#dragon ba

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Note: I think this is my first time writing Bulla, so I hope I did alright! :D Your comments will be super appreciated!

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“Here, Papa!”

Vegeta’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as his little blue-haired daughter, Bulla, insistently shoved a mangled-looking… thing… before his face.

His face contorted in his confusion, and his brows began to lower back into their customary furrow above his pitch-black eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached forward to let his fingers hover over whatever it was that the five-year old was holding out to him.

“Eschallote,” he began, using his private nickname for the tiny Saiyan princess. Uncertainty colored his every syllable as he glared at the tiny pink monstrosity in her chubby hand. “What is that, exactly?”

She beamed happily up at him, and a grin threatened to tug the sides of his lips upwards as he watched the unabashed adoration in his child’s eyes.

A child, adoring him.

Twenty years ago, it would have been unfathomable.

Bulla held her hands up, and he automatically reached down to help her climb up the high armchair that he had been peacefully reclining upon.

She sat fitfully on his legs, adjusting her frilly pink dress, before she answered.

“It’s a cake, Papa!”

He looked disbelievingly at the so-called cake.

He knew what a cake looked like…

The thing in her hand, was definitely not a cake.

“Er… are you certain, girl?” he asked.

Bulla was still smiling giddily. “Yes! It’s chocolate!”

He gulped. “And… to what do I owe the honor of receiving such a,” he stared in barely concealed disgust at the now evident mountain of pink sugar encased in a paper liner, “confection?”

“It’s for your birthday, Papa! Happy birthday!”

He looked down at the happy girl on his lap, before he looked back at the pastry and discreetly shook his head.

“Dammit, Bulma,” he muttered helplessly, running a hand though the dark flames of his hair.

A few years before Bulla had been born, Bulma had calculated astronomical anomalies until she had come up with a range of dates that she stated were when he was possibly born. She had then insisted on celebrating his supposed birth anniversary, every year since then.

The celebrations had been left entirely to her, since he usually left the Earth to go on training trips a few times a year, and was thus unable to accurately keep track of the Earthling calendar.

He had humored her, even though he had not been entirely convinced, since the days usually ended with what Bulma had called “birthday sex”, and he was not fool enough to pass on those.

He almost let a lecherous grin slip as he thought about how it was apparently that time of year once again.

“What did you say, Papa?”

“Nothing, Eschallote,” he responded. He looked back at the cake, before he looked back at her again. “That is certainly a very… err, interesting cake.”

“I made it!” Bulla said happily, before a small frown suddenly crossed her face. “Don’t you like it, Papa?”

“Doesn’t he like what, baby?” Bulma’s voice called out from across the room, and Vegeta turned to regard his wife, her blue hair in a neat bob that framed her pale cheeks and sky-hued eyes. He absently noticed the small candle in her hand, an electronic one that needed no flame but can be blown out with a gust of air like an ordinary candle.

Bulla immediately jumped off his lap, and cake still in hand, the tiny Bulma-clone flew off to her mother, gently launching herself into her arms.

“Mama, Papa doesn’t like my cake,” she whispered, and Vegeta blanched.

He stood straight, protesting, “I never said that-”

Bulma’s quiet glare, directed frostily at him, silenced him.

“Baby, I’m sure Papa liked your cake! After all, you made it just for his birthday!” she said.

“But he didn’t get it an’ eat it, Mama!” Bulla said as she disentangled herself from Bulma to stand, forlornly at her feet. “Papa eats things when he likes them, right?”

He was sure there was a dirty joke waiting in there somewhere, but he was too distressed to think about it.

Vegeta walked up to his girls then, and Bulma smiled her fakest possible smile at him as she said, “Nonsense, baby! Give it to Papa now. See? He came over to get the cake from you!”

He looked up at his dear, beautiful wife, eyes begging for mercy, but instead, he heard her very softly whispered demand…

“Take the cupcake from Bulla, Papa.”

Bulla looked up at him, eyes watery as she began to sniffle.

He looked back at Bulma.

“But… Bulma…” he began to protest.

Her eyes narrowed, she lifted the small candle to point it threateningly at him and in an urgent, hushed voice, growled, “I will shove this candle down your throat, take the cupcake!”

Never before had Vegeta been simultaneously so insulted, terrified, and turned on.

Wasting no further time, he stooped down to be at eye-level with Bulla, and with a barely leashed sigh, said, “Give me the cake, Eschalotte.”

Bulla’s eyes were brimming with tears. “No. You don’t like it,” she whispered, holding the cake in both hands, close to her chest.

She was pouting… and Vegeta would kill himself before he admitted to how adorable he found it.

Instead, he sighed again. “I do want it, Eschalotte. Papa was just… surprised.”

Her tears evaporated as if by magic, and she grinned widely, holding the cake out to him again.

“Happy birthday, Papa!”

Vegeta held back a cringe as he took the cake from her tiny hands, and he glanced over his shoulder as he saw Bulma lean down as she placed the tiny candle into the very center, smack dab in the middle of the nauseatingly sweet icing.

“Now, make a wish, Papa,” Bulma said.

Looking between his two girls, Vegeta finally let a small grin lift the sides of his lips.

Closing his eyes, he made his wish…

“I wish to always have the power to keep these two safe and happy… And Trunks too, I suppose.”

He then opened his eyes, and with a smirk, blew out the candle.

The two girls cheered, and his mouth formed a small, genuine smile as he felt their arms wrap around him.

“Now,” Bulma said cheerfully, reaching up to take the candle, “Time to eat the cake, Papa!”

He nearly groaned.

Yet, as he looked down at his daughter’s expectant little face, he realized that he would happily eat much worse things, if it meant he could keep the innocent glee shining in her eyes forever.

Closing his eyes, he shoved the cupcake into his mouth, pulling the paper wrapping off as he did.

As he chewed, he was pleasantly surprised.

It was not quite as bad as he had expected.

“Well, Papa? Did you like it?”

He looked at Bulla, nodded, and she immediately shrieked happily, floating into the air and throwing herself into his waiting arms.

“Papa liked my surprise!” she sang. “Wait until you see the one from Trunks, Papa!”

“From Trunks?”

As if on queue, the three of them jumped as a loud explosion sounded from the backyard.

Bulma sighed, placing a hand on his arm. “And that would be him.”

“Yay, Trunks’ surprise worked!” Bulla exclaimed, before she flew up and towards the kitchen, no doubt to see her brother.

Vegeta shook his head, a wry smile on his face as he turned to Bulma.

“I suppose I had better go and see the children,” he said, reaching up to squeeze her hand that still rested on his arm.

“Yeah, you do that,” she answered fondly. “My surprise for you can wait.”

He raised a brow. “You know that I hate surprises.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re gonna like this one.”

“Mind giving me a clue?”

Vegeta watched as a wicked, teasing grin appeared on his lovely wife’s face, before she leaned closer, to whisper naughtily into his ear.

“Bulla said it earlier…” she said, suggestively running her fingers down his arm. “Papa eats things when he likes them.”

Ah, there was the joke he had been looking for earlier.

Unable to help himself, he leaned forward, giving Bulma a soft kiss on her pink lips, before he turned away to find his children.

This birthday business really did have its perks, after all.

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End