Note: This is Part 4 of my Week 4 entry, and is the last chapter of The Final Price. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story, as I really did have a great time writing this as part of the Mayhem.
I wish to thank you all again, for the support that you all gave, that helped this story win. I never, in a million years, would have imagined that anything I write could have won amongst all the amazing writers in this fandom. I will never, ever forget this. :)
Thank you so much for reading, and as always, your feedback would be greatly appreciated!
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If there was ever a time when Vegeta felt terrible for losing his Super Saiyan powers, then it had to be around… now.
Usually, the loss of the legendary powers was an annoying afterthought, especially since he was still powerful even without his golden-haired form.
It was definitely not easy to get used to the idea that he was no longer the most powerful Saiyan alive, but it was one of those things that became easier to swallow, with time.
After all, it had been three years.
He had been brought back to life, with the imposed limitations on his Saiyan powers, three years ago.
And so, yes, the loss was annoying, but it wasn’t truly the devastating blow that he would have imagined it to be.
Right at that moment though, Vegeta would have given away an arm, to be able to use his Instant Transmission again.
The Prince of a warrior race of four and a half flew as fast as he was physically able, an otherwise impressive speed that could easily leave jet planes and commercial aircrafts in the dust.
He still felt too fucking slow.
Bulma needed him, and he was still thirty seconds away.
His beautiful wife of a year and a half needed him, and he couldn’t get there fast enough.
He could feel her distress through their bond, could hear her voice calling out for him in his head.
Ten seconds.
In spite of his worry, he grinned.
Soon, he would be the Prince of four and two halves.
His son was to be born today.
He landed on their balcony a second after that thought, and he rushed to Bulma, immediately embracing her swollen body in his arms.
“Vegeta, let’s go!” she whined, already holding the emergency bag that he had meticulously packed for her as soon as he had found out that the pregnancy was heading towards its last week.
“Yes, my Princess,” he smirked, taking the bag from her before gently lifting her off her feet. He flew them to the hovercraft waiting in the garage downstairs, calmly setting her inside, before he sat beside her and engaged the autopilot, leading them to the Capsule Corp Hospital a few hundred meters away.
In reality, she could have gone there by herself.
But they had spoken about this, and the plan had been the same since they first saw that tiny “plus” sign appear on the home pregnancy test.
They would go to the hospital, together.
It had been an unfortunate coincidence that it had to be today, on the day that he was in a secondary Capsule Corp production factory about a hundred kilometers away, inspecting the new experimental space pods that they would be debuting to the military in a month.
After his return to the living realm, Bulma had fabricated an Earthling identity for him and given him a job at their company, testing out experimental military gadgets and training modules.
He was nigh indestructible, so he had been perfect for the job.
It was not until a few months later that Bulma had realized that he would also be a great asset in the research team for space mechanics, and she had given him a second job there, to act as a consultant for their then-fledgling deep space endeavors.
Together, he and Bulma had refined her earlier plans for hyperspace travel, using her high-density energy core that they had further developed after she saw how effective it had been in powering up her blaster gun.
They launched their first deep space prototype sixteen months ago, and it had been a success.
Bulma had felt that they owed much of their triumph and happiness to his fellow Saiyans, and thus, she had been very generous towards his men, as well.
She had given Goku a large plot of land for his farming, and was paying to send little Gohan to a nearby Science academy.
As for Raditz - who had been a lumberjack and space explorer for Nappa before Vegeta had come to Earth - Bulma had pulled some strings to get the rather good-looking bloke a job as a movie stunt-man. Last that Vegeta had heard, he had gotten popular enough that he was about to be a side-character for a long-running television series about half-naked ancient Earth warriors.
Nappa had been given access to purchase any of Capsule Corps’ car models weeks before their official release, and the bald man was using his new rides to pick up a new woman every Saturday night.
His men were doing well, and, as their Prince, Vegeta was satisfied.
Life was good…
He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt Bulma squeezing his hand, and he turned to her, a small, but excited smile on his face.
Their son was coming.
As soon as they landed in the Emergency Room gate, he leapt out, grabbed the bag, then carried Bulma carefully towards the Admission Area.
“Mr. Vegeta!” the receptionist exclaimed as soon as they came within view. “Is Ms. Bulma-”
“She’s gonna give birth. Get me her doctor, now,” he snarled, heralding the mad rush as the members of the staff realized that one of the owners of the hospital they were working at was about to go into labor.
Bulma squeezed Vegeta’s neck as she clung to him, and he sensed her pain through their soul bond that he had reinforced when they became true mates.
“Vegetaaa…” she whined, her voice a pained whisper in his ear, and he clutched her tighter as a wheelchair was brought before them.
“Mr. Vegeta, we have to place Ms. Bulma into the wheelchair so we can take her to the Delivery Room,” one of the nurses said, and Vegeta snarled as a male nurse came up to try to help him move her.
“I can put her down myself,” he said, gently sitting his wife down onto the wheelchair.
“Vegeta, don’t be rude,” she chastised, punctuating her gentle scolding with a groan of discomfort.
He blanched. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “It hurts.”
He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I will be right here with you, all the way.”
What happened next was a bit of a blur to him, as Bulma yelped, and a group of nurses rushed to her, clamoring to move her to the Delivery Room.
He followed her, lost in a slight daze, until they wheeled her into the sterile areas of the Labor and Delivery Unit, and a security guard stopped him at the entryway.
“I am her husband,” he barked, and he must have unwittingly released some ki, as he noted the terrified face of the guard.
“Yes sir, I am aware, but you cannot go into that area without wearing protective gear,” the guard said, pointing at a small table that held a bunch of masks and paper gowns.
After Vegeta had impatiently worn all of the required items, he marched into the room where they had taken Bulma, surprised at how quickly things had escalated in his short absence.
Bulma was already pushing, and the nurses looked harried, racing around the room and shouting at each other about “catching” the baby. From what he could see, the child was trying to move out of his mother’s womb faster than any other human child, and Bulma was struggling to keep up.
He reached for her hand, letting her clutch his powerful fingers as tightly as she could, while he placed his other hand on her stomach, emitting a very steady, warm glow of ki that seemed to calm the child within.
Bulma took a deep breath of relief, looking at him gratefully, before another contraction hit, and she pushed more intently as the doctor came in.
It all happened too fast, and yet too slow, and Vegeta felt almost dumb as he lost track of what was happening, dizzy from his own worry as his frail wife pushed out a powerful Saiyan hybrid from her fragile body.
One second, she was screaming, and the next, she was crying, as he watched a bloody bundle of flesh leave her body from between her legs, hurriedly caught, washed and clothed by the surrounding medical staff.
He stood still as a statue as one of the nurses came up, holding a tiny, wriggling bundle swaddled in soft blue cloth. She slowly placed it onto Bulma’s chest, and Bulma immediately wrapped her pale, exhausted arms around it…
His son…
That was his son…
The boy was quiet as he opened strangely alert, bright blue eyes, before pushing off a corner of his blanket.
Vegeta’s heart nearly flew out of his chest as he stared mutely at the little boy. He was impossibly small, with a fluffy tuft of purple hair atop his head.
He heard himself laugh, making Bulma turn to him, her eyes tired but blissful.
“Vegeta… Look,” she whispered, moving her arm as if to show off the boy…
The boy sired from his flesh and blood.
The boy who was literally made from their love.
He could feel a tear standing on the edge of his eyes, but he quickly blinked it away, before he leaned down, nuzzling the top of the child’s head, then planting a grateful kiss upon Bulma’s lips.
And he thought then, that he didn’t even begrudge that his life before he had been thrown to Earth had been absolute shit, or that he had already been literally in Hell.
This, right now, was as close to perfect as anything he could imagine.
And for a man like him, this could most definitely be, as they say on Earth… a “happily ever- after”.
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Chapter Summary: Bulma is determined to find a way to bring Vegeta back, and with help from Goku and a reluctant Uranai, she journeys into the spirit world, ready to challenge the gods themselves for the right to her soulmate’s ultimate fate.
Entry for the @tpthvegebulmayhem Week 4 (Part 2 of 4).
Prompt: The Better To Grab You With
Chapter Warnings: Rated E - Profane language; Slight sexual content.
Note: So you guuuuys! This story just won the 2018 Vegebul Mayhem and I am so, SO happy! To everyone who followed this story on the Mayhem tumblr, thank you all SO much! And to everyone currently reading this and are leaving all this wonderful feedback, thank you, as well! I am on cloud nine right now, and it's all thanks to you guys!
Now, as for this chapter, this is Part 2 of 4, for my Week 4 entry. I hope you like it!
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“We are going to Uranai, you and I,” she said. “We are going to bring Vegeta back.”
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“Bulma, are you crazy?” Goku asked, a moment before a string of static filled her line, and she looked up just in time to see the familiar form of the tall Saiyan materializing before her.
She calmly placed her phone back onto her dresser, smiling placidly at the confounded man.
“Maybe. I don’t really know anymore, to be honest,” she said, half-jokingly. “But I need to try, Goku. Vegeta… he’s not completely gone, I think.”
Goku’s brows furrowed, concern filling his dark eyes. “Hey, look. I know that you’re really broken up about Prince Vegeta’s death, but you gotta listen to yourself, Bulma-”
“No, no, no, listen to me,” Bulma interjected, excitedly waving her arms around as a very vague plan began to form in her head.
“I’m listening,” Goku said, his tone clearly stating that he thought she had gone insane.
Bulma laughed. “He’s speaking to me, Goku. From the afterlife.”
Goku’s brows shot up. “O-kaaaay,” he said. “So, you’re like, a psychic now?”
“No! Vegeta was speaking to me through my dreams!”
“A dream psychic then?”
“No!” Bulma exclaimed, stomping her foot in mounting frustration. “I dreamed of him, I saw what is happening to him, right now!”
Goku still looked unconvinced. “I… I don’t get it?”
She sighed. “Alright. Remember how I dreamt of his past, through his eyes?”
He nodded.
“Well, now I dreamed of his present. In the afterlife. Right now,” she explained. “And he is suffering so badly there, Goku. He doesn’t deserve this. We have to help him!”
“Look, I can kinda see how you would think that Prince Vegeta is talking to you, but how do you suggest we try to save him?” Goku asked, placing his fists on his hips.
“Uranai! She has a portal, right? Maybe we can use it or something!” then, Bulma paused. “Wait, didn’t you say that you found something when you went to Uranai?”
“Oh, right,” Goku said, arms dropping to his side. “Uranai told me that your soul is still linked to Vegeta’s, and that was why you can see his past. She can try to cut it, if you want-”
“No!” she cried. “Are you crazy? No! Why would I want to do that?”
“Well, Uranai said it would probably ease some of your pain, so you could move on.”
“No! Never,” she said, raising a hand to her chest, as if trying to find and protect her invisible link to Vegeta. “I need this link. This may be the one thing that can help me bring him back!”
Goku scratched his head. “You really think you can bring him back, huh?”
“I am positive. I can feel it. There has to be a way…” Bulma said. “After all, when Vegeta died, he was not in his real body, right? Because he didn’t kill me, he never got his real body back. So maybe… Maybe he is not completely dead.”
The Saiyan’s eyes widened at that. “You know… that makes a lot of sense.”
“Of course, I’m a genius, after all!” Bulma bragged. “So you have to help me, Goku. Don’t you want to have your Prince back?”
Goku’s eyes brightened, and a determined smile stretched his lips.
“If you really think there is a chance we can bring him back,” he said, “I’m comin’ with ya. What do you need me to do?”
Bulma smiled, the widest and most enthusiastic one she had ever smiled, in years.
She put her hands on Goku’s arm, then said, “First, I need you to take me to my office. There are a few items there that I need to pick up, just in case.”
He nodded, then, lifted his fingers up to his forehead in a heart wrenching, familiar way that reminded Bulma all the more of how important it was that her plan succeeds.
It was the only way to have Vegeta back.
The dizzying moment of transmission passed quickly enough, and Bulma immediately went to her desk, running to the cabinet behind it.
She popped open her secret drawer, pulling out the small blaster that she had made upon Vegeta’s suggestion.
She looked at it, hoping against hope that the small weapon could hold out if she needed it in a fight.
This would be the blaster’s first real-world test drive.
God, but she hoped that the lab tests were accurate.
After pulling out the gun and securely tucking it into a customized gun holster that she had especially made for it, she went to her desk and opened her first drawer.
Within that drawer, was a small capsule containing her most precious invention: her tiny, personalized multi-terrain hover car. It had the ability to run speeds up to a thousand miles per hour, but had highly sophisticated stabilizers built in so that the passenger remains unharmed.
She had used it only once, and she knew for a fact that the thing was advanced enough to run several thousand miles with a single full tank of gasoline.
She picked up ten gasoline capsules and a mini capsule full of energy bars as well, just to be sure, and secured those and the hover car into a pouch beside her blaster.
“Alright,” she grinned, turning back to Goku. “Now, let’s go to Uranai.”
Goku nodded, letting her hold on to his arm once again while he teleported them to Kame House.
When they arrived, Bulma looked around, noting that the entire island looked exactly the same as the last time she had been there. It was almost as if the island was trapped in time, where the lone tree shading the small house never grew but also never wilted, and the sand remained unmoved in spite of the water’s constant motions.
Bulma realized then, that the portal must have been the one responsible for keeping this lone island seemingly suspended in time.
After all, how else could she explain the fact that the guardian of the portal had been around for more than two hundred years?
She stepped into the small house, followed by Goku, who quietly shut the door behind them.
She looked around, and her eyes met the open trapdoor leading down into the basement, where she had previously seen Uranai as she worked on her Spirit Bridge.
Bulma took a deep breath.
“Uranai!” she called out. “Uranai! It’s Bulma and Goku, we need your help!”
“Grandma Uranai!” Goku called out, as well.
“Just a minute!” the old, raspy female voice called out, “I am coming! Kami, you youngsters are always in a hurry.”
They both waited impatiently as they heard the old woman begin to make her way up the creaky stairs from the basement, and as soon as the tip of her pointy black hat came into view, Goku swooped in, practically dragging the old witch up the remaining few steps.
“Aiyeeee!” Uranai screamed as Goku lifted her, placing her down before Bulma.
“Goku, you idiot, I thought I was going to fall!” Uranai scolded, giving Goku a solid whack on the head with her wooden cane.
“Ow! I’m sorry, you were taking so long and I was excited!” he said, rubbing at the sore spot.
“What in all the realms are you so excited about that you had to drag me from my portal?” she asked, dusting imaginary lint from her dress before she turned to Bulma. “Hello, Bulma.”
“Hi, Uranai,” Bulma greeted, shifting her weight between her feet as she basically jogged in place, in a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety. “We need your help.”
“So I have heard,” the crone said drily. “And how may I assist you two, today?”
“We wanna go into the Other World!” Goku burst out.
Uranai’s eyes went so large that Bulma feared that they would pop out of her skull.
“You what?!” Uranai asked, scandalized.
Bulma stood straighter, then said, with a lot more calmness than she actually felt. “Goku and I need your help to go into the Spirit realm, or afterlife.”
Uranai bristled. “No! Are you crazy?”
Bulma sighed. “This is not the first time I was asked that question today.”
“Because what you want to do is insane!” Uranai screeched, leaping up to her eye level to drive her point home. “No! Absolutely not… that is out of the question!”
“Please, Uranai!” Goku said. “Bulma has an idea and she thinks that she can maybe bring Prince Vegeta back!”
“Goku, you idiot, that is not possible,” Uranai said. “Once someone has entered the spirit world, there will be no going back! And it is not just for Prince Vegeta… why do you think I get so angry when you or anyone else tries to enter the basement? A living being going into the spirit world would immediately be sucked in and turned into a spirit.”
“Not everyone,” Bulma interjected. “The last time I went into the basement, the spirits did not sense me, did they, Uranai?”
Uranai went still. “No, they did not,” she answered solemnly. “But it could have been for any number of reasons-”
“You told Goku that Vegeta and I are still linked,” Bulma said. “It means that his dead spirit is connected to mine. I may have just enough of him in me for the spirits not to realize who I am, until I could get to Vegeta.”
“And what do you propose to do once you get there, huh?” Uranai asked. “Just pull Vegeta back with you? That could never work.”
“No, but if I was down there, I could find a way,” Bulma said, before she suddenly sobered as she thought of another, much less ideal possibility. “Or, even if I couldn’t… at least I could see him one last time.”
“Tsk,” Uranai said. “Your sentimentality will get you killed, child.”
Bulma looked straight at Uranai. “And was it not sentimentality that got Vegeta killed, as well? If he had taken my life as he was supposed to, he could have been in his full-power and could have killed Frieza, without dying, himself.”
Bulma gulped. “He risked everything, going into the fight at partial strength. That was the reason why he had to wait for the Red Moon, after all, was it not? He needed all possible advantages, because he knew that he was going in with a very distinct disadvantage.”
She couldn’t stop speaking as the full impact of what Vegeta had given up for her hit her all at once. “He had waited thirty years, thirty gods damned years, only to let it all go because he didn’t want to sacrifice me. For his sake… for his sake, I need to try everything I could to see if I could save him, as well.”
Uranai looked at her with a face full of sympathy and uncertainty, but finally, nodded.
“Alright. I will see if I can get you into the spirit realm. But Goku,” she turned to the Saiyan. “You stay here. You are very much alive, with no spirit links, and an overflowing amount of power. The spirits will devour you in less than a second.”
“Is there no way I can help?” Goku asked, turning concerned eyes to Bulma. “Bulma isn’t strong, or fast. She’s an Earthling and I don’t know how she could manage without someone there to protect her.”
“I’ll have Vegeta protecting me,” she said, smiling at her spiky-haired friend. “He’s in my soul, Goku. Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”
“Don’t say your goodbyes, just yet,” Uranai interrupted. “I still need to see if I can actually manage to push you into the spirit world. We have a lot of sound theories but we won’t know for sure until I go and try.”
“We can do it Uranai, I’m sure!” Bulma said, a wave of conviction going through her along with the relief that Uranai had agreed to help her.
Uranai turned slowly towards the stairs leading down to the basement, and Bulma followed right behind her, her heart pounding quick, rapid beats as the gravity of what she was about to do started to fall upon her shoulders.
She was going into the spirit realm. She was going in there, mixing up with various ghosts and monsters and heaven knows what else.
But she was doing it for Vegeta.
“Can’t you calm down a little? Even I can hear your heartbeats from here. The spirits will pounce on you if you keep that up,” Uranai scolded, and Bulma took a few deep breaths as she began to take the few final steps into the basement.
A thick wooden wall concealed the basement from the stairs, and as Uranai turned the corner going into the hidden area, Bulma put her hand on her chest, willing her heart to calm down.
She could do this. She wanted to do this. But it certainly didn’t mean that it wasn’t terrifying.
She took the last few steps, passing the wooden wall…
Her heart stopped beating, her breath caught in her throat.
The Spirit Bridge was a large, circular black hole that seemingly led into endless darkness, floating ominously over a wide, glassy, flat surface that resembled the mirror that she had seen Dabura holding up to Vegeta in her dream.
The portal itself was dark, a void, but small wisps of foul-smelling clouds and thin strips of weak energy wafted in and out of the portal, a horrifying glimpse of the things that likely awaited Bulma down beneath the blackness. It was large, about twice her height, and as she came closer, she heard the howling from within it growing louder, as the wispy threads of energy began to turn an angry red.
Uranai turned to her, her wrinkled face somber and worried. “Some of the spirits can sense you Bulma. If you are not extremely careful, they will find you, and will suck you in with them, forever. Are you sure you are up to this?”
Bulma took a very deep breath.
“Yes, I want to do this, Uranai,” she confirmed, looking determinedly at the portal, almost daring it to try and stop her from finding her man.
She was going to literally die trying to get him back.
“Alright, listen to me,” Uranai said. “I will open the Spirit Bridge for you, but once you get in, you have to hurry. Run as fast as you can.”
“Can I use a hover car?” Bulma asked hopefully, already feeling the weight of her capsules in her belt.
The crone blinked. “You brought one?”
“Yep!” Bulma beamed proudly, patting her pocket full of capsules.
“Well then. That is a great amount of foresight,” Uranai commented. “Now. As I was saying. Run, or drive as fast as you can. As you touch down onto the Spirit World, you will find a very long and winding path that we call the Snake Way. At the very end of the Snake Way, is the King of the Underworld, King Yemma. He is the one you need to talk to, if you wish to bring Vegeta back.”
Uranai cleared her throat. “Now, remember: along the way, make sure you interact with as little amount of beings as possible. The longer you are with them, the easier it may be for them to figure out that you are not dead, and they will try to kill you.”
Bulma gulped, then nodded.
“Would you happen to have a weapon with you?
She patted her pocket with a smug smirk.
Uranai just shook her head. “I see that it must be the arrogance that attracted the Prince to you.”
She laughed at that, flipping her blue hair off her shoulder, noting that the portal now seemed to be blowing out an increasingly strong gust of wind.
Uranai spoke again, “Make sure that you blast anyone who gets too close, especially if they try to pull you down with them. If you fall off the Snake Way, you will fall directly into Hell, and no one can help you from there as King Yemma would not have known of your presence yet.”
Bulma frowned. “Why don’t you just tell him ahead that I am coming?”
“Do you have any idea how long the waiting time is to get an appointment with King Yemma? The ongoing wait list is fifty years.”
“Oh.”
“Well then. Are you ready?” Uranai asked, lifting her hands up to the portal, and Bulma stared in awe as a little point of light appeared in the very center of the darkness.
The light grew larger, very slowly, until Bulma saw that the light was now large enough to accommodate a small child.
Uranai started shouting, “Jump in as soon as you think the hole is large enough for you to fit through. I don’t know how much longer I can hold this open! Also, I do not have the powers to bring you back here, so you need to reach King Yemma so he can push you back out into the living world.”
Bulma nodded, jogging lightly as she tried to figure out the best way to jump into the hole.
She held onto the edges of the light, ignoring the burning sensation caused by the bits of darkness licking at her fingers.
Lunging up with all the strength she could muster into her arms, she lifted herself up, pushing her head and shoulders into the hole, before she leaned down to slide the rest of her body down the bright part of the portal, barely squeezing her butt in as Uranai started losing strength.
“Go!” Uranai yelled, and Bulma pulled herself down, sliding down the tunnel, shrieking all the way.
She screamed, trying to spin around so she wouldn’t land on her face once she finally reached solid ground. She was hurtling down the tunnel of light at a fast rate, and she was quite sure that her landing was going to hurt.
She saw a slight change in hue from a few meters before her and she realized then that she must have been rapidly approaching the Snake Way.
She braced herself, not quite sure if she should go on feet first, afraid of injuring her legs.
“Dammit why didn’t I pay more attention to Physical Ed classes?” she whimpered as the surface came closer and closer…
She braced herself, wrapping her arms around her head…
Only to fall butt first onto a very soft pile of cushions, the small pillows burying her as she sank deep into the cloud-like mattress.
She opened her eyes, that she had not realized that she had shut, only to see the most amazing span of virtual nothingness that she had ever thought to see.
The mattress she had fallen on was round and airy, and she struggled a bit to get off the bed-like contraption so she can stand on her two feet on the relatively smooth ground below.
She stood on the yellowish road that looked like smooth marble, edged on all sides by tiny golden frills. Beyond the narrow road was an endless sea of the puffiest white clouds, reminding Bulma of huge rolls of cotton candy.
She looked behind her, looking for the opening to the portal, and to her utter dismay, discovered that the light tunnel was gone. The only thing behind her was more nothingness, and the airy bed that she had fallen onto.
She was at the end of the Snake Way, and was truly on her own.
She knocked the heels of her shoes on the pavement, noting the sound of her feet hitting concrete.
Bulma was baffled. What was with all the warnings to stay away from the spirits? The place was absolutely empty.
She released her capsule containing the hovercraft, then got into the car as soon as the vehicle materialized before her.
She remembered Uranai telling her to run as fast as she can, so she immediately set the craft up to its highest speed, leaning back as the craft flew through at speeds that would normally be dizzyingly deadly if she wasn’t within a stabilized car.
It did not take long for Bulma to finally understand what it was that Uranai had been warning her about, after all.
She had been travelling the single, winding road for a few hours, probably half a day, when the skies suddenly grew darker.
She had been snacking on an energy bar when she looked out the viewing walls of the craft, and only then realized that the puffy clouds outside had begun to morph into darkened shrouds of smoke, with angry red bolts of lightning screeching out of their edges, and moving ever closer to her as she went deeper through the Snake Way.
She took the wheel, moving into a manual pilot override, so she can stir the hover car should anything try to hit her or get in the way.
Bulma watched in trepidation as the smoke began to hover closer to the edges of the Snake Way, the sharp shards of electricity zipping out and trying to lick her tiny car.
She wrenched her car to the right, avoiding a particularly long bolt, quickly righting her path so that she stayed on top of the road.
She distinctly remembered Uranai telling her not to fall off the Snake Way, and she was definitely not in the mood to find out if the bad side of Hell was truly just beyond those golden edges.
The clouds were getting darker, thicker, visibly denser, and Bulma tried harder to stay away from the flits of energy that would surely fry her circuitry if she got hit.
If her car broke down, she was so dead. She was deader than dead.
The Snake Way seemed endless, and she knew that she would have no hope of reaching the end of it if she was on foot.
She kept on moving forward, slowing down a little as she had to carefully maneuver around the dark clouds that were really closing in on her, attempting to crush her with their darkness, should they successfully catch her in their grasp.
A large mass of darkness suddenly blocked her way, and Bulma screamed, sure that she would not be able to duck out of the way.
Her shock was immeasurable, when she simply passed through the cloud, emerging onto a once again, clear and cottony clouded Snake Way.
Her heart was pumping a mile a minute, and she looked around in confusion, not quite understanding the sudden shift.
“Better just be thankful, I suppose,” she muttered, engaging her auto pilot once again so she can go at faster speeds, now that the dark clouds were gone.
A few more hours later, she began to wish for the dark clouds to come back.
A horde of demons, stereotypical looking demons with dark eyes, pointed horns and arrow-tipped tails, began to emerge from the edges of the Snake Way.
Bulma pushed the hover car as fast as it would go as she swerved and dodged around the beings who seemed to know that she was a living person, as they with all their might to grab a hold of her round little vehicle to pull it down with them.
She had to disengage the auto pilot once more, as the car insisted on just pushing forward instead of dodging the demons, but the problems really started to pile up when Bulma needed to slow down the vehicle so that her reflexes can keep up with the movements.
She could not afford to simply keep dodging, she had to go on the offense.
Reaching down to her belt, she pulled her experimental blaster out of her holster, powered it up, before she lifted a tiny latch from the very center of the hover car.
The latch was specifically designed so that she can secure her specialized weapons onto the console in case she needed firepower.
At the time she had been drafting the designs, she had giggled to herself, thinking it ridiculous for her to design a vehicle that was so obviously needed for adventurous situations, when the most adventurous that she had been before was drinking one flask of wine too many.
Now, she thanked her lucky stars for whatever streak of insanity had possessed her to make her include the gun hatch in her vehicles.
She engaged the blaster, adjusting it to the medium firing strength, then, keeping her fingers crossed, pressed the trigger.
A blinding flash of pure energy exploded from the front of her vehicle, causing her to stumble back as the blaster released its load. The blast was stronger than she had anticipated, and the interior of the vehicle started to shake as Bulma began pressing the trigger more often, more quickly, effectively destroying tens of demons with a single shot.
There were hundreds of monsters, and Bulma felt the terror creep into her heart as she realized that all it would take was a single wrong move on her side, and they would overwhelm her, dragging her down into the abyss with them to suffer an eternity of flames and torture.
She would have welcomed death, if not for the thought of a life that she needed to save. The life of Vegeta was in her hands, and she could not afford to fail.
She persevered, pushing her hovercraft to its limits as she flew up and over the demons, blasting anything that got too close.
The crowd of demons grew denser, while she herself started to become braver, feeling more confident as she thought that this was actually rather fun, if she pretended that it was just a video game.
She saw a tiny spot of light ahead, a very small opening largely obscured by the horde of monsters, and she realized that this spot was her most likely escape, probably the end of a tunnel that she had to cross to get to King Yemma.
The spot was growing larger, and she became more determined, hands flying over her controls as she snaked through the enemies and blasted through the ones that would not quit.
She was sweating now, the exhaustion seeping into her bones after the several-hour long dangerous journey, but she was almost there!
She had to hold on, just a bit more. Just… a bit… more!
With a final, desperate attempt, she set her blaster on the highest setting, then, bracing herself for the recoil, fired.
The blast was nearly deafening in its power, shocking even Bulma, who had never yet used the maximum setting during the trials.
She stared, absolutely flabbergasted, as almost all of the demons blocking her melted away, and she took the chance to immediately push her vehicle to full speed, flying past the surprised monsters as she hurtled her way into the small tunnel.
She was in the tunnel for but a few seconds, before she found herself in the middle of a humongous open area, where, at the end, was a large castle-like structure with the words “Check-In Station” emblazoned on a large neon signage stuck to the highest turret.
Bulma whooped, seeing that beyond the castle, there was nothing more, and this was clearly the end of the Snake Way, where she can find King Yemma.
She dropped down onto the large center lawn, attracting the attention of several people standing around the palace garden.
She pulled her blaster out of the console before hurriedly leaping out, encapsulating the hover car as fast as she could before she ran full-throttle towards the open doors.
“Hey! That woman is alive!” One large, humanoid monster with blue skin, purple hair and a single yellow horn atop his head shouted. “Mez! It’s a living human!”
Bulma kept running as the blue man bounded after her, joined by a similarly large demon with red skin, small spectacles and black hair combed around two small yellow horns.
“Goz! Get her!” the red-skinned man shouted, and the blue demon nodded, charging at Bulma, who frantically scrambled to get away from them as the doors loomed ever closer.
She lifted her gun, turning to aim at the two demons behind her, completely forgetting that the blaster was still on the maximum setting.
She fired, but the impact from the gun sent it flying harshly from her grip and her hitting the floor hard, and she cried out as she landed painfully on her behind, a few feet away from the door.
Ignoring her protesting limbs and buttocks, she leapt up, scrambling her way to the door, knowing that if she got inside, she would be able to meet with King Yemma.
He had to be there. He just had to be!
She skidded into the castle, only to find herself in the midst of a large room full of people waiting in a straight line.
All the people looked at her curiously as she kept running, heading towards the front of the line, where she hoped to meet someone who could take her to King Yemma.
The two monsters were still behind her, and they were quickly gaining on her. She was tiring now, and she felt tears of exhaustion fill her eyes as she forced her legs to go on.
She could see an enormous desk, at least five storeys high, just in front of her. She sprinted towards it, reaching for it, knowing that she was almost there…
A large hand suddenly clamped over her arms, forcibly hauling her up and off her feet, and she screamed, furiously kicking her legs around, hoping to get the attacker to drop her.
“Please! Let me go! I am so close! I need to speak to him, please!” she screamed, clawing at the thick hands that held her effortlessly above the ground. “Please, I beg you! I need to speak to King Yemma!”
An uncomfortable hush fell over the gathered crowd, before she heard the impossibly loud scraping of wood against stone.
It was as if an entire tree was being scraped against the side of a mountain, and Bulma realized that whoever had been behind the gigantic desk was moving, and the loud sound was that of the enormous chair as it was pushed away from the table.
“What do we have here?” a loud, thunderous voice sounded from above her, and Bulma almost screamed as she looked into the large beady eyes of a man who was at least a hundred feet tall.
He had red skin, two large white horns peaking from the side of his shaggy-haired and fully-bearded head. He was wearing a purple suit with a matching hat, with a white shirt underneath that was collared by a bright orange neck tie.
“Mez? Goz? What is the meaning of this?”
“Lord Yemma!” The red demon said, visibly shaking with terror.
Bulma stared at the humongous demon lord, renewing her efforts to break free from the demon holding her.
“Lord Yemma,” the blue demon said. “We found this living woman outside. She ran into the throne room, she was fast. We will take her now.”
“Please, no!” Bulma cried. “King Yemma, my name is Bulma. Please! I need to talk to you!”
Yemma looked at her sternly as he answered. “How did you get here, human?”
“Uranai helped me through the portal,” she said, making the demon king raise a brow in surprise. “She helped me because I need to talk to you about a man who is not supposed to be here.”
“And how did you manage to make it this far? The demons would have devoured you the moment you landed onto the Snake Way,” Yemma asked.
“Because my spirit is linked to the man I need to speak to you about, so the less powerful demons probably did not sense me. They weren’t reacting to me as I approached the Spirit Bridge.”
“Goz,” Yemma said. “Release her.”
Bulma immediately felt the hands around her let go, and she fell, nearly losing her balance as she righted herself after the rough treatment.
“Alright. Who is this man you are referring to?” Yemma asked.
Bulma took a deep breath. “Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans.”
Goz and Mez released simultaneous gasps, and Yemma himself looked taken aback.
Mez, the red demon, spoke up. “Vegeta of the Saiyans most definitely is supposed to be here. His spirit has been partially in hell for thirty human years, girl.”
“Yes, I know. And that is the reason why I am here. His soul is tied to mine,” she began.
“Do you want the bond to be cut?” Yemma asked.
“No! Please, no. Why does everyone think I want the bond cut? I don’t want the bond to be cut,” she exclaimed. “I want Vegeta to come back with me to the living world.”
“Absolutely not!” Mez said. “Do you even know what you are asking? That man deserves Hell more than any being you have ever met on Earth!”
“He is right, girl,” Yemma agreed “Vegeta has killed so many people, beyond what you can imagine. He conquered dozens of planets, ended millions of lives.”
“But he did those under orders from Frieza! It wasn’t him who wanted to do it!” she decried.
“True, but it does not excuse the fact that those people died by his hand. We also need to remember that he borrowed a false form to return to the living world for selfish reasons; just so he can take his revenge from Frieza. Thus, his crimes cannot go unpunished. He has yet to do anything that would absolve him of his sins.”
“He died for me!” Bulma said, feeling her tears rising to the fore once again. She quickly dashed them with her hand, just in time to see the expression of profound surprise on Yemma’s face.
“Truly?”
“Yes!” she answered. “He… he let himself die, so I could live. His soul is linked to mine, and for him to survive, all he had to do was kill me. But he chose to go into his fight with Frieza weakened, because he didn’t want to harm me.”
She choked as she kept speaking. “He could have lived on, but he gave himself up, for me. I need him, King Yemma. I need him back. Please,” she begged, “please, let me have him back.”
Yemma looked at her in sympathy. “I would allow it,” he began, and Bulma was about to scream in joy when he held up his hand. “However… He is currently being watched by Dabura, and you will need to convince him, too. Dabura is the king of Hell, and was the one who gave Vegeta a way to return to the living world, following his conditions. If he agrees, you and Vegeta need to come back here to the check-in station so I could write his name off the book of souls until he dies again. Are we clear?”
Bulma nodded. “Yes! I will try to convince Dabura. Where should I go?”
Yemma grinned, before he snapped a finger, and before Bulma could even blink, she was in a dark, dreary area filled with little potholes full of flames, screams of agony echoing around her while the heat of the flames burned her skin.
She recognized the place immediately.
Hell.
She walked aimlessly, trying to avoid the flames but not knowing where to go.
“Dammit,” she muttered, ducking away from yet another tongue of flame that looked a little too much like long, thin claws trying to reach for her. “The better to grab you and kill you with,” she thought sarcastically.
She yelped as she jumped away from a hole that spewed fire up, nearly singeing her hair. “I hate this place. Vegeta, you better be thankful for this.”
“Bulma?”
She nearly lost her footing when a voice, dripping with surprise and confusion, rang loudly, clearly, in her head.
It was Vegeta’s voice!
“Vegeta?!” she asked aloud, heart pounding in her throat.
“Bulma? Is that you?”
Tears filled her eyes, falling down her cheeks before she lifted her hands to wipe them away.
“Vegeta? It’s me!” she sobbed, “I am so happy to hear your voice again.”
“What the fuck are you doing? Are you really in the Spirit World?”
“Yes! I came here to get you!” she said, hearing the infuriated concern in his voice in her head.
“Get the hell out of here, you crazy woman!” he hissed in her head. “This place is dangerous!”
“I know!” she laughed. “But I don’t care! Now, where are you?”
“In Hell, somewhere! It is not as if we have postal addresses.”
“Oh, ha-ha. Can you lead me?”
“I… I don’t know. Bulma, how did you get here? How did you survive long enough to get to Hell?”
She sobered, letting a fond smile wash over her face as she stood still in the midst of the literal fires of Hell.
“I stayed strong and thought of you, Vegeta. I wanted to see you again, so no matter how hard it was… I kept holding on.”
She could feel his happiness flow through her, reminding her of the time when he was still in the orb, and his emotions poured into her body as she held his tiny prison in her hand.
“I wish to see you too. But please, woman... you have to leave. It is not safe…”
“No, Vegeta! I’m gonna find you. You can’t stop me. Not now,” she replied, tiptoeing through another group of flaming stones.
“Fine then. Insolent wench.”
“Stubborn jerk,” she said, grinning affectionately. “Hey. Keep talking to me. I think… I think I can hear your voice getting louder. Maybe I can hear you better, the closer I get.”
“Tch. What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Anything, really. Keep it up, I can hear you better now.”
“I have no idea what I should talk about! Ask me something so I can answer.”
“Alright,” she said, a small frown marring her face as she thought of what to ask. Then…
“Vegeta,” Bulma began. “Why didn’t you want to kill me? It would have been easier for you, far less risky for you and your team. So… why?”
“Are you seriously asking me this? I would have thought that it would have been clear by now.”
“No, it’s not,” she answered. “I… I have my guesses, but… I want to know what you were really thinking.”
“I was thinking that I did not want any harm to come upon you, and yet here you are, actively seeking ways to die.”
She giggled. “You care about me. Admit it.”
She was met by silence.
“ Vegeta? Hey. Vegeta? Are you still there? Veg-”
“I more than care about you, woman. Never doubt that.”
His words rang clearly through her heart, sending warmth through her soul, and as she took another step forward past a large pillar of melting metal, her eyes widened as she saw the one person who had made this journey to Hell all worth the trouble.
“Vegeta!” she cried, running carelessly through the field of fire when she saw his familiar, muscular form, chained to a tall, wide metal pole.
He looked up, and his dark eyes filled with elation as he saw her running towards him.
“Bulma!” he called, straining against his bindings, trying his best to reach her, to move as close as possible to her in spite of his bindings.
“Vegeta!” she said his name again as she ran to him, holding her hands out as she threw herself forward, reaching out to hold his face in her palms before desperately pressing her mouth to his in a kiss that she had wanted, needed, for oh, so long.
He kissed her back with equal fervor, his mouth slanting against hers as she whimpered, gasping in joy as they finally, finally touched once again after what seemed like an eternity apart.
“Bulma,” he whispered against her lips, still straining against the thick chains that bound him against the large beam.
She pulled away, looking at him through teary eyes. “I can’t believe I’m holding you again.”
“I can’t believe you actually travelled to Hell to see me again, after everything I have caused you to suffer through,” he rasped.
“Don’t say that,” she said with a light laugh, before she leaned back, hands on his chest as she assessed him. “Now, how can I set you free from this thing?”
“You can’t,” an eerily familiar voice said from behind her, and she heard Vegeta growl as she turned, and found herself staring at the form of a monster that she had seen once in her dreams.
“You’re Dabura,” she said, a note of accusation in her tone.
“Why yes. So glad to know that my reputation precedes me,” he said with a short bow. “You must be Bulma! Yemma has told me a little about you.”
She stood stiffly, placing herself between Vegeta and the demon who was looming over them.
“Now… Yemma told me that you wanted to take Vegeta with you, back to the world of the living. Is that right?” Dabura asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “He told me to talk to you.”
“And what were you planning to do if I refuse?” Dabura sneered. “After all, Vegeta and I made a deal when I agreed to equip him with a temporary body. I was promised the soul of his spiritual counterpart, and when that failed, I got his. If I just let him leave, what do I get out of this agreement, then?”
She stilled. She did not really have a plan for that.
She realized… if Dabura wanted a soul, then… “I was thinking of offering you a compromise. You can keep me here instead of Vegeta.”
“Out of the question!” Vegeta roared from behind her. “Bulma, you are going back to the living realm, now!”
“No! I’m not going anywhere without you!” she protested, looking at him over her shoulder.
Dabura smirked. “See, there is a problem here. You,” he pointed at Bulma, “are not dead. But your soul is tethered here through him,” as he pointed at Vegeta.
“So, either way,” he continued, “if you stay here in the land of the dead, Vegeta… this woman will always come knocking. And Yemma didn’t cut your bond. The only way for any of you to be in your correct worlds is if you are both either fully alive, or fully dead.”
Vegeta growled, “You are not going to touch a single hair on her head, Dabura. If you harm her, I swear that I will find a way to permanently destroy you, myself.”
“I wasn’t planning to kill her, Vegeta,” Dabura smirked. “What I am saying is… I spoke to Yemma. Since you were incomplete upon death, you apparently did not fully die. So, if I were so inclined, I could let you go back to Earth.”
Bulma’s eyes widened.
Could it be? Would Dabura let Vegeta go?
“However, as I said before,” the demon king continued, “if I just let you go, where does that leave me? I would have just made a bad business deal. I expect recompense.”
She held her breath.
“If I were to bring you back to life, Saiyan, I demand a price. Something of equivalent value,” Dabura grinned.
“Name it, Dabura,” Bulma interrupted.
She was prepared. Even if he asked for her soul in return, she would give it.
The demon smiled, letting them see his fang-like teeth, as a wicked gleam entered his eyes.
“I demand that the Prince give up his Super Saiyan powers, and his skill with ki alchemy.”
Bulma gasped, while Vegeta growled.
“You… you expect him to give up his powers?” she asked, appalled.
“Not all of it,” Dabura said. “Just the Legendary Super Saiyan, as well as the alchemy. The Super Saiyan powers will no longer be needed, after all. It is an incredible power that will be unnecessary on Earth. As for the ki alchemy, it is what landed you both here in the first place, so I am taking it to balance everything out and avoid such difficult situations in the future.”
Bulma’s eyes widened as she realized that apparently, the final price that they needed to pay for their ultimate happiness was no longer either her or Vegeta’s lives, but his powers.
The power of the Super Saiyan, she knew, was Vegeta’s pride and joy. The thing that made him one of the most revered Saiyans to have ever existed…
“Take it,” Vegeta suddenly growled beside her.
She turned to him sharply. “Vegeta?”
“Take my Super Saiyan powers, Dabura. Take the ki alchemy, as well,” he continued. “Take whatever you want from me, if it means that I can go back to the living realm with Bulma.”
Vegeta turned to her then, his eyes soft, his lips curved into a small yet beautiful smile that Bulma burned into her heart. “If I can be with Bulma, no price is too steep.”
Dabura grinned, a dark smile filled with unholy glee that made the flames of Hell look pale in comparison. “Good.”
He raised his arms, and Bulma watched as Dabura formed a set of web-like energy strands that he then sent flying towards Vegeta.
“Vegeta!” she screamed, panicked, when Vegeta began to convulse, his body glowing in a dark golden glow that slowly seeped into the webs around Dabura’s fingers.
Vegeta groaned, slumping forward, his hair turning golden, then going back to black, switching erratically until the golden color of his hair appeared to melt away from him, forming a ball that flew towards Dabura, who opened his mouth to swallow the legendary energy.
Dabura finally released Vegeta, his chains snapping free from the pole, and Bulma stepped closer to him to catch him as he fell limply into her arms.
“Now, both of you, don’t worry. I may be a demon, but I have no intentions of using the legendary powers to harm you. I only took it as a form of check and balance,” Dabura said.
Bulma held Vegeta close, and as she did, she felt his body go from his usual abnormally hot temperature, to a heat that was closer to her own.
“Now, Vegeta is back in his full, mortal body. I can no longer keep you both here, so I am sending you to Yemma,” the demon said, then with a cheeky bow, added, “It was nice doing business with you.”
A second later, both Bulma and Vegeta found themselves in King Yemma’s large office, on the very top of his desk.
Yemma was above them, squinting at them, before he suddenly smiled.
He raised a hand, snapped…
And in the next second, Bulma found herself in the center of a house in the middle of nowhere, a tiny island home that hid a secret portal into the other world.
“Bulma,” Vegeta whispered as he held her, his arms tight around her as he took a deep breath beside her neck, taking in the scent of her hair.
And Bulma, blinded once again by her tears, could only smile as she caressed his face, ran her hands up and down his back…
She did it.
Vegeta was back. And she was never, ever, going to let him go again.
The setting is a post apocalyptic future where Gohan and Vegeta were successful against the androids, but unfortunately everyone else was not. Having lost Piccolo, and therefore Kami, no one can be revived including the blue haired mother of Trunks. Vegeta is left with her child, with no knowledge of how to raise him. Training and harsh words is how they bond. This is Spindle.
Vegeta kicked the dust in frustration. It had only been thirty minutes and the boy was already drained and crying… again. “Useless!” the prince yelled at his only son, before turning to leave.
Trunks lay in the dirt for a moment, his tears mixing and making his face muddy. It was a cheap shot, Vegeta sucker punched him in the stomach. He didn't usually play this dirty when they trained, but something was off lately. Yes, ever since Trunks had mentioned his eighth birthday coming up, Vegeta had been in a sour mood. For the few birthdays Trunks could remember he had always celebrated with Gohan and Chichi. Since mom died when he was an infant, those two were the closest he had to family. Besides his father of course.
The terror known as the androids had almost completely wiped humanity out until Gohan and Vegeta teamed up and were able to make a last stand. It took all the pride he had to do it, but Vegeta gave in and helped the young Gohan. Every single Z fighter had fallen, pushing Gohan and Vegeta to ascend past the power of a super saiyan, and together they defeated the androids. Trunks loved to hear Gohan tell the story of their victory, though most of the time Gohan became misty eyed near the end. Trunks hoped that one day he too could become a super saiyan and be as strong as his dad and Gohan. So he trained with Vegeta because he knew his father would not hold back. Even when it really hurt.
…
“I'll be eight in one week, dad!” Trunks beamed, finishing his canned rations. Humanity was still recovering, and food sources were scarce in this unforgiving world. Vegeta just stared at his own food when the boy mentioned his birthday. He was not sure what to say. He had never prepared for this. It came every year, and every year he failed to be the father Trunks wanted, the father he needed. Vegeta barely remembered his own father, a silent and powerful man, and wondered what he would do. This human idea of a birthday and a celebration was so foreign to the saiyan prince. He wasn't sure if he'd ever celebrated a birthday, or anything for that matter. What frustrated him the most was that she left the boy with him, a responsibility she assumed he could handle. And he knew exactly nothing about being a father. Stupid woman. He lamented. It was easy to pawn the boy off on Gohan and Chichi for a time, but now the boy wanted to train, and he couldn't even take a full force punch in the gut. What was it about this brat’s birthday that ignited his frustration so badly? Maybe it was the fact he wished it had never happened. He wished he never met that stupid, vulgar woman. He wished he'd never stayed on this sorry excuse for a planet. He wished he'd never trained to fight the androids because Kakarot ended up dying to a meaningless heart virus anyway, so what was the point? But most of all, the one thing that still hurt him every time he looked at Trunks… He wished he'd never fallen in love with that wild blue haired vixen. Because she was in him, his eyes and his hair. His smile was her smile. His voice rung with small pieces of hers. His hands and feet were like hers, dainty and agile. His attitude and humor. Everything about this boy was so characteristic of her, that he struggled to find any piece of himself in there.
And this birthday that meant so much to him was just an anniversary for a time that no longer existed. Just another reminder of what was lost, and what pain had been gained.
Without finishing his ration, Vegeta stood from the table and blasted off through the hole in the ceiling of the decrepit Capsule Corp house they called home.
...
Why is he so upset about my birthday… little Trunks wondered, still laying in the dirt. It angered him, because Gohan had always said birthdays were happy! Birthdays were a time to eat and play games and tell jokes with family. Yet, Vegeta never attended any of Trunks’ birthdays, and didn't seem to care at all! If family is supposed to love you and make you happy, why does my only living family member detest me? The small boy pondered while laying there.
Vegeta had faced away from the boy, embarrassed by his son's weakness. He thought long and hard about what his own father might do. Punish him for being weak most likely. And Prince Vegeta would not have been so weak in the first place.
“Get yourself together, Trunks. You disappoint me.” Vegeta spat the acidic words on the vulnerable boy.
Not enough, were the only words that trailed through Trunks’ mind. It hurt to be a disappointment to his father, when that was the only person in the world that he wanted to make proud. He flattened his palms on the dirt and pushed his upper body up. With anger in his sapphire eyes he glared at Vegeta, who had been looking at the boy through a side eyed glance.
The glare set him off guard, sparking a pang of guilt for his harsh words. But here, in this angry boy was the part of him that most resembled his father. Hate. Anger. This was the proof he was looking for that the boy was truly his son. Of course he knew biologically Trunks was his. But besides DNA, everything else was her. Now this, furious and hateful glare, that was Vegeta’s contribution. It excited him to finally see it, and he smiled a devilish and slight smile.
Trunks picked up on the change in mood his father showed. The smile he gave was mocking, taunting him. Inside his small body his hate and anger grew, and he growled a furious lion cub’s growl. Pushing himself up the rest of the way he began screaming to power up.
“I hate you!!” he declared, before charging the snickering saiyan. Effortlessly, Vegeta blocked the boy's attacks, though he was hitting much harder than before. This went on for some time, Trunks blindly assaulting and the prince gracefully blocking each time.
Eventually they both grew tired, and drew a silent truce. Trunks was fighting to catch his breath as he stared at his evil father. His eyebrows were clenched, his mouth open but turned downward at both corners. He meant it when he said he hated Vegeta.
Vegeta looked upon Trunks with indifference, but acknowledging the hate. He was glad the boy hated him. What good was love anyway? It only resulted in pain. At least hate generated power, and Vegeta would strive to make Trunks hate him more and more, until his son was more powerful than himself.
“Good,” Vegeta breathed, a response to the hate comment as well as the strategic and powerful assault.
And then he blasted off, leaving the boy in a cloud of dust.
…
That night, as he lay in her bed, he dreamed a most bewitching dream. It was back then. The lights of the city glittered like a sea of stars. The roof was his favorite place to meditate back then. Until she found it. And when she did find it, she made it hers, inviting herself into his quiet contemplation, where he didn't want her or anyone else. But he didn't dislike her being there. It just shifted from being his alone time… to their alone time. That was where she first kissed him. Kissing was an action humans invented, at least he’d never heard of such a thing happening with saiyans. It was several weeks after she had first invited herself to the rooftop. She forced conversation on him and stupidly, he had opened himself up. She wanted to know all about him, though he was adamant that she truly did not want to know these things. He told her of his planet, what he remembered, and of working under Frieza. As if he dropped his arms in the heat of battle, he had lowered his defenses to her. And instead of exploiting them, like any opponent would, she hugged him. For the first time he had met someone who he could trust not to hurt him. She had every opportunity, and he had even dared her with his most private information. Yet she accepted him. She drew him in with her embrace. Her skin was warm and flush from wine. He felt defenseless in her arms, an attack he truly could not evade. His heart began to race, and he felt hers, as her breast pressed to his. From her position sitting next to him she threw one leg over his legs and straddled him. His hands moved as if on their own to her slender waist. There was a sort of animal inside him, that fought viciously for control of his body. He fought just as hard to resist it, that is until she laid her delicate lips upon his. He wasn't sure why she'd done it, but it had given the animal inside him a surge of energy that it used to overthrow the rational prince. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her hips into his. It was then he became firm against her, triggering a light gasp from the blue haired girl. Their breathing hastened, and neither said a word as they fell backwards onto the roof, her on top of him. She kept her chest pressed against his, pinning him down. Her legs curved around his outer thighs dangerously, begging to be touched by him. His hands, once on her waist, slowly found their way down, tracing every curve from her wide hips to her thick butt and finally to her voluptuous thighs. Every inch of her skin felt like the finest satin he had ever touched, and he couldn't get enough. His impulses completely commandeered his body when she began to use her tongue in her kiss. She grabbed the back of his head and braided her fingers in his hair. She held him, vulnerable to her assault, and showed him this new sensation. Her tongue was soft, luscious and sweet like candy. Her mouth was agonizingly delicious, and he shamelessly indulged himself with every bit of her kiss. He had lost control of his own body at this point. His animalistic saiyan instincts told him to devour her, and he bit down slightly on her lower lip. She whined from the shock of his nibble, though she didn't want him to stop. He moved his hungering mouth from her lips to her chin, from her chin to her neck. There he tasted her feverish skin that pulsed against his lips. She was sweet, like nothing he had ever tasted, and deep inside he craved to make her his. Placing his hands once again on her hips he swapped positions with her, crowning himself captain of her ship. It felt like they had no time, they were only seconds away from the entire world ending. Everything they did they rushed, racing toward the end. He unbuttoned her jean shorts, sliding them along with her white lace panties, to almost her knees. There was no need to remove them further. It would only waste time. He did the same with the light gray joggers he wore, though those only made it barely past his buttocks. With one arm he held his upper body up, with the other he scooped her pelvis up and pressed it to his. The abrupt collision of her to him made her yelp in dazed ecstasy. He thrust inside her, slowly fueling the hunger that overwhelmed him. She gave no resistance, her sheath was already well lubricated. It was then she kicked her shorts the rest of the way off. As a show of her enthusiasm she wrapped her legs around him, clasping her ankles together at his lower back. Her eagerness excited him, daring him to press further, deeper. He felt her whole body quiver beneath him, as she came close to climax. Her breathing was labored, as she struggled to keep up with her tenacious saiyan lover. The thought of pleasing her, successfully pulling off his attack, brought him closer as well. As he drove in and out of her, her muscles tightened, giving a slight resistance both ways. She began to vocalize her passion, moaning louder and louder. He raised a hand to her open mouth, in attempts to muffle her cries. As he reached his rapture, his own voice betrayed him, he let out an amoral moan with his breath. When he filled her with his issue she felt herself suddenly reach the edge. The intense orgasm forced her body to convulse beneath him, his victory achieved.
And then he awoke.
…
The dream was a lucid depiction of their first time, the most memorable. Though they had many clandestine trysts before her death, he always dreamt of the first time. He had dreamt of her so many times in the last eight years. Each time he awoke with physical pain in his chest and an emotional ache in his head. How could she be so stupid? He asked himself, lamenting the actions she took that lead to her death. It didn't help that he tortured himself by sleeping in her bed, where her sweet smell still lingered after all this time. It never became less painful, in fact quite the opposite. As the boy grew up Vegeta saw only her, and it drove him crazy. He tried in vain to shake her memory off, at least for the morning, as he dressed in his navy bodysuit.
Though he wouldn't consider Gohan a friend, they would still go scavenging together. Their relationship was an odd one. Gohan lacked a father or even a friend, and he definitely lacked another saiyan in his life. Vegeta only half-assedly filled these roles, and tended to insult him when they were in each other's company. To Vegeta, Gohan was a caretaker of his son, and a sometimes valuable asset when hunting and scavenging. Neither wanted to be together at any given time, but relied on each other all the same.
The world's population was drastically decreased in the four years the androids terrorized the earth. It took the two saiyans nearly four years to muster the strength to overcome them, and their dysfunctional bond was built in those four years. In truth, Gohan was the only person Vegeta had ever bonded with, save for her. And there she was again, plaguing his every thought.
Together, Vegeta and Gohan scoured small towns for food and other goods. Gohan always tried to find survivors, but they were few and far between. Even when they did find others, the people would rather be on their own than gather together to rebuild the world. And sometimes they would be evil survivors. Some resorted to cannibalism in order to survive. Some forced others into slavery or worse, a direct result of the anarchy the androids instilled.
Inside the remains of a Central City big box store, Gohan lost himself in several aisles of children's toys. Now seventeen years old, he was beyond interested in the toys for himself, rather, he was looking for a present for a certain lavender haired boy.
After Vegeta had gathered the necessary supplies, he searched for his demi-saiyan partner. Faintly, he heard the sound of electronic toys being set off. Figures. He scowled under his breath, making his way toward the noises.
“Your being careless, Gohan,” Vegeta jabbed, a slight worry in his voice that someone would hear them.
“There’s no one here, we've scoured this city top to bottom. Besides, if anyone was a threat to us we would eliminate them without breaking a sweat,” the teenager replied matter of factly.
“That's not the point, idiot,” the prince sneered. “What's your problem Vegeta?” Gohan raised his voice and stepped closer to his fellow saiyan. Vegeta felt the boy's ki raise with his voice, so he reciprocated and stepped forward as well.
“You're usually an asshole but lately it's gotten worse, and even Trunks can't stand to be around you,” Gohan poked, taunting the prince.
“Trunks is weak, withdrawing his anger is helping him become stronger,” Vegeta explained, though Gohan wasn't looking for that exact answer.
“No, you're weak. You're supposed to be the prince of all saiyans but you resort to petty insults and downright abuse to raise your child! Hell, you don't even tell him happy birthday, let alone celebrate it!” Gohan was beginning to yell, his ki surging around him.
“That poor child has it worse than you or I will ever know, and because you couldn't drop your stupid pride sooner, the androids were a threat much longer than they should have been! Because of you Piccolo died! Tien, Yamcha and Krillin too! And worst of all, because of you, Bulma died.” he nearly spit the last part of his sentence, a purposeful use of her name to ignite the saiyan’s fury.
Vegeta felt the blood vessels in his neck and face flare with anger. Who was this boy to disrespect him, and throw dirt in his perpetually open wounds?
“Why you!” he growled through clenched teeth. Both men were face to face, chests broad and filled with a size exaggerating breath.
“Trunks wishes his father was dead,” Gohan whispered, his dark eyes filling his fiery tears.
“And all I want is to have mine back,” he choked, the tears now falling down his face. He could no longer hold it in, his ki dipped dramatically, as he wailed in anguish. In sync with his energy, Gohan felt his knees buckle as he fell to the floor. Vegeta stepped back, his ki lowering involuntarily. If true, the words he said stabbed Vegeta directly in the heart. Is that what Trunks wants? The prince questioned himself. As if in solidarity, he too lowered himself to the floor where he sat for a while contemplating their argument silently.
“Every day he becomes more and more…” Vegeta began.
“like her…” the both finished, the same thought rolling through both of their minds.
“Mom's been tutoring him,” Gohan breathed, a quiet transition to the same topic. “he's so smart, Vegeta. He really is a genius just like her.” Gohan didn't mean for that to hurt Vegeta, but it did all the same. Maybe his son, the prince of all saiyans was not destined to be a great warrior like his father. Maybe he was meant to be a great scientist, to help rebuild the crumbling earth. Or maybe he wasn't meant for anything at all, and destinies were just made up ideas to motivate lazy people to achieve more.
The saiyan stared blankly at the tile floor, tracing its imperfect cracks with his eyes. Gohan said all he had wanted to say, so he patiently waited for Vegeta to respond.
“Just who are you?” a deep yet feminine voice called from the end of the aisle. The long barrel of her shotgun pointed straight at the two men, her hands ready to pull the trigger.
Though a shotgun was no threat to them, the voice of another human being set them off guard. Just as Gohan leapt to his feet, she came closer. He could see her clearly now, she had curly blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and sea green eyes that dared him to move one more inch. She was clad in an old army uniform that she had cut the sleeves off of. Her feet even had the dusty combat boots to match. As if she couldn't get cooler, Gohan noticed she had an unlit cigarette hanging from her candy apple lips. Behind her stood another girl, much younger and innocent looking. She had black spandex and a large white tee shirt on. Her hair was long and black, done in twin braids that fell on her small chest. Her intimidating and large eyes were as blue as the ocean.
“Don't move, boy,” the younger girl called, pulling a pistol from her own combat boots.
The saiyan men nearly rolled their eyes at the ridiculousness of the two girls. Vegeta, for one, didn't have the energy nor was he in the mood to deal with them. So in an instant he charged his ki and blasted off through the roof of the supermarket.
Oh boy. Gohan thought as he lifted an open palm to his forehead.
“What the ‘ell was that?! He some sorta freak?!” the blonde woman shouted toward Gohan.
“You could say that,” he answered, lifting the current mood. The black haired girl chuckled lightly, and the other sneered.
“Oh funny guy, huh?!” she questioned in a thick New Jersey accent.
“No, the name’s Gohan. And you are?”
This triggered another adorable giggle from the smaller girl and a grin from the other.
“Not too bad, kid,” she said, lowering her shotgun. “Launch, and this ere’s Videl. What brings ya to Center City Gohan?” The blonde reached her open hand toward the saiyan.
He reciprocated.
…
2 days until his… Vegeta was restlessly obsessing over the events of the day. He was never good at expressing feelings, and as a result they usually boiled inside of him until they eventually evaporated. The prince had an idea, though he wasn't really aware he had it until he was already in her laboratory.
Slowly, he pressed his boots into the hard metal floor, trying not to make a sound. It was if he thought any sound would suddenly wake her furious ghost to haunt him for eternity. Oh, that's how it already is, he lamented. It took some effort to rewire the generator to this section of the house, in order to even open the door let alone use the lights. It had been so long since any power had been run over here, Vegeta wasn't sure it would even still work. But it did, and now here he was.
It was exactly as she last left it. Several small contraptions halfway done, various papers with scientific scribbles about. Her desk was littered with papers, pens and small tools that Vegeta could not identify. On the walls there were scales and charts, all in her handwriting.
Her lab coat.
Her lab coat.
He pictured her figure inside it, her sassy hands on her hips. Her blue locks draped over her shoulder. “Vegeta, what is it this time? Break the gravity room...again?” her voice rang in his head as clear as day. He'd never be able to forgive her, or forget her. The part that hurt the most was the memory of her. He could never forget her no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head in an attempt to shake her off his mind. It didn't work, but he did remember his original intention. He came to find inspiration for Trunks’ birthday gift.
He had almost no idea what any of her scrawling meant, and it frustrated him. Nothing seemed interesting or fun for a child. It was all so very boring and systematic. But then, in the corner of the room he spotted it. Made of mahogany wood and about six foot tall, stood a bookshelf packed with her books. He wandered to it, curious the kind of reading material she subscribed to back then. Most of the books were scientific in nature, physics and quantum mechanics were the majority. But on the very top shelf was a label; fairytales. Each book on this shelf was slender and featured vibrant paintings of animals and such on the cover. This might interest the boy. Vegeta thought, noting the fact that these seemed written for a more childish audience.
His gloved hands traced each spine, slowly reading the titles. There was Rapunzel, Rumplestiltskin, Snow White, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Boy Who Cried Wolf, Hansel and Gretel, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Princess and the Pea, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and finally Sleeping Beauty. Reaching the final book he slid it from its place. On the cover there was a cartoonish blonde maiden laying on a bed with a dark prince towering over her. Vegeta had no idea the context but a princess in distress was a universal story trope. There were many tales on his home planet of princes and princesses, all of which he had no interest in. When he was Trunks’ age all he cared about was fighting. At age 8, Planet Vegeta had long since been destroyed and the young prince thought of nothing other than becoming the strongest warrior in the universe.
Shaking himself out of the long suppressed memories, he flipped the book open. There on the inside cover was her handwriting, in a bright fuchsia ink.
To my handsome and smart son, Trunks. I hope you never tire of reading and learning. This collection helped me find a passion for those two things when I was young and I hope it can do the same for you.
Love,
Mom
Beside “Mom" she had drawn a small heart. Vegeta had no idea when she was planning to give this to him, for he was only a year old when… and certainly he was not able to read, yet.
His heart was suddenly heavy, a completely different kind than when he was angry. It pounded in his chest furiously, his eyes beginning to swell. He hadn't cried in a very long time. It was unbecoming of the proud saiyan prince. But now the floodgates were open and the droplets fell like rain on the pages of the book. Quickly, he slammed the book shut and threw it in an empty cardboard box. He decided to fully commit to masochism as he grabbed her lab coat and inhaled deeply. It smelled just like her. And for a minute she was there. In her writing and her smell, her messy workspace and her book collection. He closed his eyes, the scent almost immediately put him to sleep, there on the cold metal floor.
…
When Trunks had returned from a day spent studying with Chichi, he saw the lights on in the far end of the house. The lights were usually never on in the first place, the generator was a huge expense in gas, which they had a scarce amount of. The fact that they were on in the far side of the house made his heart jump in fear of the unknown, but he decided to investigate anyway. He worried about his father in this moment, unsure of what possibilities could have happened. He concealed his ki, and quieted his footsteps as he trailed the hallway. He didn’t come to this end of the house very much, if at all, because his father told him there was nothing of importance over here.
As he came upon the door where the room was lit, he flattened himself against the wall. He listened intently, waiting for the sound of intruders. When he heard nothing, he slowly peeked his head inside the doorway. There he saw his father, sprawled out on the ground, his ki weak.
“Papa!” the boy yelled, fearing the worst.
Startled, the saiyan leapt up from the floor. “What?! What is it Trunks?!” he demanded, his heart racing. The boy instantly began to tear up, and charged to hug his father. “Papa, I thought something was wrong!” He said as he buried his face in his father’s stomach.
Stunned, he just let the boy smother him.
“I’m fine,” Vegeta lamented to his son, who still had a firm hold on his waist. He placed an open palm on the boy’s forehead and gently pushed him away. The boy’s bottom lip was still quivering, the last bits of his tears in the corners of his eyes.
“Well, why are the lights on over here?” Trunks asked, still visibly shaken. Not wanting to give away the surprise, Vegeta placed his other hand on the boy’s shoulder and began to push him out of the lab.
“Absolutely none of your business, brat.” Vegeta spat as he forced the boy out. Both saiyans were in the hallway, the door tightly sealed behind them. Tapping a control panel, the lights turned off, and Vegeta began walking toward the other end of the house. Trunks trailed behind like a baby duckling.
Once again, both were silent as they chowed down on their rations. Trunks had caught a small trout earlier, which they enjoyed together over the fire with several cans of baked beans.
“So how are your studies?” Vegeta inquired awkwardly. Trunks had never been asked about such a topic and he wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Um, good I guess,” he held, while trying to think of what else to say. “Miss Son and Gohan are really smart, so I’ve been learning a lot. Mostly math and things like that. Sometimes it's boring, but when I finally get to understand something it can be fun!”
“That's… good.” Vegeta tried out, hoping it was what she would have said. Though the conversation was awkward, Trunks was glad to be socializing positively with his father. Trunks smiled at Vegeta, who frowned and asked “What?!” as if the smile was an insult. Trunks just laughed and continued eating his dinner.
…
Two days later, there was a celebration at the Son family home. Though Trunks wasn’t her son, Chichi felt a sort of obligation to help him have a normal life. Goku would have done the same if he were alive and she was sure Trunks’ mother would have done so for Gohan. The black haired mama sighed in remembrance of the two long passed friends. Hopefully they were keeping each other company in the other world. Chichi had prepared a special feast for everyone, including their two new female friends that Gohan had brought home. Launch and Videl were survivors who had recently lost most of their group. They were what was left, so Gohan invited them to stay with their family. Chichi didn’t mind, maybe he’d make her some grandchildren with Videl, a day dream she quickly shook away when she noticed the rice burning.
“Oh shoot!” she exclaimed, removing the cauldron from the fire and stirring vigorously to prevent charring. Smelling smoke, Gohan entered the kitchen.
“Everything alright, mom?” he asked.
“Yes, fine sweetie!” she replied.
Little things like burnt rice were small inconveniences, but they made her appreciate her life and her family even more than she thought was possible. Gohan smiled at his mother, a woman who had gone through so much hardship in her life. And she smiled back, even though he knew inside she was cursing herself for burning the rice.
Trunks arrived shortly before sunset. He entered the house with a joy in his step. He loved celebrating birthdays, especially his own. It wasn't just the presents, though they added a certain amount of enjoyment to the day, but also just being in the presence of people who loved and cared about him like a real family should. Over the past few days Trunks had come to terms with the fact that his father was a different breed. He would always be this way and the best way to accommodate that was to just accept him the way he was. Gohan and Chichi tried really hard to explain Vegeta and saiyans to Trunks, but in the end he had to witness it for himself. The cold prince had love in him, he just locked it away for fear of feeling pain. He knew that day he found his father, exactly where he was. Mom's old lab. And it was not secret he was in there to remember her. And ever since that day, Vegeta had been just a little bit softer and kinder to Trunks. He just needed to hurt a little to remember how to be happy.
When Trunks opened the door he was met by not two but four people yelling “Surprise!” at him. While at first he was confused the Sons quickly explained the presence of the other two people. The five of them enjoyed a beautiful meal and even a rice cake prepared by Chichi! Trunks couldn't have been happier. That is until he began to open presents.
“This one's from me, Trunks!” Gohan exclaimed as he hurriedly shoved the long box into Trunks’ outstretched arms. The lavender haired boy slid the top of the box off to reveal a long wooden sword with a hand painted navy blue and gold handle.
“It's just a practice sword, but when you get older maybe we can find a real one and really go at it!” the older saiyan explained.
“Oh my gosh I love it Gohan!” Trunks nearly burst with excitement in his voice. He pulled the sword from its place in the box and swung it around gracefully. He had been practicing with sticks for a few weeks now and he was grateful to have a real practice sword now. Gohan relished the smile his gift brought Trunks, for it was bright and sincere.
“I know we just met but, this ere’s from me and Videl,” the blonde woman said as she handed Trunks a smaller box.
“Thanks!” the boy grinned as he opened it. Inside were a small pair of combat boots, yellow in color. He looked to his own shoes, falling apart at the seams and several sizes too small. He decided to put them on right away.
“Gohan helped us pick them out!” Videl nearly sung with delight in her voice.
Finally, Chichi pulled a present from behind her back, but it wasn't in a box. She handed him a large book, with the words “Applied Physics" in bold font on the front. Trunks didn't even have to open it to know it was school work. Even so, he put on his best grin and uttered “thanks,” a tiny bit of disdain in his voice.
“Gee guys you didn't have to do all this for me,” Trunks said as he looked at everyone with jubilation in his eyes.
“Well there’s one more,” Chichi began, walking toward the kitchen. “Vegeta dropped this off today, though he didn't say much and left pretty fast.” She carried a large box in her arms with some effort, it seemed to be heavy. When she set the box down in front of him, he noticed how dusty the box was, as if it hadn't been touched in years. It seemed like a relic, an artifact to be handled gently. Slowly, he removed the lid.
Books.
“Ugh!” the lavender haired boy sighed audibly. Realizing his mistake he blushed, and tried to cover his disappointment. “Uhhh, yes! Books!” he lied horribly.
Chichi had a knowing and motherly look on her face when she reached into the box and pulled out the copy of Sleeping Beauty. “I know this one, she pricks her finger on a spindle and falls asleep!” he exclaimed. She flipped open the cover and Trunks noticed a small handwritten note, addressed to him.
The room fell silent as he traced the bright pink ink with his index finger. Mom.
When he finally realized he was crying profusely, several drops had already sprinkled the inside cover of the book.
But despite his tears he smiled. He smiled and turned his head upward toward the company he kept. The tears continued to flow, his smile faltering.
“You know what hurts most about my mom? Not being able to remember her.”
No one said a word, they just knelt down and embraced the child.
…
Somewhere, in the distance the proud prince sat alone under the blanket of rain. He hoped he was doing right by her, for the boy's sake.
The desert soaked up the moisture the second it hit the ground. Vegeta just stared, blank mindedly on the horizon, as he waited for the festivities to be over so that he could spend time with his son.
Summary: Bulma is saved! The traitors pay for their crimes. Yamcha has a slight mix up. Bulma discovers a new secret, and Vegeta breaks his promise to the Duchess Suno.
Rating: M
Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Dark Fiction, Mystery,
TW: Psychological abuse, physical abuse, homophobic ideology, depiction of intellectual disability, vomiting, depiction of sickness, strong language, revenge violence, major character death
Chapter 7: Deadly Conclusion
(Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7)
It was early morning when Bulma was pulled violently from her bed. She had crusted vomit on her cracked and dry lips. Her hair was a sticky, greasy mess. And worst of all, she smelled like death. She was a living ghost, the result of two weeks starvation added to freezing cold temperatures and an unknown illness to boot. She had never been worse for wear.
Toma picked the nasty, scummy skeleton from her hay bed and threw her over his shoulder. What a sick way to die. And Bardock had doomed her to this fate. Toma knew her crimes. She cross dressed and nothing more, maybe lay with the prince but that wasn't likely. She didn't deserve the punishment she got, at least not in Toma’s eyes. He shot a quick glance at Bardock. He was cuffed on both wrists and bolted to the wall. He was stripped of the fancy garb he wore and now had only a long white shirt that barely covered his manhood. Toma mourned the Bardock he once knew, but that Bardock was no more.
…
Vegeta paced back and forth in his chambers. What would he do? How would she ever forgive him? Would she be well? Prisoners were known to catch cold and die in their sleep in the winter. He prayed she was strong enough to survive. What was he thinking? Of course she was strong enough… she was the strongest woman he knew…
There was a knock at his door.
His heart racing, he opened it up. Toma. And? A foul smelling skeleton of a woman he once knew. Toma pushed his way past the king and laid the woman on the bed. She was still, her eyelids at half mast. Vegeta could barely stand to look at her in such a state.
“Who did this to her?” he demanded. When Toma fell silent, he didn't know what to say, the king became furious.
“WHO DID THIS TO HER?!” He yelled, grasping the plainclothes clad general by the chest. The look in the king's eyes was that of a madman. The veins in his neck and temples bulged with anger. Vegeta's eyes began to swell with liquid. He was so furious he had started to cry.
Toma looked down to the floor.
“Bardock ordered her arrest. I was only following orders.” the tall general explained. Though he was outraged, he knew this wasn't Toma’s fault. The regent had superior power than the prince, at the time of her arrest. It was within his power to keep such a thing from the prince, even though it may not have been morally acceptable.
“Her charges?” he interrogated, fists shaking with the rush of adrenaline.
“Cross dressing, sodomy, lewd and lascivious behavior, and… witchcraft. Although I don't know the basis of the last accusation.”
“Accusation? Who accused-" he almost finished when he remembered a certain blue haired kitchen rat that had walked in in them that fateful day. The day of her arrest.
The king dropped his fists from his grasp on Toma. He turned to the unconscious woman on his bed. He pressed his ungloved fingers to her neck. Weak, but she still had a pulse.
“Send for the best physician in the kingdom. I am going to get to the bottom of this and punish those responsible.”
…
“This is by far the worst case of neglect I've ever seen. Where did you find this woman?” the physician was a short man with light hair, and his eyes told the story that he was much older than he looked.
“She was wrongfully sentenced and placed in our prisons. The care of criminals is not of utmost concern to those in power.” Toma replied bluntly.
The old man understood his explanation and began to get to work. She was severely malnourished, her stomach sunk low and her ribs were visible to count. She was pale white and nearly translucent. Her toes, ears and the tips of her fingers had early signs of frostbite. Her small toe on her left foot was dark, it had already begun to decay. He noticed signs of vomit on her mouth and determined she may have contracted a cold or worse, pneumonia.
She had begun to lose hair because of the lack of care and not getting enough nutrients.
The doctor contemplated given her morphine to lessen her pain, but he was sure it would kill her due to her weight. Instead, he ordered that the girl be fed hardtack biscuit soaked in water or milk, as many times as she could stand. And if she had energy to chew, fruits, vegetables and cured meats for balance.
Toma agreed to the order and immediately went to the kitchens to fetch some maids for the task.
…
The king had one thing and one thing only on his mind. Destroy the maiden Marron. As the prince, he was known for his downright evil scowls. There was almost never a time his brow wasn't pushed together in anger. Today, as the King, he had the blackest look he ever had. His eyes, though deep brown, burned with the fury of a thousand fires. His stride was confident, furious and ambitious. He was ready to inflict real punishment.
As he rounded the corner to the kitchen he saw her. Her long blue hair disgusted him, the fact that she looked so similar to his Bulma disgusted him. He approached her swiftly, catching her by surprise.
“The prince will never know,” he whispered in her ear.
Marron felt a stinging chill run down her spine as she knew it to be the King standing directly behind her. She froze in fear. Her entire body stiffened, her mind was blank, and her heart had never beat so rapidly. She felt as if she could die, then and there. But she would not have that luxury.
Vegeta twisted his gloved fingers through her hair, anchoring himself. Then he pulled so hard that several large chunks came out, and the girl was forced to the floor. She yelped in agony.
“But the King knows now. And I will make good on my promise to you.” and then he kicked her hard, in the ribs, she could not scream, she only felt the air from her lungs be forcibly expelled from her body. She gasped for breath, but it was only let in with tiny bursts. Even more so now, she felt like she could die. And again, she would be afforded that luxury.
The King picked her up by the collar of her apron, choking her. He turned her face toward himself. She was a pitiful sight, and he knew she felt remorse for her actions. But remorse was not enough punishment. He wanted her to see what she'd done to Bulma. And after, he wanted her to share the same fate. So with a firm grasp on her collar, he drug her out of the kitchen and headed toward his chambers.
…
It had been several weeks since Bulma and the prince left for the castle. There were whispers of a coronation, and an unexpected arrest that happened at the coronation. Yamcha knew it had to her, though why would he have kept her in the castle for nearly a month before her arrest? His mind went to dark places when he thought about it.
There wasn't a day that went by that the children didn't ask about Bulma. And each time Yamcha had no idea what to say. Once, Goku told Launch that Bulma was in prison and she would never come back. Yamcha had the most trouble that day, trying calm her down. Launch thought of Bulma as her mother, and Yamcha was a most shitty replacement. He'd never had such a difficult time with them as he did without Bulma. But she left him in this predicament. And for that he was almost glad she was serving her time.
…
Bulma was only partly conscious when Vegeta and Marron had arrived. She noticed that Marron was crying profusely, and held her sides in pain. She also noticed that the girl had large chunks of hair missing from her head, not unlike herself. Bulma lacked the energy to even greet them.
Toma had passed the two on his way to kitchen and informed the King of the doctor's orders. He would be arriving back shortly with another kitchen staff and the necessary food.
Vegeta had Marron by her collar in one hand, and moved closer to Bulma so he could put his other hand on hers.
“I am so sorry,” Marron sobbed at the sight of her once friend.
Bulma was highly confused as to what was happening. She mustered as much energy as she could to ask what was going on. “What is happening?” she breathed, directing the question to Vegeta.
“Shh, rest. I will explain it all when you are lucid.”
She wasn't entirely sure if she could trust him, he had gone back and forth between her enemy and her lover so many times. But she had no choice this time, so she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
…
“Attention Citizens!! In one weeks time, there will be a public execution!! All citizens are invited to attend, and encouraged to ridicule the prisoner as much as possible. Their crimes include murder and conspiracy, and even betrayal and treason! Bring the children for extra hands to throw rotten produce!”
Yamcha stared wide eyed at the poster advertising an execution. His heart sunk when he knew. It had now been three months since Bulma was taken from her home and her family. He hoped she had been comfortable for that time. But this… this was madness. He felt his rage boil within his chest. He had to do something. Anything! She was a good person, an innocent woman just providing for her family. He had to do something. So he went to a man he knew would give him sage advice, Master Roshi.
“I see. You want to stage a rescue for this woman, who you love.”
“Well I'm not in love with her, but she has a family and she's innocent!” Yamcha corrected the old man.
“Well I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll help you. I'd go to the ends of the earth if it meant you would get a nice piece of tail!” the old man said with a cackle.
Yamcha sighed. Hopeless. He lamented.
“I would rather not involve the boys, in case we get caught… they will be the only ones left to care for their siblings.” Yamcha said, worried the old master would want to include them. They were strong, there was no doubt about that. But the risk was far greater than the reward. I'm sorry Bulma, he thought as realized he had equated her to ‘the reward’.
…
Bulma had been recovering for nearly two months, though she was still having trouble keeping her food down. The new King had waited on her hand and foot. He told her every day how sorry he was for his harsh words, and how he would never let her go again. She was glad to hear it, but she stayed angry with him for some time. He broke her heart, and it wasn't easily repaired. But in the last couple weeks her mood had vastly changed. She thought it was a side effect of her new found energy, though his spoiling may have had an effect as well. She was beginning to remember what it felt like to love him. And she could picture herself doing so once again.
She lay in his bed, relishing the scent of lavender and the feel of fine satin sheets. She smiled in delight and thanked God for saving her. She would surely have been dead if she was not rescued when she was.
There was a tap at the door before it opened to reveal the old physician. She had called him for a very specific reason, and hoped he had the answer.
“Miss Briefs,” he greeted her with a bow she surely did not deserve.
“Oh please I am no lady nor anyones wife. Just call me Bulma.”
“Yes of course. You said you had some concerns?”
“Yes, though I have been gaining weight and energy rapidly, I still vomit almost daily. This illness is not related to my neglect in the prison.”
“Yes it seems you are right. For a woman you are very well educated in medicine. When was the last time you menstruated?”
Bulma heard his last word and her stomach began to feel ill once again. It couldn't be. But it could! She placed a hand on her abdomen.
“I… I can't remember.” She admitted truthfully. “Alright, dear, I'm sure you can put two and two together for a diagnosis, but to make sure…” He pulled what Bulma identified as a stethoscope from his medical bag. He placed the long wooden tube to her abdomen, and laid his ear on the other end.
“And there is the proof. A tiny heartbeat as clear as day. May God bless you with a healthy and happy child. For the remainder of your ailment I will check on you frequently. Please stay in bed as much as possible to ensure your health as well.”
Bulma had thought it a possibility once before. But she quickly put it out of her mind.
Now, this was real. She would birth the king’s child. She was terrified to tell him.
…
When the time came for the public execution, Goku would not take no for an answer. And then Tien and Krillin began to beg. All three boys were hitting and kicking Yamcha, screaming at the top of their lungs. They wanted in on the rescue mission, and the more he said no, the more they protested.
“Who will care for the girls and Oolong if we are caught? They need you, more than anything. You cannot come.” the scar faced boy insisted.
But they insisted back, threatening to come anyway and execute their own rescue plan, though it was likely much less thought out than his.
If only to stop their incessant crying and attacks, he caved in.
“Ok,” he said. “But if things turn sour, promise me you will run. Even if I'm in trouble, leave.”
The boys immediately stopped and nodded their heads.
Yamcha knew this was a bad idea, but maybe they could be of some help.
…
So the two men and three boys made their way to the town, to the execution. They were dressed in their plainclothes, so as to not draw attention. They adopted the role of participants for the execution they believed to be of their dear friend and sister. Goku carried a basket of overly ripe tomatoes. “So we just throw these at Bulma?” he asked.
“No! Not actually! Just pretend!” Yamcha whisper yelled at the boy.
“Oh!” Goku said confidently, as if he knew exactly what Yamcha was saying. “What does pretend mean, Yamcha?” Goku asked, completely undermining his so confident expression of understanding.
Yamcha feared their plan would not work, but he had no choice.
…
Marron was roused early on the day of her execution. Because of her crimes the king sentenced her to public humiliation before being hung. The same fate was to befall Bardock, the once trusted regent and long time friend of the crown.
It was a cold morning, it had just snowed the night before. It was a wonder Marron had lasted this long, but then again she did not suffer from the ailment of pregnancy like Bulma did. Marron’s feet and most of her fingers had succumbed to frost bite she was beginning to develop an infection in one foot. She was thinner than before, but not emaciated. She was able to keep her food down, most of the time.
Bardock had the constitution of an ox. He was hardly different at all, save for slightly skinnier and a small amount of frostbite on his toes. He had found it easy to keep himself warm by using the friction of rubbing his hands together, and placing them on any part of his body that felt numb. He lost some sleep over the cold, but not much. It was enough to conjure dark circles under his eyes.
He tried so hard to provoke Broly to his favor. But the tall burly man would not budge. It saddened him to see his friend and father figure in such a state, but his conviction to performing his job as close to perfect as humanly possible. Even though he had no one to make proud of him if he lost Bardock, he still honored his duties.
Bardock was not pleased with this behavior. No matter what he bargained or promised, he never got what he wanted. Even when all he wanted was an extra blanket.
Bardock awoke to Toma, fully armored, pulling him by the hair on his head.
The two criminals were brought to the streets and cuffed to a horse drawn carriage, led by a single armored soldier. The two had no shoes, and only their dirty prison shifts on. The roads were muddy with partially melted snow. It was freezing cold outside, where most were wearing several warm layers of clothes, the criminals did not. The wind howled an agonizing cry. Today was the day.
Yamcha and the others could see the prisoners beginning their road to the gallows. One tall, black haired man, and one short blue haired girl. Bulma! Yamcha squinted to get a better look but alas they were too far away still.
…
Vegeta wantonly dressed in front of her. She was the intruder in his bedroom, even though he wanted her there. So he used his room as he usually did, and that included stripping naked to bathe, and dress. She admired his physique, every crevasse in his sinew was delicately carved, as if he was made of marble. The small white scars on his body made him even more handsome to her, a symbol of his strength and perseverance. She reminisced the only time their bodies had connected, and wanted so badly to relive those moments. With the news, of course, they would have to wait until it was safe for the baby. Which made her want him even more.
When he turned his head to glance at her, he noticed the look in her eyes. It was that of insatiable hunger, the craving call of a lioness in heat. He smiled slightly at her vulgarity.
“Go easy on her,” Bulma pled for the small girl who would lose her life today. “Make it quick and painless. For him too, afterall he raised you.” Her bleeding heart had gotten the best of her as she begged her king for his mercy on them.
Vegeta looked down to the ground and finished lacing his tall black boots. He said nothing, but nodded to her as he left the room.
…
In the street the cries and shouts of the entire kingdom could be heard. The people were like wild animals, calling names and throwing food all about. They enjoyed the spectacle, however disgusting and uncivilized it may be.
When Yamcha and the old master had attempted to make their way to the front to see their friend, they were kicked and shoved out of the way. This angered them both, and a fists were thrown. A fight broke out among the citizens in the confusion, and it spread like wildfire. Soon the entire street was in an all out brawl, people were hitting and kicking people they didn't even know, and in turn those people hit back. It had gone from riotous fun in one instant, to actual full on riot the next.
Yamcha decided the boys needed to leave, he could carry this out on his own.
“Roshi!” he yelled as loudly as he could, the crowd drowning out his voice. The old master turned to him and acknowledged the call.
“Take the boys and get out! This is my burden to bear!”
And although the old hermit hesitated, he accepted the order and scooped the boys up.
Yamcha tried to watch and make sure they made it out of the violent pit, but he lost sight of them. He hoped for the best, and swiftly took a dive into the crowd, toward the gallows.
…
When Vegeta arrived to the large wooden structure, aptly named the gallows, he was shocked at what he saw. His people were behaving like animals. They were turning on each other, and even his own guards. It was a horrible mess, an it was a wonder that the prisoners actually made it to their destination, and not gotten stomped into the cold mud.
They were escorted onto the platform, where the executioner placed the nooses on their necks. Bardock was solemn and said nothing. Marron was inconsolable, every cry seemed to choke her. It was pitiful, but to Vegeta and most of the kingdom, they were getting what they deserved.
The horns blew in rapid succession in attempts to gain the crowd's attention. The mob calmed down dramatically as the anticipated the main attraction.
The executioner read from a scroll each prisoner's crimes and their punishment before reciting their last rights.
Finally, they were asked for any final words.
Bardock remained silent, his eyes dark and face hollow. He was already dead on the inside, and he prayed for death to come quickly.
Marron chose to deny her crimes.
“I am innocent, as God is my witness. He will harken to me with open arms,” she recited through ugly sobs.
Yamcha had made his way to the structure, just in time to hear her voice. And he knew this woman could not be Bulma. Though they shared a hair color, her voice was completely wrong. He began to wonder what was going on.
The king gave a nod to his black clad executioner, who nodded back.
And as if in slow motion…
Their bodies fell hard, snapping their neck in harmony, like fragile glass slippers.
And they were gone…
…
After it was all said and done, Yamcha shoved his way to the king. There were many guards who held him back, but he shouted and pushed still.
“Vegeta! Prince Vegeta!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. It was just barely loud enough and disrespectful enough to catch the king's attention.
He turned his head toward the boy. He recognized him as Yamcha, the boy who had helped him when Nappa was dying. And who helped bury him as well. This peaked his interest so he signalled his guards to let the boy through.
“Where is she?!” he demanded.
The king was not in the mood to correct his atrocious behavior, so instead he said, “Follow me.” And the two headed back toward the castle.
…
Bulma had fallen asleep shortly after her king had left. She awoke to the sound of the chamber door opening…
Vegeta entered, in all his glory, and made his way to her side. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly.
“ You… have a visitor..” he said to her.
Even in their intimate moments, he refused to relax his scowl. But she didn't mind.
“A visitor?” She inquired.
Just then she saw Yamcha enter the room. She had never felt such happiness in her life. She was so grateful to be in that room at that very moment, and not swinging from a rope like her less fortunate friend.
...
They talked for what seemed like hours. She told him every detail of her stay, including her stay in the cells. And he told her all about what was happening back home, though it wasn't quite as exciting.
And when the time was right, she broke the news to both Vegeta and Yamcha. And together they celebrated their happy endings…
But there was one person in the castle who was not celebrating.
…
Suno had packed her bags, and gathered Zarbon to head back to France. She was tired of waiting for the king, and the fact that he had a whore in his bed every night since they had become engaged had angered her to no end.
In the middle of the night, the duchess and her ambassador fled the kingdom.
…
Several weeks later, Frieza declared war on the kingdom of Sadala. He was outraged that the new king would play around with his niece, only to break off the engagement and send her home like used tissue.
The king had a choice to make. Rally his army and lead them to victory, or stay with his heavily pregnant lover, and risk not being with his men.
He chose the former, thinking it would be wise to be with his men to boost their morale. Never had a battle been lost when the king fought side by side with his men. And this was no exception.
The war raged on at the French border for nearly seven months. The weather had gone from winter to spring, spring to summer, and summer to fall. It was nearing time for the arrival of his son.
…
Long ago, Vegeta had made the mistake of deciding to bring Bulma to the castle. It was a decision that would ultimately lead to her death, and that was true. While her king was away there were many complications with her pregnancy. For the last two weeks she bled near constantly. The physicians and midwives watched her round the clock. And then he decided to come early.
Trunks was born to his mother nearly three weeks too soon. He was small, and beautiful, with eyes just like his mother's. She fawned over him. Her very own baby, a perfect amalgam of herself and her lover. And the doctor had declared him healthy. His head was covered in light lavender hair, a feature that would be sure to please his father. His tiny premature hands grasped at her breast when she fed him. And he ate ravenously, just like hia father. She hoped one day, he could learn to be gentle and intelligent like her, but courageous and confident like his father. She hoped that he would learn and become a great scholar… and that he wouldn't have to bear the burden of taking the throne at such an early age… like his father. She sighed as she brushed her hand on his uniquely soft face. She had never seen anything more perfect.
In three short days, she was dead. The doctors declared it death due to childbirth. She looked like a porcelain doll, motionless and pale. She had faded in her sleep, due to significant blood loss. It was both a beautiful and horrific sight.
The first to know were her family. The message took much longer to get to King Vegeta.
…
Victory. They had pushed back the French and won the war. Vegeta had slain the emperor on an open battlefield, for all to see. The French soldiers submitted to him immediately.
It was over.
He could go home.
…
When he arrived home he wanted to see her, and their son. When he opened his chamber doors there was nothing. No Bulma in his bed, no son in the sonnet. His servants surrounded him, headed by the general Toma. Their somber faces said it all. She was gone.
She was gone.
Gone.
His pained and blood chilling scream echoed through the silent halls. Even in the furthest reaches of the castle, servants heard his anguished wails.
Gone.
She was gone.
…
It took a very long time for him to overcome his depression. Sometimes the sight of his beautiful son worsened the condition, sometimes he lessened it. But one thing was for sure. Trunks was all he had left of her. And King Vegeta would ensure he would protect the boy with everything he had. And when Trunks was old enough, Vegeta told him the story of his mother. A tragedy to be sure, with a bittersweet fairytale ending.
Summary: Bulma continues her investigation, and she finds a lead. Vegeta pushes Bulma further and further away, but does he mean to hurt her so? Or is he trying to keep her safe? Bardock orders the arrest of Bulma.
Rating: M
Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Dark Fiction, Mystery, Smut
Nearly two weeks later was the first time she talked to him again. She had been on a pointless mission, investigating and sticking her nose exactly where it didn't belong. She had befriended some of the kitchen staff, namely Fasha and Marron, two chatty girls who she confirmed had a crush on her. Bulma spun this to her advantage, playing hard to get or rather, impossible to get. But they didn't have to know that. As long as she toyed with them, they fed her information. As useless as that information had turned out to be, it was information nonetheless.
From the girls she had learned of a servant who had come as a cook, but had recently disappeared, leaving the kitchen matron, Mai, in charge. This happened on the exact day the prince and Nappa had left to arrest Bulma. So Mai became suspect number one, and Bulma had to share the news with the prince. She felt almost too excited to talk to him again, and nearly danced to his chambers in the middle of the night. As she knocked, she unconsciously grinned toothily, anticipating being able to speak with him.
For two weeks he avoided her. He now knew that becoming king meant he could never have her. It burned him deeply, but over the course of the two weeks he was beginning to let go of her. His heart had begun to heal, and he realized the mistake of falling in love with her.
“You come with good news, I hope. Because if not, leave my presence.” Vegeta spit harshly at the disguised Bulma. She was wearing a blue jacket with knee length coattails over a pale yellow doublet. Her trousers were a very plain beige, and her boots slightly darker leather. Her sword hung at her hip now, she had refashioned the belt to fit her slight frame instead of hanging loosely at her back. She was a vision of regal style, though not overly fancy. He eyed her up and down suspiciously, awaiting her answer.
“No news, my prince. However I have a lead,” she glanced past his shoulder and inside his chambers where it appeared he was enjoying tea… alone. “Perhaps I could join you to discuss?” She suggested, dropping her smile and adopting a more serious expression.
He said nothing, just rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned to make his way back toward the table. A very uninviting welcome, if Bulma had ever seen one.
The Prince’s chambers were over triple the area of her own, and contained several extra pieces that hers did not. He had a lavish bed with a full violet velvet canopy, tied to each of the four bedposts with golden rope. It had a plethora of fat purple pillows, and a thick purple comforter. Bulma was beginning to think his favorite color might be purple, but the rest of his room did not reflect that. He had a nearly identical desk to hers, though his was pristine, not a speck of dust upon it, and it looked decades newer. In the northern corner of the room there was a large grey brick fireplace. There was no fire burning at the moment but she could tell it had been recently used. It was nearing fall now, and the nights were getting ever colder. A small part of her hoped Yamcha was making sure her siblings stayed warm with lots of blankets.
Beside the fireplace was a large mirror, so large in fact it was on the floor and nearly reached the ceiling in height. It was framed in extravagant gold detail, delicately carved vines with dozens of golden roses. Each leaf had visible veins that must have been painstakingly shaped by a real artist. It was magnificent. On the floor near the mirror and the fireplace was the biggest brown bear pelt she had ever seen, three or four people could lay upon it comfortably without touching. It looked so soft, her hands begged her to touch it. But she withheld those urges, and took a seat at his small four chair dining table. The centerpiece was an exotic Asian vase, filled with fresh Lavender blossoms.
Without saying a words the prince sat adjacent to the blue haired girl and gestured for her to pour herself some tea.
She obeyed by taking the warm teapot in her hands and filling the small teacup closest to her.
“Milk?” she questioned, figuring that when in Rome, she may as well spoil herself. She eyed the handsome prince with reserved interest. Lately when she had seen him about the court he had been dressing much fancier. In fact, ever since the announcement of his coronation, he had his small crown equipped every day. It suited him well, mostly covering up his large forehead and deep widow's peak. Not that she minded those unique features, but it did well to accent them. Today he wore a dark doublet, almost coffee colored. It had golden embroideries running vertically from the base of his neck to the bottom of the shirt. His trousers were white, matching his gloves, and boots a deep and shiny black. His matching gold cloak was draped over one of the unoccupied chairs.
“No, I don't usually take mine with milk, so they don't include it when they bring the setup from the kitchens.” he explained.
“Well you should, there is nothing better.” Bulma replied, swirling the translucent brown liquid in her teacup.
Vegeta was beginning to get angry, she was wasting his time. She invited herself into his chambers, after two weeks of… nothing… and now she stalls by making small talk about tea! It was infuriating to say the least.
“And what is the information you wanted to discuss, woman?” he shouted, his voice and inflection fiery. Bulma was taken slightly aback by his sudden slide to extremes. He had avoided her for nearly two weeks, even though she had done absolutely nothing to deserve such treatment. Granted, she had been busy herself, but this sudden outburst was no way to treat her.
“Just what is your problem, Vegeta?” she retaliated, eyes wide and brow cinched.
“My problem?! What is your problem? I didn't ask you here, you barged in, invading my private tea time, and you dance around telling me the information you promised in exchange! But I am the one with a problem?” his face began to flush with anger, and he slammed his gloved fist on the table with the end of his question.
“Why have you been ignoring me?” she plead, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. She liked him, genuinely, and maybe she loved him, so why did he distance himself from her?
He positioned himself closer to her, his face was inches from hers so that she could feel his hot breath. His face was twisted in a furious scowl that told her he wasn't going to kiss her, but instead was attempting to intimidate her.
“Listen, whore, I want nothing to do with you, I only keep you here so you fulfil your duties and then I will throw you to the prisons like the scum that you are.” His words pierced her heart and brought the torrential fall of her tears to fruition. She gasped lightly at his attack, covering her mouth with her hand.
“You are but a low class harlot and your infatuation spell has broken. I will be the king, and there is no chance in hell you will ever be worthy of me.” He stood from the table, looking down upon her. He placed his hand at her neck, and grabbed the collar of her doublet. His fingers ripped right through the delicate lace as he gripped the edge and picked her up from her chair.
She let out a small yelp in surprise mostly, but also in pain of her collar tightening on her neck.
He jerked her body toward himself, before throwing her down on the floor. She landed on her hands and knees, and she choked out an involuntary sob. She flipped herself over to look at him, and to speak.
“The maiden Mai was serving breakfast the day Nappa was poisoned,” Bulma informed him, letting out a small cry afterward. “I think she is a prime suspect, although I have been unable to gather concrete evidence.” she breathed hard, a side effect of the shocked crying she had been doing.
“Useless,” he uttered low and angry. “She has worked for the regent for as long as I can remember and she would never harm his most high ranking general.”
It was then they both had a thought.
“Bardock…” Vegeta muttered under his breath.
The regent, Bulma thought at the exact same time.
“What motive would he have had…?” Bulma trailed, deep in thought.
“The treaty. Is it possible that Bardock is working with Frieza to ensure the downfall of our kingdom? Why else would he eliminate our most powerful and experienced general?” Vegeta pieced together small fragments of his theory, but he wasn't fully convinced himself.
“He had no reaction when you announced Nappa's death. However, he seemed to he surprised at the actual event of his death, because it didn't match up with what he knew to be true, poison.” Bulma recalled from her first morning staying at the castle.
Silently the two young people stared at each other. They had a very solid suspect now, only a few doubts about it, but a dangerous suspect to be sure. And if indeed the idea that Frieza was behind the whole plot, puppeting the regent to gain control of the kingdom, the situation was far worse than either of them had ever imagined.
…
Broly was the son of a now disgraced ambassador, who was exiled for his crimes against the crown. When his father, Paragus, was exiled, the young boy stayed in the castle under the care of the regent. It was frowned upon by most of the other lords and ladies in the court, but Bardock didn't believe that he was destined to follow in his father's footsteps. So he hired the boy, then ten years of age, to be the dungeon keeper. He was a large boy, all muscle and tall as a horse. He would have easily passed for eighteen back then. Now, at twenty, he was a literal giant. He towered over every man Bardock had ever seen. He's cursed, they would say. He talked simply, and couldn't hold a conversation too long. He's slow, they would say. And sometimes, he would get angry at their whisperings, and lash out violently. He's dangerous, they would say. So, to protect Broly and himself, he confined the boy to only the cells and the kitchens. Occasionally Broly would be able to go outside to the stables where he enjoyed the company of the horses and one raggedy barn cat, but only after the court had gone to sleep, and the moon was high in the sky. He didn't mind his confinement, in fact he felt pride in his occupation, and did his best to make Bardock proud of him too.
On this evening Broly had been ordered to clean out one of the empty cells, and dress it with less moldy hay for a new prisoner. To properly punish the criminals, they slept on hay, which would often become moldy in the dark and moist dungeon. Especially on nights it rained, which had been happening rather often lately.
So Broly prepared the new cell. He was almost giddy that he would have a new mate to talk to, as the last few prisoners had recently been executed. It always made him sad that his friends would be taken away from him, but he knew it was necessary, even if he didn't know why.
…
Bardock paced his chambers restlessly. He now knew the mysterious squire to be none other than the blue haired girl, but he could not determine why she would be disguised, as a male of all things. The kitchen matron Mai, had informed him of certain lewd acts between the prince and his friend, and Bardock was able to piece the rest together when he recalled the boy's hair color. He remembered that day that she sat in Nappa's chair. It was the only time Bardock had seen her in her nearly two weeks of stay, but he remembered it vividly because of her audacity to take such a seat.
Immediately following Mai’s accusation, Bardock had Broly prepare a cell. Although he didn't plan to imprison her immediately. He needed concrete evidence to support the servant’s claim. And if it were true it had the potential to damage the Prince's reputation or at the very least, his trust in Bardock. So he needed to play his cards very carefully, to ensure the best possible out come.
…
Bulma had convinced her chamber maid to allow her to bathe in solitude, though it took some time. Finally, when she had gone long enough, the maiden agreed to it, if only because the blue haired squire was beginning to really reek. The maiden wondered what kind of deformity he had to be cause for such self consciousness. But she got used to their agreement and said nothing of it to anyone.
But her bathing time needed to be quick, because she was vulnerable to discovery at any moment. In case of intrusion, she lavishly filled the tub with bubbles, so as to cover her breast and kept a towel within reach. But what she wasn't prepared for was a intrusion that she didn't mind. The prince.
He came in as she was nearing the end of her bath, scaring the daylights out of her. Luckily it was the prince, because she yelped like a little girl before ducking her head beneath the water. He promptly closed the door behind him, and turned away from her.
Bulma knew she could stay under there forever. Plan B; apologize profusely and submit to the punishment she had incurred for her crimes. But when she came up she saw him. He respectfully faced away, allowing her to privately finish.
“Oh, your majesty…” she said with a tilted head and furrowed eyebrows. She wasn't expecting him, but it was a welcome surprise either way.
“I've come to release you.” he nearly whispered, and Bulma sensed a small amount of pain in his voice.
“What does that mean?” she questioned.
“It means I am done with you. And it isn't safe for either of us, to have you here.”
She rose from the tub and wrapped the towel around her body. Her arms and most of her legs were bare, and dripping soapy water.
“Do you mean I can go home?”
“Yes! Stop asking so many questions.” he comanded in a fiery tone.
“Just one more; can I ever come back?”
There was silence as thick as the snowstorms in winter, and just as cold. Vegeta thought it was a trick. She was teasing him. But the sincerity in her voice said otherwise, and what reason would she have now to trick him? He just gave her everything she wanted. The best possible deal for a harlot and scoundrel like herself. He turned to face her, his first mistake that evening.
Before she knew it she was directly behind him, close enough to touch him with an outstretched arm. When he turned to face her, she thought about what to say. Nothing was probably the best thing, but instead she said his name. And that was her first mistake that evening. And one mistake led to another and another, until they were breathless in each others arms. He had taken his pure white gloves off and thrown them to the side. The better to grab me with, Bulma thought as she quivered in anticipation. Nothing covered their bodies now; save for the maroon blanket that once only covered her mattress.
There was nearly no space between their bodies now; and what space there was, was hot a humid like the peak of summer. They were connected, one being. They said no words, it was far to heated for such nonsense. The quiet rang in their ears, only interrupted by the occasional sigh or moan. Their lips locked, and held there, each too afraid to let the other go. She held him, her nails digging into the skin of his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Every inch of her body craved him, and could never satiate the hunger. He felt the same, one hand holding her thigh closer to his body, the other hand supporting himself.
They made love like it was the first and last time. Pressed for time, but trying to learn every crevasse of each other's bodies. They both savored and rushed the act, the prospect of an intruder at any moment making them go as fast as possible.
She was close, on the edge of an explosion. She bucked beneath him, wanting desperately to be closer. Her voice betrayed her, letting out audible cries of passion as she got nearer and nearer to her end. He noticed her involuntary noises and clasped the thigh holding hand over her mouth. The action sent her over the edge. His control over her had excited her, when she herself had no control over her body.
When he felt her convulse beneath him, a sure sign of her orgasm, he relaxed, and came in sync with her.
“Vegeta! P-pull,” she began, but shuddered in ecstasy.
He thrust with a final grunt, releasing his seed deep inside her.
“Out…” she finished. Oh well. She lamented at his naivety, hoping this didn't lead to her being with child.
He huffed, breathless, and moved to dismount her.
Then the door opened.
…
Though they had been caught, it was only Bulma's chambermaid. Marron. She figured the squire had been bathing long enough, and it was time to dump the tub. She was shocked to find him in bed, clad in nothing but their natural skins, seemingly finishing their carnal sin. With the prince, of all people. At first she was flustered. And then she feared for her life.
Vegeta sprung from the bed as fast as lightning, and held the door closed with the maid inside.
“You've seen nothing here, peasant.” he growled lowly, lips pulled back like a threatening wolf. She dared not look at him, and took her chance to bow so lowly, she was almost laying on the ground. She stuffed her head down, between her knees, her small hands clasped together above her head. She groveled at his feet, crying uncontrollably. She didn't want to anger the prince, he could have her killed!
“Vegeta!” called the familiar voice of the squire, though much softer and higher in pitch than usual. “She will be quiet, you have my word.” Bulma looked at the girl, and gave her a knowing look. Then she dropped the sheets from her breast, revealing herself as female. Marron became wide eyed as she looked up at the blue haired squire. She was at a loss for words, but it all began to make perfect sense.
“Of course,” the maiden said, piecing the puzzle together.
“I will not hesitate to kill you if this ever got out. Know that in two weeks time, I will be king, and this woman will be my bride.” he declared.
At first Bulma hadn't heard his words. Or rather, she did, and her head chose not to hear them. And then her head did this silly thing where she played the words back again in slow motion.
“I- what?” she questioned, entirely taken by the surprise of this declaration. Was he asking her to marry him, or telling her? And… what would that be like? Would she see her family, would they live in the castle with her? The hooligans would tear it up. Or would the people even approve of a marriage between a lowborn like herself, and the King? All of these questions were contained silently in the single “what" she had vocalized. And the prince knew it because he too, had the same questions.
“Do you agree to this?” he was asking Marron if she agreed to stay silent, or die. But both women spoke.
“Yes,” they said in unison, though Bulma had a different idea of what his question meant.
“Oh,” she said, realizing her mistake.
“Oh,” Vegeta said, acknowledging that she accepted his odd proposal.
The maiden said nothing, only cowered on the floor, wishing for a swift exit.
“Begone,” he said to Marron, opening the door slightly to allow her to leave.
“Yes, your majesty,” she said meekly, as she rose to her feet and exited the room. It was then Vegeta turned to Bulma and began laughing.
“What's so funny?!” Bulma demanded, her face an angry scowl. The prince just continued to laugh as he found his trousers. “What?!” she demanded once again. Her face became red hot, like fiery oven.
“Nothing, its just,” he paused to cackle some more, “I only said that because she might think it a sin if we were laying together with no promise of marriage!” he bursted out with laughter at the end of his explanation. “B-but you thought,” he giggled, “you thought I was serious!”
Bulma felt a sharp stab in her heart. He wasn't serious? Her heart nearly shattered. She felt her throat become thick and her eyes wet. How absolutely cruel, she lamented silently.
“Oh no,” he said with almost a slight joy in his voice. “You thought… you thought I was in love with you?” he said with an evil smirk. She couldn't bare to look at him. She was so entirely embarrassed and heart broken, all she could do was keep her head down. It felt like she was floating as her head began to spin.
“Like I said before, I release you. Go home to your tribe of savages, and never come back.” He was actually disguising his goodbye with more hostility than he actually felt toward her. But the more ugly he was, the easier it would be for her to forget him. The truth was, he cherished the memory they had just made, and more than anything, he wished more than anything that she could stay. But it would never work, the kingdom would never accept her. And he would be going to war soon with the French, and he couldn't bare to think what may come of her if they lost. Frieza would surely kill her, but not before torturing her. Afterall, his father had done that very same thing to the late empress. Or so Frieza thought…
The truth was that the late King Vegeta fell in love with the woman who was promised to Frieza. He staged her kidnapping, but she was more than willing to go, for she loved the king as well. And she married him, and bore him two sons before her death. But to Frieza, he believed the marriage to be against her will, and the procreation a product of rape.
Yes, it would be gravely dangerous to marry her, in more ways than one. So he hurt her, to let her go. And when she was fully clothed once again, she left.
…
Marron and Fasha were chatting in the kitchen when the blue haired squire zipped past them. She had a long dark cloak on, that seemed to purposefully conceal her face. She was holding her hand to her face, muffling her light cries.
“What's with him?” Fasha poked, when Bull had exited the kitchens, headed toward the stables.
Marron felt she could trust her friend. They had known each other since they were very small children. Their mothers still worked in the kitchens together. Marron made the grave mistake of trusting her friend, and confiding the secret with her.
“Is that so,” Mai appeared behind the two girls, startling them.
“Oh, um yes, I was it with my own eyes Miss Mai…” Marron said meekly. “But the prince made me promise not to tell anyone, on pain of death. Mai’s eyebrows raised with intrigue.
“Then he shall not know,” Mai replied, her voice sly, with malicious intent. “Follow me.” she comanded of her subordinate. And Marron did.
They made their way to the Regent's chambers, on the far east end of the castle. It was a long walk, and silent. Marron had the feeling that Mai was mad at her, but she couldn't be sure.
When they arrived, the Regent was leaning on the wall outside of his chambers. It was odd, but Marron thought nothing of it.
“Is that so?” the Regent purred. His voice was deep and smooth, like a creamed cup of tea. Marron liked her tea with cream, and she really liked the regent's voice. That and his body. Though he was probably twenty years older than her, she felt instantly attracted to him. It could never be, she lamented with an audible sigh. “I saw it with my own eyes, but the prince cannot know. Please, protect me.”
Marron’s big doe eyes looked up at the much taller than her man.
“Very well. No consequence will come to the prince. And we will hold her trial on the same day as his coronation, that way he will not know.” His guarantee comforted the young maiden.
Bardock motioned for one of his guards to come closer. “M'lord?” the armor clad knight asked.
“If Marron is to be believed, the blue haired girl should be on her way to through the forest to her home. She lives in the old hospital, though you probably won't have to go that far. Just arrest her and take her directly to the cells, I will keep the prince away from that area so that he is none the wiser.”
“Yes sir!” the knight saluted, and made his way toward the other end of the castle.
Marron had a tiny pang of black, dirty, guilt in the pit of her stomach. She hoped to God that she did the right thing.
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MAYHEM 2018 - WEEK 4 - [ANON A] “THE FINAL PRICE” (4)
Title: The Final Price
Chapter Summary: It was, as all fairy tales usually went… A Prince, his Princess, and their happily ever after.
Genre: AU / Romance / Family
Rating: E
Chapter Warnings: Fluff; Profane language.
Additional Requirements Fulfilled: Tragedy turned HEA
Word Count: 1,447
Chapter 8: Epilogue
(Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8)
I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I
If there was ever a time when Vegeta felt terrible for losing his Super Saiyan powers, then it had to be around… now.
Usually, the loss of the legendary powers was an annoying afterthought, especially since he was still powerful even without his golden-haired form.
It was definitely not easy to get used to the idea that he was no longer the most powerful Saiyan alive, but it was one of those things that became easier to swallow, with time.
After all, it had been three years.
He had been brought back to life, with the imposed limitations on his Saiyan powers, three years ago.
And so, yes, the loss was annoying, but it wasn’t truly the devastating blow that he would have imagined it to be.
Right at that moment though, Vegeta would have given away an arm, to be able to use his Instant Transmission again.
The Prince of a warrior race of four and a half flew as fast as he was physically able, an otherwise impressive speed that could easily leave jet planes and commercial aircrafts in the dust.
He still felt too fucking slow.
Bulma needed him, and he was still thirty seconds away.
His beautiful wife of a year and a half needed him, and he couldn’t get there fast enough.
He could feel her distress through their bond, could hear her voice calling out for him in his head.
Ten seconds.
In spite of his worry, he grinned.
Soon, he would be the Prince of four and two halves.
His son was to be born today.
He landed on their balcony a second after that thought, and he rushed to Bulma, immediately embracing her swollen body in his arms.
“Vegeta, let’s go!” she whined, already holding the emergency bag that he had meticulously packed for her as soon as he had found out that the pregnancy was heading towards its last week.
“Yes, my Princess,” he smirked, taking the bag from her before gently lifting her off her feet. He flew them to the hovercraft waiting in the garage downstairs, calmly setting her inside, before he sat beside her and engaged the autopilot, leading them to the Capsule Corp Hospital a few hundred meters away.
In reality, she could have gone there by herself.
But they had spoken about this, and the plan had been the same since they first saw that tiny “plus” sign appear on the home pregnancy test.
They would go to the hospital, together.
It had been an unfortunate coincidence that it had to be today, on the day that he was in a secondary Capsule Corp production factory about a hundred kilometers away, inspecting the new experimental space pods that they would be debuting to the military in a month.
After his return to the living realm, Bulma had fabricated an Earthling identity for him and given him a job at their company, testing out experimental military gadgets and training modules.
He was nigh indestructible, so he had been perfect for the job.
It was not until a few months later that Bulma had realized that he would also be a great asset in the research team for space mechanics, and she had given him a second job there, to act as a consultant for their then-fledgling deep space endeavors.
Together, he and Bulma had refined her earlier plans for hyperspace travel, using her high-density energy core that they had further developed after she saw how effective it had been in powering up her blaster.
They launched their first deep space prototype sixteen months ago, and it had been a success.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt her squeezing his hand, and he turned to her, a small, but excited smile on his face.
Their son was coming.
As soon as they landed in the Emergency Room gate, he leapt out, grabbed the bag, then carried Bulma carefully towards the Admission Area.
“Mr. Vegeta!” the receptionist exclaimed as soon as they came within view. “Is Ms. Bulma-”
“She’s gonna give birth. Get me a doctor, now,” he snarled, heralding the mad rush as the members of the staff realized that one of the owners of the hospital they were working at was about to go into labor.
Bulma squeezed Vegeta’s neck as she clung to him, and he sensed her pain through their soul link that he had reinforced when they became true mates.
“Vegetaaa…” she whined, her voice a pained whisper in his ear, and he clutched her tighter as a wheelchair was brought before them.
“Mr. Vegeta, we have to place Ms. Bulma into the wheelchair so we can take her to the Delivery Room,” one of the nurses said, and Vegeta snarled as a male nurse came up to try to help him move her.
“I can put her down myself,” he said, gently sitting his wife down onto the wheelchair.
“Vegeta, don’t be rude,” she chastised, punctuating her gentle scolding with a groan of discomfort.
He blanched. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “It hurts.”
He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I will be right here with you, all the way.”
What happened next was a bit of a blur to him, as Bulma yelped, and a group of nurses rushed to her, clamoring to move her to the Delivery Room.
He followed her, in a slight daze, until they wheeled her into the sterile areas of the Labor Unit and a guard stopped him at the entryway.
“I am her husband,” he barked, and he must have unwittingly released some ki, as he noted the terrified face of the guard.
“Yes sir, I am aware, but you cannot go into that area without wearing protective gear,” the guard said, pointing at a small table that held a bunch of masks and paper gowns.
After Vegeta had impatiently worn all of the required items, he marched into the room where they had taken Bulma, surprised at how quickly things had escalated in his short absence.
Bulma was already pushing, and the nurses looked harried, racing around the room and shouting at each other about “catching” the baby. From what he could see, the child was trying to move out of his mother’s womb faster than any other human child, and Bulma was struggling to keep up.
He reached for her hand, letting her clutch his powerful fingers as tightly as she could, while he placed his other hand on her stomach, emitting a very steady, warm glow of ki that seemed to calm the child within.
Bulma took a deep breath of relief, looking at him gratefully, before another contraction hit, and she pushed more intently as the doctor came in.
It all happened too fast, and yet too slow, and Vegeta felt almost dumb as he lost track of what was happening, dizzy from his own worry as his frail wife pushed out a powerful Saiyan hybrid from her fragile body.
One second, she was screaming, and the next, she was crying, as he watched a bloody bundle of flesh leave her body from between her legs, hurriedly caught, washed and clothed by the surrounding medical staff.
He stood still as a statue as one of the nurses came up, holding a tiny, wriggling bundle swaddled in soft blue cloth. She slowly placed it onto Bulma’s chest, and Bulma immediately wrapped her pale, exhausted arms around it…
His son…
That was his son…
The boy was quiet as he opened strangely alert, bright blue eyes, before pushing off a corner of his blanket.
Vegeta’s heart nearly flew out of his chest as he stared mutely at the little boy. He was impossibly small, with a fluffy tuft of purple hair atop his head.
He heard himself laugh, making Bulma turn to him, her eyes tired but blissful.
“Vegeta… Look,” she whispered, moving her arm as if to show off the boy…
The boy sired from his flesh and blood.
The boy who was literally made from their love.
He could feel a tear standing on the edge of his eyes, but he quickly blinked it away, before he leaned down, nuzzling the top of the child’s head, then planting a grateful kiss upon Bulma’s lips.
And he thought then, that he didn’t even begrudge that his life before he had been thrown to Earth had been absolute shit, or that he had already been literally in Hell.
This, right now, was as close to perfect as anything he could imagine.
And for a man like him, this could most definitely be, as they say on Earth… a “happily ever- after”.
MAYHEM 2018 - WEEK 4 - [ANON A] “THE FINAL PRICE” (3)
Title: The Final Price
Chapter Summary: Bulma had risked her life for him; Vegeta had to give up a huge part of himself to be with her. And yet, in each other’s arms, they knew that all of the pain, suffering and loss, was more than worth it. For with each other, they were complete.
Genre: AU / Romance
Rating: E
Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content; Profane language.
Prompt: Prick Her Finger On A Spindle
Word Count: 6,391
Chapter 7: The Ultimate Prize
(Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8)
I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I
It did not take long at all for their short moment of peace to be shattered.
Goku suddenly burst into the house, eyes wide and wild in disbelief as he saw Bulma holding Vegeta on the floor of Kame House.
“Prince Vegeta!” he yelled, his voice high-pitched in his excitement, and he flew to wrap both Bulma and Vegeta in a huge, ecstatic hug that caused laughter to bubble up from Bulma’s chest.
“Bulma! You did it! You were right!” he was shouting, and Bulma smiled as the taller Saiyan looked near tears in his happiness. “You’re amazing Bulma!”
“She is, isn’t she?” Vegeta’s rough, exhausted voice, rasped out, and Goku looked at him in a mixture of awe and genuine concern.
“She really is. But you look terrible, your Highness. You must be exhausted,” Goku said, right as Uranai burst into the room.
She was heaving, as if she had just run up the stairs of the basement.
“Oh, gods. You did it, Bulma!” she crowed, eyes also wide in glee and disbelief.
“Yes! And I am so happy,” Bulma laughed, her arms still wrapped around Vegeta, who had now begun to shiver.
“Hey, are you ok?” she asked him, to which he nodded.
“I am… adjusting. I have not been in my own true body for a very long time,” he admitted.
“That is true,” Uranai said. “Welcome back, your Highness.”
“Thank you,” Vegeta said, before he looked up, looking between Bulma, Goku and Uranai. “I thank you all for this… for all that you have done.”
“It is no problem at all, Prince,” Goku beamed.
“Goku, could you help me take Vegeta back to Capsule Corp?” Bulma asked, noting the ongoing shudders racking Vegeta’s frame.
“Sure thing,” Goku said, before turning to Uranai. “Thank you for your help, Grandma Uranai.”
“You are welcome,” the crone said. “Now go, you all deserve some rest.”
“Thank you,” Bulma said sincerely, before she reached out a hand to place it on Goku’s arm.
Goku laid his hand on Vegeta’s shoulder as he lifted a hand to his forehead, and Bulma felt the dizzy feeling brought by the instant transmission a second before she found herself in her bedroom, Goku and Vegeta still with her.
Vegeta had all but slumped unconscious by then, so she and Goku carefully lifted up the weakened prince, bringing him to lie down in the center of Bulma’s large bed.
Bulma stood back for a second after they had sprawled Vegeta onto her sheets, an overjoyed smile on her face as she stared at a vision that, just a day before, she had never expected to see again.
Vegeta.
Vegeta, alive.
Vegeta, alive, and in her bed.
It was a most euphoric feeling, staring at the man she loved most in the whole world, a man that she had already lost, but now was there with her once again.
It was a true miracle, and she was going to cherish every single moment with him, for the rest of their lives.
Goku looked down at Vegeta with a slight smile, before he turned back to Bulma.
“I should go,” he said softly. “He looks really tired, so I will drop by and visit you tomorrow morning.”
“Goku, before you go,” Bulma said, placing a hand on his arm again. “How long was I gone?”
“Two days.”
“Two days?” she asked, shocked.
“Yup! But don’t worry, I came back here and told your mom that you had gone away on a very sudden vacation, so they wouldn’t get worried.”
“Thank you,” she answered, and he simply nodded, before he used his instant transmission to leave Bulma alone with Vegeta.
She went back to the bed, sitting down on the edge to gaze at her beloved’s face.
She couldn’t get enough of staring at him, as a part of her was still too stunned to understand that she had actually succeeded, had actually managed to pull him back from Hell so she can have him back in her life.
One of her hands began to trace a lazy trail up his exposed arm, as she noted the frayed blue tank top and thin blue pants that clothed his amazing body.
His hands and feet were bare, and she gently held one of his hands in hers, twining their fingers together, relishing the warmth of his skin and giddily appreciating how large his hands were compared to hers.
She heard a soft noise coming from downstairs, distracting her from her perusal of her newly-revived Saiyan lover.
Reluctantly, she left her room, heading down to the kitchen where she heard her mother fussing around, making a late-night snack.
“Hi mom,” she called softly.
Panchy turned to her, her face pleasantly surprised. “Baby! You’re back! How was your trip? You look so tired!”
Bulma smiled. “I am exhausted mom. But I am extremely happy.”
“Oh? Was the trip fun, then?”
“Not really fun, but it was successful,” Bulma began. “You’re not going to believe this mom… Vegeta… Vegeta’s alive.”
The silverware that Panchy had been holding fell from her hands, clanking loudly onto the floor as she spun in shock. “What? How?”
Bulma kept smiling, tears of joy brimming from her eyes. “It doesn’t matter how, mom. He’s alive.”
“Oh Bulma! I am so happy for you!” Panchy said, rushing to her and giving her a huge, happy hug. “How is he? Where is he? Will he be dropping by?”
“Actually, I was hoping we could let him live here for a while,” Bulma said. “May I let him use one of the guest rooms?”
“Of course! I will have the helpers clean up one of the largest ones tomorrow. Oh Bulma, I am really very happy!”
Bulma stayed in the kitchen for a few more minutes, speaking to her mother about Vegeta’s living arrangements, before she finally bade her good night, then headed back up to her bedroom.
As soon as she opened her door, her eyes immediately searched for Vegeta.
He was stirring, and she ran over to him, sitting beside him to help him sit up.
He groaned lightly as he sat, and she pulled him close to her, letting him lean lightly against her as she held him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Are you hungry? Do you want anything?” she asked, and he simply shook his head.
He looked up, gazing into her eyes, before raising one of his hands to clasp her to him so that he could press his forehead to hers.
They sat there in silence for several minutes, until he finally sighed, closing his eyes, reaching up to tangle one of his hands in her long blue hair.
He still looked so tired, and Bulma realized that it must be a side effect of having his powers so rapidly sucked out of him, permanently.
She took a deep, shaky breath, before she spoke.
“Vegeta,” she began. “I’m sorry.”
He opened his eyes at that, staring questioningly at her.
“You… you died. And now, you’re back, but at a price. You lost your powers,” she paused, feeling sadness for his loss washing over her. “You had to give up your legacy, and it’s because of me. I’m sorry.”
He grinned gently, stroking her hair tenderly as he pulled back so he could watch her.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Bulma. Everything that happened, was because of me. None of this was your fault. If anything, your being here was the best thing that could have ever happened.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“If you had not been the Blue Moon,” he began, “and I did not feel strongly for you, then I would have taken my price, defeated Frieza… and then, what? Lead my army of three men?”
She giggled.
“But still,” she insisted. “I am sorry that you had to give up so much.”
Vegeta just grinned at her again. “Pay it no heed,” he said. “I have gained so much, so much more, than what I have lost.”
Bulma furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious, woman?” he asked, tightening his arm around her, pulling her close.
He cupped her cheek in his hand, softly stroking her skin, before he planted a slow, sweet kiss onto her lips, an unbelievably tender touch that had Bulma melting steadily into his arms as she gave in to the sensations of his loving embrace.
He pulled away, far too quickly, then said, “I have you. And that is all I need.”
That night, as they left gentle, innocent caresses upon each other’s bodies before finally falling asleep in each other’s arms, they became more sure of the fact that truly, all they needed in the world, was each other.
I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I
The following morning was, in a word, extraordinary.
The Saiyans flew into Capsule Corp like Dabura himself was nipping at their feet.
She and Vegeta had been expecting them, and they waited, seated on the couch, until the two humongous men burst into Capsule Corp, calling out to Vegeta.
Nappa had been near hysterical in his delight, embracing Vegeta as he was unable to contain his happiness at seeing his Prince alive, once again.
He and Raditz thanked Bulma profusely, unable to believe that she had braved entering the Spirit World to retrieve Vegeta’s soul.
Goku arrived less than an hour later via his instant transmission, bringing with him a small child of about four years old. The boy was basically a miniature of him, save for his even more unruly hair, which Goku had laughed about, saying that the boy’s strange weave frustrated his wife to no end, as well.
Gohan, Goku’s child, was a well-behaved boy, and Bulma had cooed endlessly when he went up to Vegeta, did a quick, small bow with a fist held tightly to the left side of his chest, and with his little voice, said, “I am honored to stand before you, your Highness.”
Vegeta, who had been smiling, suddenly sobered.
“What do you know of me, boy?” he asked Gohan, and Bulma stiffened, knowing what this was going to be about.
Gohan answered quickly. “You are the Prince of the Saiyans. The most powerful Saiyan born within a thousand years. The legendary Super Saiyan.”
Goku beamed with pride at his son, before he noticed Vegeta’s suddenly cheerless mood.
“Prince Vegeta, is everything alright?” Goku asked.
Vegeta turned to him, eyes heavy. “Don’t call me that. I no longer deserve it.”
All three full Saiyans started protesting loudly at those words.
Vegeta calmly held a hand up, silencing them.
“Listen well, all of you,” Vegeta began. “I am no longer the legendary Super Saiyan. To come back to the land of the living, the King of Hell asked me to give up my powers, my ability to ascend. Now, I am but an ordinary Saiyan warrior.”
His words were met with stunned silence.
Vegeta continued. “As of right now, Kakarot,” he inclined his head to Goku, “is the only remaining Super Saiyan. As he is now the most powerful amongst us, I would have no objections, should you decide to make him our new ruler.”
Goku stared in shock, gaping openly at Vegeta, before he forcefully shook his head, fists clenching at his sides.
“No way!” Goku cried. “No way, Prince! I can’t ever rule over anybody. Besides, this is ridiculous!”
Bulma watched as Goku came to sit beside Vegeta on the couch.
He leaned forward, clapping a hand onto Vegeta’s shoulder, before speaking again.
“Look,” he said. “Super Saiyan is a legend. It is an amazing legend that you were the first one to attain, after a thousand Saiyan ages. It doesn’t matter to us if you lost it. In spirit, you are still the Super Saiyan. And you will always be our Prince.”
“He speaks the truth!” Nappa cried, fists clenched, raised as if ready to defend his Prince’s honor. “You are Prince Vegeta, who led us to countless victories. The golden haired form is but a symbol. You are the Super Saiyan.”
“I agree,” Raditz piped up. “Kakarot may have the power now, but the power was yours first. We follow only you, your Highness.”
Vegeta looked at Goku, Nappa and Raditz with eyes full of respect. He raised his hand to clasp Goku’s shoulder, before he smirked at the younger man, then turned his eyes to all three.
“Thank you, men.”
I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I
Bulma didn’t think she had ever been so happy, her entire life.
Vegeta was back, truly back, and she marveled at the very subtle differences between his cursed from that he had been in before his death by Frieza, and his true mortal form now.
It was his first day as a real mortal after three decades, and one of the first things that Bulma realized was that the bottomless pit that was the Saiyan stomach truly was inherent to everyone in their race.
He had not been that keen on food before, only taking a few bites to taste, before he left. Now, in his full form, Vegeta ate as much as the three other Saiyans, and even Goku’s little half-Saiyan son was decimating the food at a faster rate than Bulma had ever witnessed.
It was like having a front-row seat to an elite food-eating contest of some sort.
Her parents were only too accommodating, providing Vegeta with food, lodging and anything else that he may need. Panchy had outdone herself as she prepared an increasingly varied selection of food from morning until night.
Her father had even opened up Capsule 4, surprising her when he said that he had actually managed to do some upgrades while she was in the midst of her depression.
Dr. Briefs had apparently watched some of the footage of the training, and from there had easily deduced – and heard, from their incessant training chatter – that the “military men” were not normal humans, at all. He adjusted the settings to suit them, thinking of inviting them all again someday to use the upgraded Gravity Chamber.
The four Saiyans had immediately gone into Capsule 4, and Bulma watched from the cameras as they went at it again, and she noticed a relaxed sort of camaraderie in their sparring now that they weren’t training for the possible last battle of their lives.
Vegeta was still in his usual perfect fighting form, and though Bulma could clearly see the differences in the force behind his ki blasts, she was happy to see that his raw power was still there, still leading their group in terms of fighting style and tactics.
He was, truly, a Prince of a warrior race.
Little Gohan stayed with Bulma, not yet mature enough to be part of the rough housing in Capsule 4, and she was delighted to see that he was showing a lot of interest in her books and inventions, and was actually able to grasp more advanced ideas, at the tender age of four.
Perhaps, one of these days, she should find a way to meet his mother. This boy was a smart one, and she would be glad to help give him the finest education that money can buy.
As the day drew to a close, the four fighters exited Capsule 3, all clearly happy with their training.
Bulma didn’t even feel bad that Vegeta had spent several hours holed up with his men, because she understood that these people were his comrades in arms, who had been with him through life and death situations, and they had a powerful bond that was forged by countless hours of fighting, thriving and surviving.
It also did not hurt that, as soon as the three men had turned their backs, Vegeta had pulled her in, leaving a small, affectionate kiss on her forehead.
She also didn’t mind that his sweat had rubbed all over her chest as he hugged her, since it was the surest sign that he was truly, fully mortal now.
After dinner, Goku, Gohan, Raditz and Nappa left, and Bulma smiled at Vegeta as she looked fondly at him, standing at the large balcony overlooking their enormous backyard, arms crossed as he watched his men fly off to go back home.
She sauntered slowly to him, and he turned to her with a small grin, stretching his arm out invitingly.
She took the cue, running up to him and laying her head on his shoulder while his arm curled around her, and they both looked up at the rapidly retreating forms of his men.
“Thank you for letting my men stay here today,” he whispered to her. “It was… refreshing, having them here with no pressure of death or invasion looming close.”
She smiled. “I figured that, with the lives you have all led, it was very unlikely that you had ever just hung out together. I understand.”
His arm around her tightened. “But now, I have you all to myself,” he said, and she could feel the smirk on his face before she even turned to see the said smirk.
“Nuh-uh,” she said, lifting a hand to bop the tip of his nose. “You’re wrong. Now, I have you to myself.”
He laughed, and Bulma placed a hand on his chest to feel the vibrations caused by his glee.
“So you do,” he said, eyebrow raised in challenge. “What do you intend to do with me, then?”
“Oh, believe me…” she purred, “there are a lot of things I wish to do with you tonight.”
I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I
Panchy had taken Vegeta aside to show him the room that she had arranged for him. As he left, he had kissed Bulma lightly before saying that he needed to take a short bath to clean off the day’s sweat, so he would do that in his new chambers.
She had been genuinely curious if he knew how to work a shower, and he had cockily stated that she could join him if she wished, just to see if he was doing it right.
Oh, how she wanted to, but her father chose that inopportune moment to pull her aside, and from his serious tone, Bulma knew better than to argue.
“Bulma,” he father said. “Those people are not human.”
It was not a question.
She sighed. “No dad… They are not. Will that be a problem?”
“Well, not to me,” he said. “But from what I understand, Vegeta is quite new here. If you intend to house him here, we need him to have an identity, don’t we?”
“I will see what I can do about that,” she smiled. “Thanks, dad.”
She dealt with a few text messages and emails that she missed from work the previous day, before she went up to her room, intent on taking a quick shower before she went and visited Vegeta.
I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I
Bulma was already planning her attire as she scrubbed her body, thinking of a particular set of matching lingerie that really framed her boobs perfectly and made her stomach look amazingly sculpted.
She wanted to look absolutely irresistible, to be the most beautiful woman he would ever see.
Bulma wanted to blow Vegeta’s mind… among other things.
She wrapped herself up in her towel, then quickly rushed to her counter to run a brush through her blue hair. She did her best to dry it up a little with her hair dryer so that it wouldn’t sop up the sexy underwear that she was going to wear tonight.
She left her personal bathroom excitedly, giddy at the prospect of her perfect night with her perfect man, when she stopped, dead in her tracks, at the sight that greeted her.
She apparently had not been quick enough with her shower, because as soon as she stepped back into her bedroom, she stood stunned as she found none other than Vegeta, standing at the foot of her bed, arms crossed as he waited for her to finish her bath.
He was shirtless, wearing only a thin pair of tight shorts, and a very mischievous grin. Her eyes greedily roved over his amazing body, lingering on the chiseled planes of his hard chest, and the abdominal muscles that looked as if they were meticulously shaped by the gods themselves.
The lines of his arms stood out, the thick, corded muscles there flexing slightly as he dropped his arms to rest at his sides. She watched his arms sway as he began to move, walking with sinuously deliberate steps, towards her.
The lines framing his thick thighs were clearly visible through his scant clothing, and she was mesmerized as she stared at his precise movements, the sight of his powerful legs as they coiled with his motions irresistibly hypnotic.
Her eyes flew up to his face, and she noted the strong set of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, and his pitch black eyes, darkened further by his electrifying intent.
“Vegeta,” she gasped as he came upon her, pinning her to the wall with his rock-hard body, one of his hands savagely ripping away her fluffy pink towel before his hands took hold of her waist, grasping it tightly, possessively.
She was lost for words, struck dumb by the intensity of his gaze, and before she could gather her thoughts, his mouth descended upon hers, hungrily swallowing her gasp of surprised pleasure as he moved his lips against her own.
His kiss was exhilarating, maddening, and Bulma raised her hands, wrapping them around his back as she desperately tried to cling to him, her knees buckling at the raw passion in his urgent touch.
He plundered her mouth, and Bulma keened in the back of her throat as she felt sharp fangs tickle the edges of her tongue, fangs that seemed sharper ever since he was brought back to life.
It excited her, the sharpness of his canines hinting at a more animalistic side of him that she had yet to witness. The sharp points of his teeth made her think that if she pressed against them too hard, it would be a lot like how it would feel to prick her finger on a spindle.
His hands travelled lower, and she felt him cup her buttocks, eagerly grabbing hold, pressing his fingers against the part where her butt met her thighs.
She felt him hitch her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pressed even harder against her.
She ground her exposed core against his lower stomach, writhing against him while her lips followed his lead, their kiss now a sensuous clash of tongue and teeth, their need for each other becoming increasingly evident by how tightly they clung to the other’s body.
He finally pulled her away from the wall, easily lifting her, and she held tighter onto his back and neck as he knelt at the edge of her bed, slowly lowering her onto her back until her torso was flat against her sheets while her legs hung over the end.
He pressed gently onto her shoulders as he pulled away, and Bulma stared into his flushed face, his manic eyes that were trained solely onto hers.
“Bulma,” he rasped, and she felt his fingers slowly dance across her flesh, tickling her stomach and the sides of her breast, reverently hovering over her as his eyes stayed glued to her blue orbs.
“Vegeta… I am so happy that you are back,” she whispered, letting her own fingers trace over the hard lines of his body, unable to believe that this flawless creature was here, for her.
He smiled, a gentle smile that filled her heart with unimaginable gladness, before he lowered his head to rain small kisses along her face.
She giggled at his caress, treasuring each kiss, nip and lick that he bestowed upon her, and she moaned softly as he began to move lower, his mouth leaving increasingly heated touches until he was sucking lustfully at her throat.
He groaned against her when she raised her hips to rub her core against him once more.
She was desperate to have him fill her once again, but she wanted, needed, to feel his touch all over her body as well.
His hand cupped her breast, running his thumb over her nipple, and she arched her back towards him, pressing herself to him, wanting his touch branded onto her skin.
Vegeta’s mouth continued to go lower, until she felt his sinful mouth cover the tip of her breast.
“Oh, Vegeta!” she moaned hoarsely, her hands reaching down to tangle in his hair and scratch lightly at his nape.
“Bulma,” she heard him whisper, before he moved his attentions to her other breast.
She rubbed as much of herself against him as she could, and he too began grinding his rapidly swelling erection down against her core.
She hissed in delight, pushing against him, wanting to feel that hardness more acutely.
She groaned in frustration when he lifted himself off her, and she watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he stood back, his eyes devouring every inch of her nude body with lascivious intent.
“I…” she stuttered, drawing his roving eyes to her face. “I wanted to wear something nice for you tonight. I wanted tonight to be for you. I wanted it to be perfect.”
His face was solemn, as he regarded her, before he lowered his hands to grasp her hips, thumbs gently soothing over her hip bones.
“It is perfect, Bulma. You…” he said, his voice a low, wistful growl that made her heart leap into her throat. “You are nothing less than perfection.”
With those words, he lowered himself to her again, kissing her lips with rising fervor, and Bulma gasped in pleasure when she felt his thick fingers begin to trace lazy patterns around her inner thighs.
She spread her legs wider, willing him to touch her where her body was aching, crying for him.
She didn’t need to say anything further, as the tips of his fingers wandered to her slit, carefully stroking her plump nether lips , making her cry out in anticipation.
“Please, Vegeta… touch me,” she whined as he pulled away from her mouth, and she cried out as she felt one of his fingers begin to breach her.
He immediately searched for her nub of desire, letting the pad of his finger smooth over it, making her hips push needily onto his palm. After a few moments, two of his fingers began to move into her, and Bulma moaned long and low as he started to slowly pump his digits in and out of her, stroking her walls and making her shudder with desire.
“Oh… Oh! Vegeta,” she gasped, his name leaving her lips like a wistful prayer.
His face was close to hers, and she could hear his harsh breaths blowing across her lips as he panted, his building desire making him shine with a soft sheen of sweat.
She turned her head to him, looking into his eyes as she moaned, trying to keep her eyes open so she could watch him as he watched her.
“Let me hear you, Bulma,” he said, and she groaned, her desire stoked further by the need she could see in his eyes.
Her thighs shook from where they hung over the bed, as he pumped his fingers within her faster, and she held onto him longingly as he moved away from her arms, so he could hover over her core, watching his hand move within her.
“So wet… so beautiful,” she heard him whisper, before she felt his hot breath blow over her core.
Bulma cried out as she felt his mouth move closer to her, and she rolled her hips invitingly, urging him to kiss her intimately.
His lips touched her lower lips, and she keened, hands fisting into the sheets beneath her as she ground her core closer to him.
She felt his breath overwhelm her as he tasted her, and she heard his own voice groan as she yelped from the sudden onslaught of sensation.
He licked her, kissed her, caressed her so thoroughly that her chest heaved with the efforts to help her heartbeats catch up, and she bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood when he began sucking on her clit.
“Vegeta!” she cried out, “Oh… that feels so good!”
He grasped her hips in his hands, swinging her legs to rest over his shoulders as he surged forward, until his mouth covered her core entirely, taking her pleasure and feeding it with his own.
She shuddered, her hands releasing her death grip on the sheets to once again tangle with the thick strands of his hair, and she tenderly caressed the sides of his face, feeling his jaw work as he continued to eat her out as if she was the finest feast that the universe had to offer.
One of his hands snaked up, grasping the side of her waist, before crawling further up to grab her breast.
She could feel him everywhere, touching her, caressing her, intimately kissing her, and as the sensations became too much , too painfully delicious for her to handle, Bulma threw her head back, screaming her pleasure as she convulsed in his hands, quaking from the rapture of her release.
He still kept licking her as her pleasure flowed from her core, and she tried to sit up, eyes wide with her own need to touch him.
“Stop, please, Vegeta… I want to taste you, too,” she asked, her voice hoarse with desire.
He moved away from her with one last reluctant lick, pulling another long moan from her, before he straightened before her, his hands holding her own as he stood.
Bulma sat at the very edge of her bed as she stared at him, practically salivating as she noted the large tent formed by his cock straining beneath his shorts.
She slowly pulled her hands from his, before she clutched his waistband, her fingers dancing along the edges where the cloth met his skin.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly began to peel his shorts off, and she watched with baited breath as he was revealed to her starving gaze.
His manhood stood proudly, his girth superbly full, and she almost came once again from the sheer want that filled her as she stared, amazed by the beauty of his naked body.
She had seen him nude before, of course… but she didn’t think she would ever stop marveling at how amazing he truly was, how perfect every inch of him was, and how that splendid body was hers, hers, to hold and love.
His shorts fell unceremoniously to the ground as she released it, and he kicked it away, waiting patiently as she reached for him.
He groaned gutturally as soon as her fingers wrapped around him, and she immediately held him tenderly with one hand, the other travelling down to the heavy sacks underneath.
She pumped him slowly, leisurely, and she glanced up at him as she pleasured him, noting with glee that a dark flush had already begun to take over his face and upper chest, his brow growing damp with sweat.
He was watching her, eyes narrowed in his pleasure, and she realized that he wanted to see her as she touched him, and she thought, perhaps, she should give him a show.
She licked her lips slowly, narrowing her eyes seductively as she, very slowly, let her lips move closer and closer to his turgid length.
He began moaning softly as her bottom lip touched him, and the sound escalated into a growl when she finally let her lips envelope his tip.
His hands flew to her head, clutching handfuls of her hair, and Bulma hummed against him as she began to slacken her jaw to take him into her mouth.
“Bulma!” he gasped, and she looked up at him through her lashes, meeting his eyes as she sucked at his head, licked his length, blew softly over his tip…
She worked him with her mouth, tongue and hands, gently squeezing his balls, and he threw his head back, finally breaking their gaze as he released a strangled shout.
She moaned against him, feeling dizzy with desire from the feel of him in her palms and tongue. She very lightly scraped her teeth against the underside of him, and he cried out, shaking violently, and she reached one hand up to hold his firm buttocks in place as she sucked harder on him.
He pulled more desperately on her hair, and she moved away, her lips making a small smacking sound as she pulled her mouth away from him.
She looked up, and she noticed that both of them were breathing hard. His eyes were narrowed into near slits as he reached down and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her up with him until they were in the very center of her bed.
He swooped down, giving her a ravenous kiss that made her insides quiver, his hands wandering over her body once again.
She felt him move his legs so they were between her parted ones, and she shuddered bodily as she felt his manhood press against her throbbing core.
“Vegeta,” she gasped between his kisses. “I need you.”
He nodded, capturing her lips again while she felt him nudge softly against her core, and he very slowly began to enter her.
The feel of him as he slid into her was staggering in its intensity, and she couldn’t help the soft cry that escaped her as he moved deeper and deeper into her. He was touching her body in its most secret, intimate places, while the darkness of his eyes boring into her reached into her soul to calm the raging fires that he had stoked, the same flames of desire that he alone could control.
She moaned raggedly as he was finally fully seated into her, a lone tear of incredible happiness leaking from the side of her eye as she looked at his most beloved face.
Bulma reached for him, letting her fingers trace the curve of his lips, the straight line of his nose, the puckered wrinkle between his eyes.
She smiled, her heart full as she felt him throb incessantly inside her, pulsing along with every beat of her heart.
She loved him so much. Her heart, mind, body and soul were all his to command, and she knew, from the very depths of her, that no one would ever mean as much to her as he did.
She smiled, dropping a short, breathless kiss on his parted lips, before the sensations he stirred within her finally made her say the words…
“I love you,” she whispered, and her heart melted at the sincere look of adoration in his eyes.
“As do I… my Bulma… my love,” he said softly, before he leaned up, raising himself up with this hands, and began to move.
She moaned from the feel of him sliding in and out of her, and in no time at all, she was moving with him, lifting her hips, undulating beneath him as she tried with desperation to meet his maddening thrusts.
He reared back, and she felt his arms go under her legs, scooping and pushing them up so that the back of her thighs were slung over his arms.
His fists were curled tightly into the sheets, and she moved her hands so they held on to his hips, stroking his strong body as he rode her into ecstasy.
She keened, screamed, moaned at his attentions, and moved to hold on to his thick neck, arching her back so that she could reach his face and kiss his gorgeous lips.
He released her legs and she immediately wrapped them around his waist so she can welcome him closer within her arms.
He kissed her with unbridled passion, and as he moved away from her lips, she clung to his back with both arms, burying her face into the side of his neck to nip and lick at the curve of his shoulder.
His sweat tasted like nectar on her tongue, and she groaned at the feel and taste of him, urging him to go faster, deeper, harder within her.
He complied eagerly, and soon, she felt that inexplicably delicious coil of sensation curling within the pit of her stomach, waiting for that moment of perfect bliss so that it could be released.
“Vegeta,” she moaned, needy and breathless from the feelings he evoked within her. “Vegeta, I’m so close… I’m so close...”
“Ah!” he cried out, overwhelmed by the feel of her surrounding him in every way. “Yes. Cum for me, Bulma.”
“Ohhhh,” she whined, closing her eyes against the incredible pleasure. “Yes! I’m almost… I’m… oh!”
He moved even harder against her, hands reaching to crush her against him as he whispered hoarsely in her ear…
“I love you…”
The feel of his body, coupled with the intense feeling behind his words, made Bulma snap, and she screamed as her body shattered, her pleasure unfurling with explosive intensity as the most incredible climax took over, robbing her of coherent thought, making her lose sight of everything but the man who was loving her with his very soul.
She tightened her arms around him as she heard him release a guttural shout, and she felt the warmth of his release fill her, sluicing slowly down her parted thighs as he shuddered in the midst of his climax.
This… this was bliss. And this perfect moment was her ultimate prize.
She was finally, truly complete.
It took them a while to recover their breaths, and Vegeta was the first to move, leaning over her to push her bangs away from her face, giving her a searing kiss that spoke of all the love and affection that he held for her, all the care and devotion that he wished to shower her with for all the years to come.
Bulma smiled up at him, placing a hand against his cheek, her palm running along the sharp angle of his jaw.
“My Prince,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the depth of her feelings.
And he smiled back, placing a lingering kiss on her mouth. “My Bulma.”
