited, a spark flaring up over and over. Then, he knew how to power up, as though he had not spent years pursuing this golden rush, as though it came natural to him. The voice within soared, rose out of expanded lungs. 

This is not where it ends.

He got to his feet. No matter how many times he got knocked down, he always got back up. The air around him fizzled and popped. It felt greater than being an Oozaru, this resplendent confidence. He pressed one palm to the sky, to the meteor that could have ended his life. 

He gathered the power and it was everything he had ever wanted, more might than he had ever possessed. 

Vegeta, the prince of all Saiyans, had ascended.

Chapter Text

Bulma wasn’t frightened when she heard the soft footsteps coming over the baby monitor in the middle of the night. She didn’t even have to look at the screen to know with certainty who it was. 

The baby kept quiet, blissfully asleep after his nightly feeding. He’d been getting better sleep than Bulma over the past months. Whereas he drifted off within minutes, she had gotten into the habit of lying awake until dawn. She would count down: six weeks, five weeks, four weeks until the androids would arrive. Though she could, she refused to track the spaceship. 

But now, three weeks until the big day, footsteps in the baby’s room. Her parents never woke up at this hour, but gladly took the morning shift from her to take care of the baby so that she could stay in bed a little longer. There was only one person who would think to slip into Capsule Corp in the dead of night without the alarms going haywire.

She turned on the light on her nightstand and stepped out of bed. Putting on her fluffy robe, she spotted her reflection in the mirror, patted down her hair and checked for stains of baby spit. There was no point in being vain, yet she couldn’t help but want to appear somewhat presentable. 

Padding to the room next to her’s on her house slippers, she spotted him in the soft glow of the night-light through the door that was kept ajar. Arms crossed, back straight, he was standing in front of the crib and peered into it with his usual frown. In the time he had gone, she’d almost forgotten how powerful his presence was. That despite his short stature, he could command a room by simply standing there. He had put even more bulk on his frame, his biceps bulging. He was wearing the suit she’d made him and it clung to his body like every ridge was chiselled into it. Her lower stomach gave an involuntary lurch.

Though he made no sign of acknowledgement, Bulma knew he had sensed her already. 

“I didn’t hear the spaceship,” she said, by way of greeting.

“I landed in the mountains,” Vegeta replied, his gaze fastened on the crib.

Kami, that voice of his, she couldn’t help but think. A deep, controlled rasp that still ran down her spine.

Only when she approached, did he look up and his black eyes betrayed surprise.

“Your hair, you’ve changed it,” he said. 

Her hand went to her short, straight bob.

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, “The perm was a lot of upkeep and the long hair got in the way, so I cut it.”

“You had the same hairstyle on Namek.”

“You remembered.”

He gave no further comment, but turned his attention to the crib again. She came to stand next to him and they both looked at the baby, who was asleep on his back and shifted, rubbing his clenched little fist against his cheek. 

“He has ridiculous colouring for a Saiyan,” Vegeta scoffed.

“He has his grandpa’s lilac hair and my blue eyes,” Bulma said, keeping her voice soft, “Otherwise he looks exactly like you, down to the scowl.”

“He doesn’t have a tail, does he?”

“No, he was born without one. It might be a recessive gene in half-Saiyans. Gohan had a tail, but Trunks only has a little bump on his tailbone.”

Vegeta looked up at her, brows pinched.

“Trunks? You named him Trunks?”

“Well, what should I have named him? Vegeta the Fifth? Asparagus or Broccoli or some other weird Saiyan name?”

“No, obviously naming your spawn after undergarments is much better!” Vegeta grumbled and Bulma shushed him before he woke the baby.

“It’s kind of a tradition in my family. I think it sounds cute.”

She grabbed the collar of her robe and huddled into its warmth.

“Besides, you weren’t here to give any input,” she pointed out.

He had nothing to say to that, but continued to look at the baby.

“He feels strong,” he said after a while. 

“He is. Like his dad.”

The words had slipped out without thinking. Next to her, Vegeta tensed and made to walk away.

“I have to go and prepare for the battle,” he said.

“What? You just got here and the battle is in three weeks.”

“I have to ground my powers on Earth.”

“Wait!”

She touched his arm to stop him. Though he didn’t pull away, his expression was so hard it could have pulverised her, but she wasn’t intimidated. 

“Did you do it?” she asked, “Did you ascend?”

The smallest of smiles played on his lips and that was all the confirmation Bulma needed.

“I knew you would,” she said.

Her hand was still on him and even through the suit she could feel his familiar body heat. Face to face, he had the same effect on her, like no time had passed between now and when he had lain in her bed. He looked as though he was about to speak when a soft gurgling came from the crib. 

Bulma sighed and let go of Vegeta’s arm.

“Oh no, either we were talking too loudly, or he senses something is different in the room.” 

She returned to the crib and hovered over Trunks, who blinked at her in confusion.

“Hi, Trunksy!” she said and lifted him up. 

Happy to see her, Trunks beamed at Bulma, until he took notice of Vegeta. He gaped at him and Vegeta gaped back, like either person was the strangest thing they’d ever seen. Apparently Trunks did find Vegeta intimidating, because he started pouting and squirming. Bulma kissed his head and held him to her chest.

“It’s okay, sweety. That’s your daddy,” she whispered, rocking him in her arms for comfort.

Meanwhile, Vegeta’s frown was deepening with every whimper Trunks gave.

“Do you want to hold him?” Bulma tried and instantly regretted the question.

“Why would I want to hold a mewling, drooling creature like that?” he replied. 

“Because he is your son!” 

“You mean your son!”

Trunks began to cry in earnest and Vegeta recoiled. 

“I’ve never heard a more whining, grating noise in my entire life,” he said, nose wrinkling in disgust, “Except for you of course, woman.”

His words, his stance, the very look in his eyes as he observed her and the baby, were like a slap in the face. 

“Wow, that’s incredible, you really levelled up! You’ve become even more of a pig-headed prick!” she hissed, “I didn’t know that was possible! You might be a Super Saiyan now, but you’re also still a super asshole!”

“And you’re still a vexing shrew!” came his brilliant retort.

“Whatever, just leave again,” she muttered, cradling a crying Trunks against her, “I don’t know why you bothered showing up here in the first place if you’re gonna be such a rude jerk!”

“Believe me, I cannot fathom what possessed me to come here either!” he growled and walked out the door.

***

Everything, all of it, was worse than they’d expected. 

On the morning of the androids’ arrival, Bulma was ready to board the aircraft with Trunks when her mother appeared on the lawn. 

“Honey, do you really think it’s a good idea to bring the baby to the battlefield?” Panchy asked. 

“Relax, mom. I just want to show Trunks to the guys and get a glimpse of those androids before I head back. I’m not actually staying for the battle!”

“Oh alright,” Panchy muttered, “But try to come back before nap-time!”

“And be careful, sweetheart!” her mother shouted as she took off to pick up Yamcha. 

In hindsight, her mother had been right. It hadn’t been a good idea to fly out with the baby to meet the guys, since her aircraft was spotted shortly after and blown to bits. 

Bulma and her baby were saved, not by Vegeta, but by the purple haired boy, who had returned to fight the androids as well. 

That boy was Trunks, her own son, from the future. His soft lilac hair had turned a deeper shade of purple and he looked so familiar because it were her own blue eyes that had regarded her shyly, peering out from Vegeta’s face which wasn’t set in a permanent frown. Her own Trunks had turned into a Super Saiyan before their eyes and defeated Frieza, his father’s worst enemy, three years ago. He had known what would happen, how Goku would get sick, how the androids would come and kill all of Earth’s best fighters, because he had lived through it. He had come here in a time machine that she, Bulma, had built. The truth about who the purple haired boy really was had been kept from her, from Vegeta, in the fear that if they knew, Trunks wouldn’t be conceived. Whereas Bulma was delighted by the boy, his father was decidedly not. 

Vegeta was late to arrive, putting on a dramatic scene with his Super Saiyan transformation. He hardly batted an eye when Bulma’s aircraft was blown up as a diversion, putting her and the baby in mortal peril. He was too preoccupied with where the android who did it had run off to. In the moment it didn’t phase her. All she cared about was if her baby was alright. But Trunks from the future got so angry, he confronted Vegeta about it, only to get punched in the stomach. Bulma felt bad for him. Trunks had never known Vegeta, since in his timeline, he was killed shortly after Trunk’s birth. She wondered what she, Bulma from his timeline, had told him about his father. Had she been honest about how cold and ruthless Vegeta could be? Clearly the boy had been anticipating meeting his father, and the live version proved to be a harsh reality.

In their current timeline, things had changed for the worse and they only gradually discovered how bad it really was. The androids that had shown up, Android 19 and Android 20, were not the ones from Trunks’s timeline. They nearly killed Yamcha, when he first spotted them. Android 19 was crushed by Vegeta, but Android 20 escaped. Bulma’s presence at the scene had brought one good thing, however. It was she who recognised Android 20 as Doctor Gero, before he blew up her aircraft. She remembered him as a brilliant scientist, formerly associated with the Red Ribbon army, presumed to be dead. He was the creator of the androids and had preserved himself in their likeness. They were unable to stop Doctor Gero from retreating to his hide-out and activating his other creations. But his vindictive children, longing for freedom, killed the doctor for his kindness. 

There were three of them. Android 16, a red-headed mountain of a man, with a passive air and a soldier’s solemnity, whose sole mission was to annihilate Goku. The other two were twins. Android 17, a handsome boy with black hair and a cock-sure attitude and Android 18, a beautiful, icy, blonde girl. It was the twins who Trunks recognised from his timeline, who had killed everyone in his future. 

Here was the problem with these androids: they didn’t tire. Their powersource seemed inexhaustible, like running on endless batteries. The fighters couldn’t defeat them, though they certainly tried. Their battle climaxed after Android 18 broke both of Vegeta’s arms. The androids didn’t even bother to kill the fighters, they simply left them to lick their wounds. Instead, they sought a new diversion. They decided to complete Android 16’s mission to find and kill Goku. Luckily, Korin had provided them with some Senzu Beans to heal the fighters, but their hopes, and Vegeta’s pride, remained severely damaged. 

To stall the androids, Goku was stowed away on the island of Kame House, to recover from the illness that had taken hold of him. During this time, Bulma made some terrifying discoveries. Together with Future Trunks and Gohan, she found a shed skin, like from a giant insect, an enormous eggshell indicating something had hatched from it. They found a second time machine, the same one Trunks had used, but corroded, as though the machine had been there a while. Something else had followed Trunks from the future, a creature more fearsome than the androids, engineered from the cells of all the world’s best fighters. It even contained particles of Frieza. It was Doctor Gero’s most horrifying back up plan, which was simply called: Cell. This monster was the real threat.

Formed like some nightmare locust, he absorbed humans through his tail, their screams still emanating from inside of him. He emptied city after city this way, growing stronger. To reach perfection, his most powerful form, he needed to swallow his siblings, Android 17 and Android 18. It became Bulma’s number one priority to prevent that from happening. 

She made a detonator which set off the self-destruct feature programmed into Android 17 and 18. It was too late for Android 17. Cell found him, swallowed him and became even more powerful. All her hope was set on Krillin when she gave him the detonator. But then Krillin couldn’t press the button because Android 18 was a pretty blonde girl. In hindsight, Bulma was relieved that he couldn’t. Android 18 and her brother 17 weren’t androids at all. They were cyborgs, with a human body and soul. She was glad she didn’t get that kind of blood on her hands. Though Krillin had spared her life, Android 18 was captured and absorbed by Cell anyway. Vegeta, of all people, had let him do it, his pride and his grudge so overblown he made a losing bargain with the monster.

After that, the real battle started, a tournament between perfected Cell and all the warriors that had made him. Goku was restored to full health and they were given time to prepare. Vegeta, Trunks, Goku and Gohan took turns in pairs to train in the mysterious Hyperbolic Time Chamber, where the length of one day is stretched out into a year. Vegeta even went in twice. It took more, so much more, than their best efforts. During the battle, Android 16, who had abandoned his mission to kill Goku, wanted to blow himself up to take out Cell. As it happened, he was a true android. Bulma had removed the bomb he carried in his body when she’d repaired him earlier, thinking she was doing a good thing. He stood no chance and Cell destroyed him completely. This act enraged Gohan, who had such a sweet and sensitive nature, so much that he fought even harder. After a kick to the stomach, Cell regurgitated Android 18. Sent into a fury, he threatened to blow up the whole planet. Goku died transporting him away, sacrificing himself on behalf of everyone, but it was no use. Cell regenerated and killed her sweet Trunks. When things were at their bleakest, when Vegeta was beaten into a pulp after his fit of rage following Trunk’s death, it was Gohan who saved them all. Gohan, who with the help of each warrior, even Vegeta, managed to gather so much power that every particle of Cell was eviscerated.

And who got the credit for saving the world? Through the miracle of television broadcasting, it was Hercule Satan, world famous martial arts fighter, who stood up as the people’s champion. All the other fighters had been props, supporting characters, until the true hero arrived. Bulma figured it was for the best, to safeguard the identity of Earth’s real defenders. They didn’t do it for credit or fame. 

She’d tried not to panic when her baby, her Trunks, had died. They had the Dragon Balls, you see, which they used to wish all Cell’s victims back to life. Even Android 17 and Android 18 were brought back and given a clean slate. When the warriors returned to Capsule Corp, her beautiful boy was fine, perfect. The only flaw in their plan was that they couldn’t resurrect Goku, because he had been wished back with the Dragon Balls before. Life had to carry on without the presence of her oldest friend.

Since Trunks’s hair had grown out during the time spent in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, Bulma herself gave his purple locks a haircut before they had to say farewell. He had to return to his own timeline and beat the androids there, to save his mother and their future world. He had to prevent Cell from getting into his time machine. 

She felt privileged to know her Trunks, to know that her little boy could grow up into such an outstanding man. Through all that death and hardship, she had raised him by herself and he wasn’t bitter like his father. In his timeline, the kind-hearted Gohan had mentored him until his passing. Though Vegeta’s absence had wounded his heart, forming an empty spot that he’d craved his father to fill, Trunks was good at his core. Somehow that knowledge relieved Bulma. Even if Vegeta wanted no part in their life, they would make it through. They would be forever marked by the loss, but strong enough to carry on.

After Trunks had vanished in the time machine, all the gathered fighters said their goodbyes as well and went home. Her parents took baby Trunks inside the compound, but Bulma stayed out a little longer, staring at the spot in the blue sky where the time machine had disappeared. The only other person left was Vegeta, standing in the shade of a tree. He had a far-off look on his face, until their eyes met.

“Well, are you coming inside?” Bulma asked, and walked into Capsule Corp without looking back to check if he did.

***

“Bulma honey, I’m worried about Vegeta,” Panchy said.

She had just put a bib on Trunks in his high chair at the kitchen table, when her mother approached her whilst stirring a bowl of pancake batter and wearing an uncharacteristic frown. It had been a week since Trunks had gone back with the time machine and though she knew he was there, Bulma hadn’t seen Vegeta around the compound.

“He hasn’t left his room for days,” Panchy noted.

Bulma shrugged it off.  

“He’s sulking about not being the one who defeated Cell,” she said, “He loves to sulk, he does it all the time. Besides, he’ll make an appearance when he’s hungry.”

“That’s just the thing,” Panchy continued, “He hasn’t been eating, like, at all. I’ve noticed that the stock in the fridge and pantry has stayed the same. I was hoping he would sneak down to eat once we’d gone to bed, but he hasn’t.”

Bulma would have been more sympathetic if she still weren’t so annoyed with Vegeta. He had been downright nasty these past weeks, like a part of him had successfully reverted to the cold, hostile man he had been on Namek, and had committed various questionable acts putting all of them in danger. Why should she take any more pity on someone who insisted on behaving like a first-grade jackass?  

“I doubt he's gonna die of starvation, mom,” she said, handing Trunks his little plastic plate with about five bananas cut into bits. 

“It’s not right!” Panchy insisted, “He hasn’t been well after that creepy Cell monster was destroyed. What if he sinks into a depression or something?”

It would serve him right, Bulma thought privately, though she didn’t mean it. She’d never wish Vegeta any real harm, but she did fantasise about something cracking the hard shell that had formed around his heart over his lifetime. She knew he was capable of being sweet and tender, having experienced it in rare flashes. Despite how awful he had been to him, Future Trunks’s temporary death had been extremely upsetting to Vegeta, but Bulma saw no change in him.

Her mother put the bowl of batter on the counter and shot her an encouraging smile.

“Maybe you could check on him and bring him some breakfast. Make sure he’s not getting too lonely?” Panchy suggested. 

Part of her wanted to tell her mother to do it herself if she was so concerned. After all that had happened, Bulma had taken him in yet again, only to be shut out and ignored. At the same time she knew it had to be her that went to him. She was the only person who could even try to get through to him. She sighed into her coffee. 

“Sure, I’ll bring him a tray,” she complied and Panchy happily started on a big batch of pancakes.

She left Trunks in her mother’s care and ventured upstairs. Balancing a heavy, overloaded tray, Bulma knocked on Vegeta’s bedroom door. Despite not hearing an answer, she pried at the handle. 

He was sitting on a chair in between his bed and the balcony, staring outside. The bed was neatly made and although Vegeta himself looked clean, Bulma got the impression that sitting in that chair was all he had been doing this past week. 

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t answer, nor acknowledge her presence. Nevertheless, Bulma carried the tray across the room.  

“My mom noticed you haven’t been eating, so I came to give you some breakfast,” she said, inclining her head to the plates stacked with pancakes and the tall glass of milk.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, without looking at her. Bulma rolled her eyes. 

“Come on, Vegeta, you have to eat at some point. How long were you planning to stay in hermit-mode this time, anyway?”

She couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice and Vegeta instantly struck back. 

“I haven’t asked for your food and I don’t require you to check up on me!” he sniped, “Leave me alone, woman! How many times do I have to say that to you before it penetrates your thick skull!”

That fucking bastard.

Her cheeks flared up as she dumped the tray on his desk, dishes clattering, milk spilling. She was about to stomp out of the room when she noticed something about Vegeta. His posture had relaxed in the chair. She lost her temper and he seemed relieved. Everything clicked into place then. Getting mad at him was not the solution, it was what he wanted.

Instead of raising her voice, she took a deep breath. She approached his chair and stood across from him to block his view, so he had no other choice but to look up at her. Only then she noticed how sad and shrunken he looked, like all the air that puffed up his ego had gone out of him. He turned his eyes away, suddenly nervous.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said to him, “You’re trying to make me angry, so I’ll yell at you and storm off. You’d rather push people away and make them hate you, than let them in or accept help. You’d rather run and hide than face whatever it is you’re feeling. You’re so terrified to open up, you lash out to hurt people. That way, they won’t dare to come near you.”

She leaned in, forcing him to meet her eyes.  

“But you can’t do that with me, Vegeta,” she said kindly, “I might get angry and hurt but I’m not afraid of you. I can see right through you.”

He stared at her, perplexed. It had always been gentleness that disarmed him, probably because people so rarely showed it to him. Bulma no longer had any interest in fighting him, to respond with harsh words, to hurt him back. In that moment she understood that a beast was tamed with tenderness. Just because Vegeta had closed off his heart, didn’t mean she should do the same. She didn’t want to anymore.

“Please eat something,” she pleaded, “We’re worried about you.”

She lightly touched his shoulder and made to leave him to himself. Half-way to the door, however, she was halted by his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

Vegeta had turned around in his chair to face her. He’d croaked out the words like he could no longer contain them, but now he’d spoken them aloud he looked unsure of what to do next. She took a couple of steps back towards him, to signal she would listen if he wanted to say more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t save you and Trunks, when Gero blew up the aircraft you were flying.”

His voice nearly broke when he said it. Despite thinking she was long over it, Bulma felt a surge of emotion rattle her. The incident had been scary and humiliating, it had left her more vulnerable and powerless than she’d ever been before. But she’d moved on with her head held high and a snarky retribution, because that’s who she was. 

“I’m glad you apologise,” she said, suppressing a sniffle, “You’re lucky I’m a very forgiving person.”

To her surprise, he buried his face in his hands, the picture of contrition. 

“I don’t deserve any of this,” he muttered, half to himself, half to her. 

She folded her arms.

“Maybe not.” 

“Then why do you do this?” he asked, looking up in confusion, “Why do you continue to care?”

“You know why,” she said quietly. 

He looked at her like he didn’t understand, like he purposefully pretended not to know already. 

“Do you honestly want me to say it?” she asked and still he gaped at her, clueless.

 “Fine, I’ll say it, let’s go there.”

She walked over to the bed and sat down across from him, so close that their knees almost touched. Looking him right in the eye, she took the plunge.

“I love you, Vegeta,” she said, “Despite everything, I love you.”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock to him. Deep down, he must have known all along, yet he kept staring at her, speechless, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Although her throat was scratchy, a certain calm filled her when she started talking.

“I think I was in love with you before I even slept with you. Do you know what Yamcha said to me when I broke up with him? I don’t know if you heard that while you were snooping around the corner, but he said you were in my head all the time. It was true and I hated him for saying it. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, because how pathetic is that? I even dreamed that you kissed me once, just before you got back from space and Frieza showed up. I worried about you so much after the GR exploded and I think that’s what drove Yamcha away, ultimately. He knew he’d lost some invisible battle. And then you started flirting with me and I flirted back. I made myself believe that it was just about sex. Of course, it wasn’t. Then I thought that maybe, if I can have him like this, at least I’ll have a small piece of him, even though I can’t touch the rest. I guess you caught on that it was more than just sex to me… by then I’d accidentally gotten pregnant.”

Bulma gave a rueful smile.

“It’s all terribly clichéd when I say it like that. The so-called good girl who falls for the bad boy even though she means nothing to him.”

“That’s not true. You don’t mean nothing to me.”

He spoke so softly it was like he was afraid someone other than Bulma might hear him. Though her father had assured her that Vegeta cared after all, in what seemed like forever ago, she was caught off guard. That he could ever own up to his feelings, was a wild, distant hope she didn’t dare to hold anymore, especially after the way he’d treated her when he came back. But now he sat there looking at her like he was about to tell her some secret which had awoken from its deep slumber. A secret he’d only tell her.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more than I’ve wanted you,” he said, his low voice shaking, “You consumed me, Bulma. Every moment that I wasn’t training and obsessing over my goals, I thought about you. I didn’t want to admit that it was bigger than lust. Don’t you see I had to leave, or else I would never have managed to become a Super Saiyan? I didn’t want to damage Earth while training, but I also wanted to escape the hold you had over me. You were a weakness I had to eradicate. It took a spaceship and a year and a half in a void by myself to stifle my feelings for you.”

At this he paused and rubbed his temple, gazed around hopelessly. Bulma’s heart expanded and then constricted in some kind of bittersweet grip. She hadn’t imagined how it would be both good and painful to hear him say such a thing. After another shaky breath, Vegeta continued.

“Upon my return, like some fool, I went to see you and the child because my curiosity got the best of me. And I have to fight to keep that wall up I’ve built, but I succeed. Then the battle starts and I keep the wall up and I treat you and the child so appallingly that my own son from the future, who I’ve shown nothing but contempt, calls me out on it. I’ve never been more ashamed of myself. How can I ever deserve your kindness again after that? You ought to hate me, so why don't you?" 

If Bulma didn’t know any better, it sounded like an accusation. Vegeta was genuinely baffled someone could ever forgive him. She started to suspect it was because deep down he was carrying around his own guilt as a penance for all the bad things he’d done. 

"I just can't," she offered. 

He shook his head, balled his fists.

“My pride made me stupid and reckless,” he admitted, “It’s only when Trunks died that the wall came down. I didn’t understand it, that visceral hurt. It broke me in a way I thought I could never break.” 

He looked at her face, his eyes pooling with sorrow.

“Now Kakarot is dead and I have no reason left to fight. I’ve been fighting something my whole life. If that’s gone, why am I still here?” 

It had all come out in a jumble. His feelings for her, his confusion, his shame and uncertainty. For the first time, he let his tears fall freely while facing her, not running away to hide them, not holding back until she left the room.

“What’s my purpose, Bulma?” he asked.

“I’m afraid only you can answer that for yourself,” she replied softly.

He lowered his head, stared at some spot on the carpet.

“I feel empty.”

She reached out and took both of his hands into her own. He didn’t pull back or flinch from her touch, but let her hold his hands on the tops of his knees.

“I can understand how you’re feeling lost right now,” she said.

War was all that Vegeta had known. Being cruel was all he had been taught to be. He’d been so preoccupied with fighting, both his opponents and himself, he’d never stopped to consider what came afterwards, when the war would end, when he had no reason to be cruel. Perhaps a part of him never expected to make it out alive. Turning this over in her mind, she looked kindly upon his face.

“Maybe you fought so hard to have a life without fighting,” she thought out loud, “I don’t mean not punching something every now and then, you’re a Saiyan after all, but struggling through it. Life doesn’t have to be a constant battle, Vegeta. It can be easy and light and peaceful. You’re allowed to have that.”  

He looked at her as though she had spoken in a language he had just started to grasp. Then he nodded and gently closed his fingers around hers. They sat there for a while, staring at their joint hands, knees touching. Bulma gave his palms a soft squeeze.

“Promise me you’ll eat something. Maybe try to come downstairs for dinner tonight, too.”

He nodded again.

She got up from his bed and gave him a small smile. He didn’t smile back at her, but he was reluctant to let her hands slip out of his own, as though he didn’t want to let her go just yet. 

***

At dinner time that evening, Vegeta stepped into the kitchen. 

“Thank goodness!” Panchy exclaimed, fetched another plate and that was all that was said on the matter.

Bulma smiled at him when he sat down, as did her father. In his high chair, Trunks stared at the addition of the dark-haired man with the stern face at the table, but since everyone was being so agreeable he continued to munch on his cucumber stick. He stared at Vegeta all throughout dinner, however, and to Bulma’s amusement Vegeta had to fight the urge not to stare back.

Afterwards, as Panchy was clearing the table and Dr. Briefs stepped outside for a cigarette, she wanted to get Trunks out of his chair when he held out his arms and babbled. Not at her, but at Vegeta.

She shot him a questioning look.

“Do you want to hold him?” she asked.

He regarded Trunks flailing in the chair with trepidation.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted quietly.

“He’s not that tiny anymore, you’ll be fine. I’ll show you.”

She picked him up and held him, with an arm underneath his bum while supporting his back. Trunks was still waving his chubby little arms at Vegeta. Bulma carefully handed him over and Vegeta held the baby as though he was a curated museum object. Trunks peered at the frowning dark-haired man with wide-eyed fascination, then promptly put his tiny hands on Vegeta’s high forehead. Alarmed, Bulma wanted to take Trunks back, but Vegeta stopped her.

“I can take it,” he gritted out. 

Vegeta didn’t look happy about it, but he tolerated Trunks touching his face, as though he was mapping out new territory. 

After that, Vegeta appeared at dinner every night. He didn’t say much at first, but then he slowly started interacting more. He listened to her father’s little anecdotes and grunted or nodded. He helped her mother clear the table. Most often, she caught him looking at her and Trunks, as though he was waiting for something. She began entrusting him with small tasks, asked very casually. Giving the baby his plate, cleaning the baby's cheeks and hands with a wet wipe. All of it was done with extreme caution and the same serious look on his face, like this was some important mission. 

She started seeing him around the compound. He’d peek into Trunk’s room while he was playing or napping. He’d be in the rec room, zapping through TV channels. On a rainy afternoon, she saw him reading an actual book in the living room, which amazed her so much she forgot to spy which title it was. He walked in the garden a lot, when the weather was fine. He’d sit on a bench, stare at her mother’s flowers or at the clouds and sky overhead.  

One day, she saw the door of the Gravity Room swing open, which sat parked in its old spot. To her astonishment, Vegeta came out in his Super Saiyan form. She had seen him like this before, but she’d been pissed off at the time and hadn’t let herself truly take him in. His spiky mane had turned platinum blonde and even from a distance she could see how vivid his blue-green eyes were. He wasn’t wearing his battle suit but regular workout clothes. Even so, he looked otherworldly, almost ethereal. She found herself thinking it was a shame he was wearing a shirt, because, by the gods, the man was so sexy, it was infuriating. 

He walked along the garden path absent-mindedly, until he spotted her. It was then he noticed he was still amped up and promptly powered down to his usual black-haired, black-eyed, still-smoking-hot self. 

“Hey,” she said, amused, “I see you’re training again.”

“I feel better when I do,” he replied.

“Exercise is healthy,” Bulma agreed. 

“Where’s Trunks?” he asked, going along with making conversation.

“He’s with my mom. I’m heading out, I have an appointment at the beauty parlour.”

“I see.”

Vegeta kept standing around as though he had something else on his mind. Before she could say goodbye, he suddenly spoke.

“I want to thank you for letting me stay here.”

Took you long enough, she thought, but she didn’t say that. She just folded her arms and smiled.

“Sure,” she said, like it was no big deal.

“I was thinking…” he started when she was ready to walk on, “I would like to be more involved with Trunks, if you let me.”

This didn’t come as a total surprise. The more time he’d spent around Trunks, the more comfortable Vegeta was and he seemed very invested when Trunks’d started to walk. Trunks continued to be fascinated by his father, his quiet presence so different from Bulma’s and her parents’. Despite his stone-faced demeanour, Trunks responded very well to Vegeta now, asking for his attention and to be held by him. 

“I would like to know how to take care of him,” Vegeta continued, “If the time comes, I could train him as well. I sense the boy has great potential. It will be in his Saiyan nature to want to use his power, but he will need to learn how to control it.”

Vegeta had never spoken about Trunks's Saiyan side in such a positive way before. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Bulma smiled at him.

“You do?”

“Of course! Heck, I can’t train his Saiyan powers. I mean, you’ve felt the grip that kid already has. Honestly, it’s why I’ve stopped breast-feeding him as early as I did. You Saiyans really like to latch on.”

At this, Vegeta had another transformation. He turned the most gorgeous shade of scarlet. 

“Uhm, yes… well… uhm,” he stammered while she kept pleasantly smiling, “Thank you… I MEAN I’M GLAD… I’m glad you agree about the training, I mean! I won’t detain you further!”

He nearly tripped over his shoes while he hurried past her to the compound. When he was well out of earshot, Bulma laughed. 

She hadn’t alluded to something naughty to Vegeta in a long, long time. It was always so much fun to rattle him, she had to do it. With his arrogance all but subdued, her mother was right. Vegeta was a shy guy. His haughty priggishness had melted into that timidity which Bulma had previously lapped up. It was usually the prelude to that other side of him, the side that tossed her around a bit and then sank its teeth in. 

It wasn’t like she had saved herself for him. She’d been so preoccupied with Trunks and the upcoming battle, that the thought of dating, or other men for that matter, never crossed her mind. When Vegeta had returned, she realised there was no point. He was still in her system and although she perhaps should’ve, she hadn’t tried to get him out, knowing it was hopeless. Unfortunately, no poor Earthling man could compare. He would forever take up space inside of her. 

I’ve never wanted anyone more than I’ve wanted you, he had said. Recalling those words made her shiver, formed a familiar knot of heat in her centre. Did he still want her? She touched herself, almost ashamed to, thinking about Vegeta a couple of doors down the corridor, about all the things they had done once upon a time. She didn’t know if she’d be embarrassed if he could smell blatant desire on her again, or if she wanted him to.

There were glances, quick and fleeting, and there were touches, too. The brush of a shoulder, fingers lingering on an arm while handing over the baby. Cheeky comments aside, she swore to herself she wouldn’t make the first move. It had to be Vegeta, who came to her. Nevertheless, a little encouragement couldn’t hurt, so she resorted to her old tricks. Bending over a bit too long while wearing a low cut top, sticking out her rear while leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for her coffee to brew. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him looking, biting the nail of his thumb. Their eyes met and it took a couple of seconds before he looked away, blushing. 

On a beautiful day in August, about a week before her thirty-fifth birthday, Bulma was lounging by the pool, reading the test reports on the latest line of car capsules. She had dipped in and out of the water with Trunks, who was now playing with his toys on a blanket in the shade. She had just rubbed herself with sunblock when Vegeta walked out onto the patio holding a bowl. For the first time, she felt a little self-conscious. Her body had become plumper and softer after having the baby and in her red bathing suit all her curves were on full display. Putting any body image issues about her stretch marks swiftly out of her mind, she got up from her chair as Vegeta approached.

“What have you got there?” she asked.

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips when he came to stand across from her and lowered the bowl.

“Strawberries!” she exclaimed after seeing them, gleaming like little rubies, their green crowns cut.

“They were just delivered. Your mother sent me over to give them to you,” he said, pretending to be annoyed about it.

Of course she did.

“Have you tasted them? Are they any good?” she asked.

He picked up a strawberry from the bowl and held it out to her between his thumb and forefinger. Bulma blinked, wondering if he really intended to feed her. He raised his eyebrows at her and waited, strawberry in hand. Hesitant, she opened up. With black eyes glittering, he placed it in her mouth, fingers touching the wet inside of her lips. Before he could take his hand away, she closed her mouth around him. He pulled out slowly, letting his fingers linger on her bottom lip. She chewed the fruit, juicy and sweet, watching Vegeta stare at her mouth. She recognised that hungry look, she’d missed it dearly. 

“Delicious,” she said, after she’d swallowed.

His eyes roved her breasts, waist and thighs, deliberate and greedy. 

“Indeed,” he smirked and handed her the bowl.

***

It was a full moon and Bulma couldn’t sleep. Each time she was about to drift off, her brain sprung back on, ruminating. There was nothing more annoying than lying awake for no good reason at all. Trunks had taken to sleeping through the night, so she didn’t have to check on him or feed him. Of course, she knew what actually kept her up. Vegeta had given her that fucking look again. Instead of pleasuring herself and hoping she’d fall asleep after, the moonlight pulled her from her bed. A faint hunger gnawed at her and she figured she might just need a snack.

In the kitchen, her heart gave a little jump when she found Vegeta rummaging through the pantry.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, keeping her voice airy.

“Peckish,” was all that he grunted.

He turned around and held up a familiar plastic cup.

“Do you want one?” he asked.

Bulma stared at the ramen noodles and a strange warmth treacled down her back.

“Yeah, sure,” she said.

She sat down at the kitchen table while he went through the motions. Boiling water, removing the plastic foil, tearing open the top, putting in the spices. The way he carried himself, how he focused on what he was doing all the while knowing how closely she was watching him, held something of his former confidence. No, she thought, it was better. This wasn’t about the ramen noodles. He knew exactly what he was doing and he knew that she knew, too. 

He didn’t talk to her, in those minutes they had to wait. He didn’t need to. Nothing of meaning could possibly be said in that silence. They just had to get to the next moment. He placed the cup in front of her, a fork lying on top, and sat down across from her at the table.

Half-way through the meal, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“I feel like we’ve been here before.”

“We have,” he answered, “As I remember it, something most intriguing happened after we’d finished eating.”

“Really?” Bulma feigned innocence, while her heart hammered.

“Really.” 

After their last bite, they stared at each other. She took up the empty cups, trying to anticipate if Vegeta would intervene. He remained seated, watching her every single move. When she had thrown the cups in the bin and turned around at the kitchen counter, he spoke, his voice so silky it could have wrapped her up.

“I knew you couldn’t sleep and that you’d go to the kitchen. That's why I was waiting for you here.”

She leaned back against the counter.

“Are you flirting with me, Vegeta? The mother of your child?”

“What if I am?”

He stood up and walked over to her, not with lightning speed but calmly, as though the moment from over two years ago was being replayed in slow-motion. He placed his hands next to her hips on the counter behind her and looked at her face. His eyes were hungry, but warm.

“Yeah, I seem to recall something like this,” she smiled, breath hitching.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her temple, caressed her cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Bulma thought she’d burst, that the heat in her spine would burn her. 

“It’s not fair, you know,” she said, “I’ve always been very bad at resisting you.”

Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans, smirked that infuriating smirk of his.

“I don’t play fair and I’ve always been very bad, especially at resisting you.”

She wanted to call him a dork for saying that, but then his lips were on hers and Bulma forgot speaking was an option. Closing her eyes, she let him take whatever he wanted.

It was the sweetest, most perfect kiss he had ever given her. He started soft, gentle, fairy tale-like. Then his tongue sought entrance, slid against hers, searing all her nerve-ends. He made her melt, in total control, a little whimper escaping her. When he broke off, and her eyes fluttered open, he was watching her as if she was a prize he’d won. His fingertips rested in her neck and his thumb caressed the column of her throat.

“Again,” she whispered.

He gladly complied. 

This time, his hands were all over her, caressing her arms, her waist. She pulled him closer, grabbing the back of his shirt, and pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth. Gods, she loved how he moaned. His hands slid up her coral pink pyjama top, held her ribcage, slowly moving up. When he cupped her breasts, she moaned into him as well. She needed to have more of him and pressed his hips against hers, kneading his ass. She broke off and kissed his jaw, the spot behind his ear, trailed her lips down his neck.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured into her hair, his hands still on her breasts.

His cock was pressing hard against her lap and Bulma giggled.

“I can feel that.”

“Can I taste you?” he asked, voice thick with need.

She looked up at him and noticed how hard he was breathing, his eyes like smouldering coals, his body almost trembling. After she nodded, he didn’t let a second pass before grabbing hold of her. Only when her back made contact with smooth wood, Bulma realised he had moved her onto the kitchen table, her legs dangling off the edge. Raising herself on her elbows, she watched him take off his shirt and toss it aside. She lifted her own pyjama top over her head and his mouth was immediately on her breasts. She kissed his head, raked her fingers through his hair, while he softly bit at her. A growl rumbled his chest and she chuckled. At this, Vegeta dragged down both her pyjama bottoms and panties in one swipe, a bit more forceful than necessary. Lying before him completely naked, he pushed open her thighs, gave her a dark look before he leaned over her body. She watched him kiss her mound, his tongue swipe her folds, lap up her essence. She shuddered at the feeling of his mouth on her. It had been so long ago and it was even better than before.

“Oh fuck,” she heard him whisper against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

Then he lowered his mouth and Bulma fell back with a gasp. He remembered just how she liked it, his fingers pressing hard at her walls, his tongue dragging steady circles on her clit. She opened her legs wider, one hand on her breast, the other in Vegeta’s thick hair. He wasn’t holding back and neither was she. Her legs started shaking, the heat in her core mounting and mounting. She came with a cry, tugging hard on his hair, his mouth moaning into her pussy. When he lifted himself up to face her, Bulma immediately started pawing at the waistband of his shorts.

“Bulma…” he whispered, “What about…protection?” 

“I have a contraceptive implant,” she murmured, high from orgasm, and kissed him while trying to get his pants off.

This newfound concern of his was kind of adorable. Truth be told, she had gotten the IUD months ago, in the silent hope that it would come to this. Right now she was beyond caring if it would prove more effective than the pill.

Vegeta still seemed hesitant.

“I won’t last long,” he warned her, embarrassed by the admission.

“I don’t care, I need to feel you inside of me,” she panted, “Please.” 

He groaned and helped her take off his pyjama shorts and boxers. When he stood in between her legs, naked, she sat back to look at him. His scarred wide chest was heaving in anticipation, his thick cock leaking at the head. He was perfect and she had to touch him, trail a hand across his lower stomach, give his shaft a slow pump. Vegeta hissed as he forced her to lie back. Looming over her, he licked his palm and slicked himself down. Then he finally pushed himself into her and Bulma remembered why she had never wanted anything other than this, than him, so badly in her entire life. 

“I’ve missed you,” he repeated, breathless as he thrusted into her, “I’ve missed you so much.”

It was the longest dry spell that Bulma had had since becoming sexually active. She realised however, that while it had been two long years for her, it had been double that amount for Vegeta, on account of the time he’d spent in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. 

Enraptured by the look on his face, she clawed at his body, panting underneath him, savouring the rhythm of his hips. Suddenly he groaned and pulled out. He kept himself very still, his eyes firmly shut. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t last long. Bulma giggled and wrapped her legs around him to push him back into her. She grabbed his ass, rubbed the sensitive spot on his tailbone. Making Vegeta come as fast as possible seemed like a fun game. 

“You temptress!” he grunted in response and lifted himself on his forearms.

He looked deep into her eyes and smirked. Putting his fingers into his mouth, he coated them in spit, then reached in between her legs. A spark flared up and Bulma’s eyes grew wide. His fingers were buzzing on her clit, as though fired by an engine. It was more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before, an energetic pulse sped up to one hundred. 

He was using his ki as a vibrator. 

It only took seconds for Bulma’s body to start shaking, convulsing, like it couldn’t keep up with what was happening. Vegeta was thrusting into her with wild abandon now, his head thrown back. Then the hurricane peaked and she came and came and came. When recalling the scene, Bulma swore that for a moment her soul must have left her body, that they both physically lifted off from that kitchen table. She clasped a hand to her mouth, biting down to muffle her screams or else she would have woken the whole compound. At the same time, Vegeta climaxed into her, with a big wolfish grin on his face.

She blanked after that. She didn’t know for how long but when she came to, her limbs had gone numb. Vegeta lifted himself on his forearms, still grinning down on her, his body heavy and sated. It was a miracle the kitchen table had survived. 

“What the actual fuck, Vegeta!” she gasped, not even hiding her awe, “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands to think and hone my powers,” he said as though explaining a battle tactic, “This was my first attempt.”

“Well, it’s a neat little trick. I can’t stand on my legs anymore.”

“That’s one of the two things I’m good for, right?”

She recognised the callback to her own words and knew he meant it in jest. Nevertheless, she caught the smallest hint of self-deprecation shining through. She reached out her right hand and cupped his face. 

“You’re good, Vegeta,” she assured him, “For many, many wonderful things.”

He smiled at her, leaned his face into her palm and kissed it.

Chapter Text

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife. 

This was the first line of a book that Vegeta had picked up because the title had piqued his curiosity. He asked Bulma what the book was about and she explained it was a story about two proud and stubborn people from different backgrounds who have certain preconceived notions about each other. Though initially they shared a strong dislike of each other, through a series of events they discovered how similar they actually were, fell in love and got married. The synopsis sounded ridiculous to Vegeta, but that first line happened to stick with him. Having seen a good deal of the universe, he pondered if this statement rang true. 

Vegeta wasn’t a single man, however. He had his woman. 

It had been three years now since they ‘got back together’, as Bulma called it. In that first year, thoughts and feelings he had pressed down bubbled up at the oddest of times. Nobody would have expected it of her, but Bulma was very patient with that side of him. 

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when Trunks was born,” he said one night, when she was lying in his arms. She was silent for a while before she answered.

“I know you are.”

“I’ll never abandon you like that again,” he promised.

She proceeded to kiss his pectorals, raked her fingers over his abs.

“You better not.”

Somehow, Vegeta had taken up a permanent nightly residence in Bulma’s bed. There were many advantages for him doing so. He got better sleep with Bulma lying next to him, he reasoned. He liked to talk to her in bed, where nobody else could hear them. Also, he could grope her, kiss her, hold her, fuck her just before falling asleep and after waking up, sometimes even in the middle of the night. 

He would wake her and say those three words he never spoke to another person.

“I love you,” he’d whisper, slowly pushing into her.

She’d moan, hot and tight around him, while he repeated it.

“I love you… I love you,” he’d say and she’d smile against his face in the dark. 

She never minded being woken up like this, not even once.

After months of only stopping by his bedroom to change clothes and shower, Bulma came up with another arrangement. A different, larger suite was prepared for the both of them, with their belongings in place. This kind of cohabitation was standard between human couples and Vegeta was pleased, even though he warned Bulma not to trash the room with her mess. She had gotten angry at that and flung a box of scarves at him, which he had later used to tie her down with.  

Vegeta considered that he did possess good fortune. The material fortune surrounding him wasn't his, exactly. It was his woman’s and only his by proxy. Instead, the good fortune he possessed was that of luck. He counted himself lucky, blessed, that life had turned out the way it did. That fate had matched him with a woman who resembled a princess, a queen, in abundant possession of beauty, intelligence, character and wealth. Who had borne him a strong, talented son he was very proud of. A woman who Vegeta considered to be the sexiest creature he’d ever laid eyes on and could make his heart race and blood pump with one single look.

Yes, Vegeta had his woman. But she wasn’t his wife, not in the sense of what marriage entails on Earth. A formal, often public, declaration had to take place in order for a couple to become husband and wife. He had learned through movies what a marriage ceremony, a wedding, was supposed to be like on this planet. There was an exchange of vows with some officiant present who declared the union valid, formal attire and witnesses. Then there would be a party of some sort, with music, food and a large cake. Humans really liked to celebrate a variety of occasions with cake and he couldn’t blame them for that. After the ceremony and party, the marriage would officially start. It was very different from a Saiyan wedding, as those had been rather simple and private. From what he’d heard, it involved a short ritual with a blood oath and the entwining of tails. That certainly wasn’t an option for him now. The topic of matrimony was still on his mind when they received an actual wedding invitation. 

Krillin, the irritating hairless dwarf, and Android 18, the talking refrigerator who had broken Vegeta’s arms, were getting married. In the three years since the battle with Cell, the two had been in a relationship. Apparently they had reached a point where they wanted to solidify their union officially. For some reason, this made Vegeta uneasy and introspective. Bulma, however, was very happy to receive the news and confirmed their attendance. 

“I’m so relieved that Krillin got himself a really great girl! Believe me, his ex was terrible,” she said.

Dressed in her robe, she was getting ready for the wedding at her vanity in their bedroom, carefully doing her makeup. Vegeta, who had just gotten out of the shower and was holding a towel around his waist, inspected the suit that hung for him on the closet door.

“I cannot imagine Android 18 would want me to attend her wedding,” he muttered.

“Stop calling her Android, she goes by 18 now,” Bulma reprimanded, adding another swipe of something called mascara to her lashes, “I think she’d actually be amused if you came.”

Vegeta doubted it. Fact remained that his bruised ego had let Cell absorb Android 18, pissed off because she had won their fight. However, it was quite remarkable how everyone in Kakarot’s group of friends let bygones be bygones. Everyone except for the three-eyed monk. To this day, Tien refused to speak to Vegeta.

“And she wasn’t even an android to begin with. Gero should have called her and her brother cyborgs,” Bulma mumbled to herself, applying pink powder to her cheeks with a brush.

That inaccuracy seemed to irk her a lot, but Vegeta didn’t care either way.

“I have seen some crazy things in my time, but I’ve never seen a blonde toaster oven marry a bald midget,” he commented as he sat down on the edge of their bed.

Bulma shot him a look, got up from behind her vanity and walked over to Vegeta. She climbed onto his lap, put her arms around his neck and ground down on him. 

“Hush hush, bad man. Don’t make me put a muzzle on you,” she said, tracing his jaw with a well-manicured nail.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow.

“A muzzle? I’m still waiting on that collar, woman.”

“This ought to shut you up,” Bulma said and kissed him deeply.

He took the opportunity to push the robe off her shoulders. All she was wearing underneath was a skimpy pair of lace briefs, which ended up on the floor within seconds.

***

“Thank you guys so much for coming!” Krillin grinned, shaking his hand.

“How are your arms, Vegeta?” Android 18 asked.

“Will you stop asking me that?!” Vegeta said, through gritted teeth.

Bulma laughed and shoved him along the line of people congratulating the happy couple.

The ceremony had taken place at sunset on the island of Kame House, which was transformed into something of a dream. Tiny lights were strung around to illuminate the area dotted with tables and chairs, along with garlands of tropical flowers. There was a very large buffet table and they put down a floor on the sand for dancing. Though Vegeta had come to please Bulma, he couldn’t deny to himself that he’d also been curious about Earth weddings. As a rule, he kept to himself and avoided mingling. Of course that weakling Yamcha had to be there. He was the witness to the groom, who was called the ‘best man’, though Vegeta wouldn’t appoint him a best man at any occasion. He was now on the dance floor, piss-drunk, stripping off his jacket and tie. He had brought along some vapid-looking woman, who shuffled around Yamcha to the music. She was being ogled by Roshi, the old man who owned this island. How Roshi had been Kakarot’s mentor and a martial arts master was beyond Vegeta, as he seemed to be nothing more than a perverted geezer, something which Bulma often confirmed. Vegeta got the feeling that she knew more about this than she was willing to share with him.

While Vegeta had been walking around the island, observing the wedding party, Bulma had sat down at one of the small tables. She looked truly beautiful tonight. Her hair was styled in soft waves and she was wearing dangling sparkly earrings. The gown she had on fitted closely to her body and matched the colour of her hair. She was having a conversation with Kakarot’s wife, or widow rather. Chi-Chi looked elegant for the occasion, in a high-necked red dress, her black hair in an up-do. It occurred to Vegeta that with her colouring, Chi-Chi resembled a Saiyan woman. Apparently she was a highly trained martial arts fighter back in the day, so he approved and understood why Kakarot had married her. It had been a mystery to Vegeta how Kakarot had landed such a good, sensible woman, but Bulma had assured Vegeta that Kakarot had had very little say in the matter, as Chi-Chi had staked her claim on him rather aggressively. 

He walked by their table behind a cluster of palm trees and couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“How are you holding up?” Bulma asked Chi-Chi, “Without Goku, I mean.”

“We get by,” Chi-Chi said, “Though I miss him terribly, it’s also become normal to me that Goku isn’t here. He’s always been off somewhere, training or fighting. He’s also been dead before. I’m happy I have little Goten to distract me.”

Kakarot’s second son was born about nine months after Cell was defeated. While Vegeta had been single mindedly training for the battle in the interim before the tournament, Kakarot had also been occupied doing other things, like his wife. Vegeta sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if Kakarot hadn’t died. Would he still have wanted to prove that he was the superior Saiyan by fighting Kakarot and beating him? Would he have held on to that urge to surpass him or would he have let it go and focus on his life, his family, like he had now? 

He was roused from his thoughts when he heard his name mentioned, and decided to linger a moment longer. 

“How are things with Vegeta?” Chi-Chi asked, “He seems calmer.” 

“Things are going well,” Bulma smiled, “He’s genuinely interested in raising Trunks and started to train him. I think he finds purpose that way. He’s a good dad.”

“He cleans up nicely in a suit, too,” Chi-Chi said, taking a sip from her wine.

“Would you believe I didn’t have to force him to wear that?”

Bulma swallowed a mouthful of wine and shot Chi-Chi a cheeky look.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. It's rather… a private question, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh thank goodness, I could really use some adult conversation,” Chi-Chi sighed, “I mostly have a toddler, a teenager and my father around for company.” 

Bulma leaned in and though she lowered her voice, Vegeta could still hear her clearly.

“So… Did Goku go a little crazy when you like, bit him in the neck during, you know…”

“Oh, girl. Don’t tell me that’s a Saiyan thing!” Chi-Chi gasped.

“Oh my gosh, it’s like he leaves his body!” Bulma giggled.

“Like he’s on drugs or something!” Chi-Chi went on, “And the harder you bite…”

“The more he’s into it,” Bulma added.

Chi-Chi raised an eyebrow.

“Have you done it in Super form?”

“Oh my fucking gods!” Bulma shrieked and Chi-Chi smacked a hand on the table, so hard it rattled the glasses.

“I KNOW, RIGHT?”

Vegeta couldn’t take any more and stumbled away unnoticed, cheeks burning. He knew Bulma was a vulgar woman, keen on being lewd at every given opportunity, but he hadn’t expected that behaviour from prim and proper Chi-Chi. Together, these two women, along with a little wine, resembled a legion of Frieza’s men swapping bedroom stories.  

Feeling exposed and red in the face, he busied himself with getting another piece of cake from the buffet table, plotting how he would get back at Bulma for this, when he spotted a familiar figure lurking behind a palm tree. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Namekian,” he said.

Piccolo, dressed in the traditional Namekian garb he always wore, emerged and inclined his head at him.

“Krillin invited me. It seemed correct to pay my respects.”

The groom in question was currently on the dance floor, grinning up at his bride who towered over him. Even though the song being played was boisterous and up-tempo, they both slowly swayed in each other’s arms. Android 18 smiled back at Krillin, her usual frosty air thawed.

“Another villain assimilated for the team,” Piccolo remarked when he saw the bridal pair and despite himself, Vegeta chuckled. Piccolo’s mouth jerked into something that resembled a smile. 

“Did you know that even Krillin was Goku’s rival first, before he became his friend?” he asked.

“Bulma shot Kakarot in the face with a gun when she met him,” Vegeta said proudly.

“I haven’t expected anything less from her,” Piccolo replied. 

He followed Vegeta’s gaze to the table where Bulma was seated, still sniggering and drinking wine with Chi-Chi.

“I see family life on Earth suits you,” Piccolo said.

He wanted to tell the Namekian not to push it, making common small-talk, but it didn’t sound like he was being disingenuous. He was simply stating an observation.

“It does,” he replied. 

Bulma noticed Vegeta looking her way and gave him a bright smile and a wave, wineglass in the other hand. Upon seeing the exchange, Chi-Chi leaned in and whispered something to her which made Bulma laugh out loud. 

Piccolo’s ears twitched and he winced.

“You might want to delay going back to your table. Trust me, you don’t want to be part of the conversation they’re having.”

***

For a week after the wedding, Vegeta had trouble sleeping. His mind kept being pulled back to the event, imagining what it would be like if this hadn’t been Krillin’s wedding, but his own. He could do without having Yamcha present. On the other hand, it might feel good to invite the weakling, to let him witness the chance he could have had but screwed up years ago. It would be embarrassing perhaps, to display his affection for Bulma so openly, though this was also the point. A wedding would showcase their inextricable bond, it would let everyone know that she was his and his alone. In a way, he felt ashamed that it hadn’t occurred to him before to do this. He had formally acknowledged Trunks as his son, so why hadn’t he formally acknowledged Bulma as his partner, his mate? Would Bulma want to have him as her husband? She certainly treated him as such. 

With Bulma sound asleep next to him, he looked at her face, the curve of her body beneath the sheets. He considered her to be one of the two most important things in his life, the other being his son. For years, he had been wrong about so many things. He had been too proud to acknowledge the love he’d wanted, the comfort he felt by having a mate. He’d been so prejudiced against humans. His life on Earth had become precious to him, something he would fiercely protect. Bulma wasn't a weakness of his, she was a strength. To lose her, would be hell. He would slaughter anyone who would try to take her away from him. He thought of her as his wife, so why wasn’t she?

Vegeta shot up in bed, fueled by adrenaline.  

“Bulma, wake up,” he said, touching her shoulder.

She stirred and groaned.

“Did the alarm go off?” she mumbled, “Do you want to have sex?" 

He ignored the hand that was lazily snaking up his boxers. 

“Not now. Bulma, I need to ask you something.”

Sensing that he was being serious, she opened her eyes and sat up on her elbows.

“What is it?”

“Will you be my wife?”

She looked at him like she didn’t understand the question.

“Wait, am I dreaming?” she replied.

Vegeta turned on the light on the nightstand, got up and went around to Bulma’s side of the bed. Like he had observed was customary, he got down on one knee and took Bulma’s hand from under the covers. She stared at him in wide-eyed shock, as though her brain needed to process what was happening before her.

“Are you seriously proposing?” she asked, “At 6AM, on a school day?”

“I know I’m doing this all wrong,” Vegeta muttered from her bedside, “I should offer you a ring and there should be flowers. Roses! Lots and lots of roses.”

He gripped her hand tighter and kissed it to prove his point, before he continued.

“However, this has been on my mind for quite some time. I need to know right now if you will be my wife.” 

“Vegeta, what…”

“Please, listen! In all the universe, there is no other woman for me. There has only been you. You are superior to any woman, any person, I have ever met. I count myself lucky that you have chosen me as a lover. I can only imagine my future, the rest of my life, with you, here on Earth. I want to do this properly, according to your customs, because I have made this planet my home.”

He braced himself and looked into her eyes.

“Bulma, I love you and I want to marry you. Please tell me you’ll be mine.”

She stared at him for a while. Then she smiled and cast her gaze down, almost shyly.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said.

Vegeta felt as though he had suddenly lifted off, lightness and warmth filling his chest. He got up from his knee and leaned over to kiss her, his Bulma, soon to be his wife. She continued to smile, her energy like sunshine against his lips, until she broke off. 

“And for your information, I’ve been yours for years already, you silly Saiyan,” she said and pulled him closer so he collapsed on top of her. Vegeta took this as an incentive to cover her with kisses, to unbutton her pyjama top.

“You know, sometimes you really sound like a romance novel,” she said, losing her breath as he was kissing her breasts, “Must be because you’re a prince.”

He was about to strip off her pyjama bottoms, when he felt a familiar energy level approach. Vegeta froze and let out a sigh of frustration.

“Mom? Dad? I need to go to school!” Trunk’s eager voice came from the other side of the door.

Vegeta thanked Bulma’s good sense for installing a heavy duty lock, to discourage Trunks from barging in and clambering into their bed at the most inconvenient of times, but unfortunately they could still hear whatever he wished to call out. Thus was the burden of parenthood. 

“He’s very punctual,” Bulma grumbled underneath him, “Did you teach him that?”

“I did,” Vegeta realised.

***

“Hey sugar!” 

The following day, Vegeta was summoned to Bulma’s office when Margie the receptionist called out to him from the front desk. He reluctantly halted and her magenta painted lips formed a knowing grin. 

“I’ve heard about the engagement,” she said, “Congratulations! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Vegeta muttered, before he went on.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, I’m on divorce number three,” Margie mumbled and turned the page of Tattletale magazine. 

When he entered the office, Bulma spun around in her chair.  

“I walked by your receptionist and it came to my attention that you've been sharing the news of our engagement already,” he said.

“I had to,” she admitted, “I came in with a big smile plastered on and you know nothing gets past Margie.”

“I’m pleased the prospect makes you so happy.”

“I’m surprised at myself, to be honest. I mean, I’m a romantic at heart, but I didn’t think it would be such a big deal to me. Sure, I’ll get a really nice dress and a party, but nothing would change between us. I guess I’m excited that you’re willing to go through all that for me, so I can officially call you my husband. I always assumed you didn’t want to get married, so I never brought it up.”

“You made the wrong assumption.”

“Guess I did. It seems to be a pattern for us.”

“Other than expressing your joy for our marriage, I take it you have summoned me here with a reason?”

Bulma gave him a curious little smirk.

“Yeah, I did.”

She beckoned him to her desk and pushed an inconspicuous, medium sized black box towards him.

“I’ve been working on something,” she said, “Consider it an early wedding gift.”

Vegeta lifted the lid off the box and stared at what it contained.

It was a sleek, expertly crafted, high-tech collar. Attached to it were a little bell and a leash.