Operation Seduction
Author: Trixie-chan
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z.
Author's Note: Oh, oh, oh my. What is this? A new story? Has hell frozen over? Is it the apocalypse? Nah, just working around life and seemingly perpetual writer's block compounded with an endless lack of free time. Only took like six damn years to write it.
Anyway! I have always enjoyed one shots, and it has been a long time since I have written one. And let's face it, I've never written a good one as the other one was DEPLORABLE. I am confident that this one is better (how could it not be?), and I hope that everyone else enjoys it as well. :) Been a long time in the making, that is for sure!
Onward, noble steed!
"Bulma, please!" Yamcha yelled from beneath Bulma's second-floor bedroom window, watching helplessly as his belongings soared from her window onto the lawn of the Capsule Corporation compound.
He had raced over after receiving a call from her saying that she had caught him once again in his cheating antics and that it was over. For good. She had said that before, but he still needed to come over and smooth things out.
The results were not favorable for him.
She was expecting him, of course. Yamcha had assumed it to go just as it had gone all the other times: A cookie-cutter shouting session, Yamcha spouting false promises, and Bulma conceding. Then there was, of course, the makeup sex. It was different this time, though. When she opened the door, rather than the immediate screaming, she had a blank, expressionless face.
This doesn't bode well… he thought as he started in on his stock apology. She listened to him for about one minute—with no change in facial expression, or lack thereof—before she shut the door without a word.
He stood there shocked, his mouth still half open from having stopped mid sentence. He remained where he was for a bit contemplating what his next move would be and was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of his possessions being unceremoniously tossed out the window.
And there he stood, trying to get Bulma to stop and give him yet another chance. He watched in dismay as his toothbrush was tossed and landed in the dirt. Not only had she never gone this far before after a breakup, but she continued to have that blank expression on her face when she appeared over the balcony to toss out another item. No anger, no sadness, just… nothing.
"Bulma, stop this! Tell me what I need to do to make this right!" he called up to the window hoping to stop the constant hurling of the belongings he left at her house onto the yard.
There was a shuffling from above. Bulma appeared on the balcony with a button-up shirt in hand. "Make this right?" she started, the first time he had heard her speak since she called him earlier. It remained almost devoid of emotion, but he could hear the hints of suppressed anger lingering behind it. "You can't make this right anymore, Yamcha. You never did, and you never could. You continue to make promises of fidelity and continue to break them. Am I not woman enough for you? Am I not pretty enough? What is it that I can't provide that makes you do what you do?" She waited in short silence for a response that was not forthcoming. Yamcha had no answers other than the same empty promises.
"And there's my answer," she continued calmly. "I don't deserve this, Yamcha. I deserve better than this. This—" she gestured at the two of them "—is over. For good this time. And don't think that I am not completely serious."
Yamcha didn't know what to say. He didn't know how this happened in the first place. How did she even find out about the other girl—or girls?
She turned back to her room and stopped, remembering the shirt in her hand. She leaned her free hand on the railing and twirled his shirt in the air. "By the way, if you want to keep your next girlfriend—God help her—from knowing about all the random girls, be smart enough not to leave your makeup- and glitter-laden clothing in their laundry basket." With that she tossed the last of his stuff toward the ground and turned back into her room.
Bulma paced the area, feeling herself shaking from all of the emotions she was trying to hide. It was a good thing she just finished her speech because she was feeling herself start to crack.
She was trying to look strong and like she didn't care. Like this was the final straw—which it was. The only problem was that she was feeling more hurt than she was letting on. And she was tired. Tired of the games, of the fights, of the promises and subsequent breaking of them, of the back and forth. She felt like a over-used yo-yo—moving up and down repeatedly with no time to rest. She was going to rest now. Cut the string. She was done with this. She had convinced herself of that; it was living with it now that was the tough part. Yamcha had been a constant in her life for so long that it was hard letting him go, but that was the only reason it was hard. It was the change that she feared.
"Bulma, please let me explain," she heard Yamcha whisper from the window where he was hovering on the other side of the balcony rails.
Snap went the last remnants of her resolve, and she lost it. She grabbed the closest thing to her—a thick medical text—and threw it as hard as she could at his face, knocking him back in the air. She got up and stomped to the double doors leading out to the balcony.
"GET OUT OF HERE!" she screamed slamming the doors and locking them. She backed up to the middle of her room, breaths coming in short gasps, and crumpled to the floor.
Bulma couldn't stop the tears as she curled up into a ball and sobbed. This was the best decision. She knew that. It didn't make hurt any less. One can only take so many hits to one's pride and self-worth without finally breaking. What was she not doing to make him stray so often? Would she ever have been enough, just her?
She didn't know, and that's what hurt the most.
When she had noticed the "soiled" clothing, she had pretty much lost it. She had immediately called him in a fit of rage and broke it off like she normally did. It wasn't until after she hung up that she really started to think about it all. Yes, she had caught him before—more than once—but never had he been so flagrant about it. It was like he wasn't even trying to hide it anymore, safe in the knowledge that she would take him back after the indiscretion was finally discovered.
Bulma started thinking about what she truly wanted. While a part of her still loved Yamcha and always would, she was no longer willing to play second fiddle to whatever size 0 in a mini skirt happen to flit across his vision. She loved him, but no longer in that way. She had been taken for granted too many times by him to stay in this mind-numbing relationship. It had become painful, self-destructive, and… monotonous.
While trying to restrain her sobs, Bulma began thinking about that aspect of the relationship-ending trends of her time with Yamcha. The only real excitement she had anymore with him was when they were fighting over his infidelity—hardly the type of excitement she longed for. Apparently, though, the adrenaline rush of that short period of time—and the amazing how-could-you-ever-cheat-on-THIS makeup sex—was enough to keep her torturing herself with an obviously failing liaison. Not anymore. This was not the excitement she wanted. She wanted something to challenge and energize her, and Yamcha hadn't done that for her in a long time.
Having fully thought this through and the reasons why she had ended this facade of a relationship, she finally was able to pick herself up and feel the strength returning to her body. There was a wave of exhaustion from the influx of emotion that caused her breakdown, but having expelled all of the tears she felt the situation deserved and more, she felt her normal vitality rebound.
Then she heard a soft thump on her balcony. Immediately her eyebrows forked in frustration. So help me if that is him again… she thought as she quickly wiped her eyes and stormed over to the doors.
She threw the doors open with any number of scathing remarks on the tip of her tongue—all of which died when she looked out at nothing. She glanced down and noticed the medical text she had thrown at Yamcha's head sitting on the floor of her balcony. She looked up again and glanced around wondering who had put it back there if not Yamcha.
Movement from her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she looked to her right just in time to see a certain flame-haired, shirtless Prince disappearing into the Gravity Machine.
Did Vegeta do that? she thought as she picked up the large book. With her eyebrows forked in confusion, and a small smile pulling at her lips, she turned back into her room and shut the doors.
Vegeta felt the weakling's power source heading toward Capsule Corp, and it seemed like he was traveling faster than usual. The Saiyan smirked—he knew what that meant. The woman had caught him out again. Not that it surprised him; he could smell the other women's scents on him 90% of the time he was near him. He didn't know why the woman continued to stay with that pathetic excuse for a man. She was relatively smart, after all.
He lowered the intensity of his training when he felt him close to the building so he could put a little bit of focus into the inevitably funny scream fest.
He heard the knocking, the begging, and then... a slam. What? No screeching harpy?
He powered down and went to the window to figure out what was going on. He was greeted with the sight of the imbecilic human staring dumbfounded at a closed door. Then he looked off to the side and, eyes widened in shock, ran off out of the range of vision for his portal window.
"Hmph," he scoffed as he grabbed a towel and exited the Gravity Room to investigate, making sure to stay out of sight. He didn't need them knowing that he was paying attention to them...
He almost burst out laughing at the sight of articles of clothing and random belongings flying through the air from the woman's window. He really had a hard time not laughing when he heard the human's pleading.
Then he heard the woman's little speech. She was trying to remain calm, but he could sense her anger and pain. For some reason, he seemed to be more in tune with the wench's emotions lately which he did not enjoy. Not that it didn't come in handy every once in a while—he knew when to avoid her so that he didn't have to deal with her bawling, and he knew when to seek her out and annoy her for his entertainment.
He contemplated again why she ever put up with such a pathetic specimen as that. Why settle for that waste of space when the most powerful, virile male on this planet is down the hall, he wondered idly. Then he shook himself. Right. As if I would ever lower myself to such a level.
He watched with a smirk on his face as she pointed out his idiocy once more and flung the last remnant of his things from the window. Then he saw the brainless oaf float up to her balcony window and snorted silently to himself. It didn't take a genius to see that this was a bad idea.
There it was—the item chucked at his face, the screaming that had up until that point been lacking in this predictable fight, and the slamming of her doors. He watched the human descend to the ground rubbing his nose. By this point, he had stepped further into view as he no longer cared if they saw him observing their amusing display. Yamcha began the task of gathering his things from wherever they lay scattered about the yard. Vegeta couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat at the pitiful display.
He noticed Yamcha's body stiffen at the noise. He straightened with a few shirts in his arms and turned slightly to glare daggers at the Saiyan. "What are you looking at, monkey?"
Normally Vegeta would have bristled at the reference, but the smirk never left his face. This human was too pathetic to affect him in any manner other than laughter at this point and was desperately trying to save face. "You really want to push your luck right now, weakling?"
Yamcha's frown deepened. "I'm a gambling man."
"Looks like you aren't too good at knowing where to place your bets," the Prince commented, accentuating the statement with a slight glow of energy around his body indicating that he was open to the challenge. If you can even call it that. I wouldn't even break a sweat destroying this foolish human.
The scar-faced fighter looked like he was on the brink of attacking, but he took a deep breath to calm himself and went back to collecting his things. This caused Vegeta to chuckle even more. Smartest thing he's done all day.
Once Yamcha finally cleaned the yard of his belongings (Vegeta just couldn't resist standing there the whole time silently mocking the other fighter and making him as uncomfortable as possible), the Saiyan was about to return to his training when he noticed something else still on the grass. He crossed the yard and saw a sizable volume with medical jargon printed across the pages it was opened to. Since this obviously would not have belonged to the idiot male, it must have been what the woman had thrown at his face. This caused the Prince to smirk at the memory.
He decided to reward the female with a small favor for the entertainment she had unwittingly provided him. He casually walked over to the discarded book, picked it up, and hovered up to the balcony. The Saiyan's acute hearing could pick up the distant sounds of her sobs beyond the door; though, they were slowing. Giving the doors a sideways glance, he dropped the book on the balcony and floated back down to the Gravity Room. He heard the sound of her doors opening as she approached and disappeared into the machine to continue his training.
Stupid humans.
Bulma never considered herself a big drinker, but some situations just call for large quantities of alcohol. Now was one of those times; though, her face did not agree as she downed another shot of straight Jägermeister. She shook her head in a pointless attempt to remove the black licorice taste from her mouth and burning down her throat.
This stuff tastes like shit, but it certainly will get me good and drunk, she thought as she considered her empty shot glass. She didn't think she could handle the taste of another shot of that, but what would she have in its stead? The five she had up until this point were certainly doing a number on her hand-eye coordination, but she was in no way ready to call it quits. She stumbled her way over to the liquor cabinets and clumsily sifted through them for a replacement brain-cell destroyer.
Her eyes fell upon her target bottles. She grabbed the Cuervo, Jack Daniels, and Jim Bean and hauled them over to the counter with her shot glass. I haven't had a Three Wisemen since college. This should do the trick!
Just as she downed her concoction, she heard the door slam. With a swimming head she turned around to see Vegeta walk in from his training—presumably done for the night. His toned, shirtless chest was still glistening from the sweat of hours of hard work, and had Bulma's cheeks not already been flushed from the copious amounts of alcohol ingested, she would have blushed at the sight and the thoughts it evoked.
She had never denied that he was a very attractive specimen, but she had always had a barrier up keeping her from such thoughts. In moments of weakness she had thought of him in non-innocent terms, but then he would do something to piss her off and those thoughts were gone. With her thought processes locked up and her judgment clouded, she found no reason to stop her train of dirty thoughts.
"What are you looking at, woman?" Vegeta snipped, interrupting her wandering fantasies.
Her half-lidded eyes just watched him, trailing slowly up from his muscular legs—left uncovered his training shorts—to his torso. Her gaze roamed once again across his bare chest and sinewy arms. Bulma's intoxicated mind was having trouble focusing on words, and her inhibitions were quickly diminishing, if they were even still there at all.
Vegeta's eyebrow quirked up at her obvious eyeballing of his physique. Not that he could blame her—he was a perfect male specimen. It was just slightly unnerving coming from her. She had never indicated that she admired his body in visual inspection or verbally, aside from the time she called him cute when she invited him to stay at Capsule Corp. He inwardly shuddered at the use of that term to describe him. But here she was ogling him like a hormone-crazed teenager.
"What is your problem?" he asked testily after a continued lack of response from her.
Bulma's breath began to speed up as the alcohol took a stronger toll on her and her imagination began to run wild with images and feelings she never would have come up with normally. "It was you, wasn't it?" she asked quietly taking a step toward him.
Vegeta jerked back at the unexpected step forward. "What are you walking about, harpy? And why do you have that ridiculous look on your face?"
Bulma continued forward unperturbed by the prince's comments. Her path took a slightly zig-zagging pattern, but she reached her destination: Vegeta. "My book. You put that on my balcony, didn't you?" she whispered as her hand came up to his cheek.
He flinched slightly as she touched his face, completely taken off guard and confused by her sudden actions. Since when was she so forward? And with him? He smelt the alcohol wafting off of her. It wasn't as if he didn't know the effects alcohol had on people or even that he hadn't had it himself in the past. He just had a higher tolerance for it—being a Saiyan—and he never drank enough to where he couldn't think clearly. He could never afford to be out of sorts under Frieza's rule. The female, however, had obviously imbibed more than enough to make her less than culpable and not fully in control of her actions. Not that part of him didn't slightly enjoy the attention. And that look in her eye...
Vegeta shook himself imperceptibility to rid him of those thoughts. He didn't need such distractions. "So? Why does it matter?"
Her eyes changed in a way that made Vegeta's stomach clench. There was an obvious shift from happiness to a maze of pure, alcohol-fueled lust.
She had moved her hand down to rest on his chest. "You did something nice for me. Why?" Bulma's voice had a slight slowness and the smallest of slurs, but rather than detracting from her alluring magnetism, it supplemented it.
He shifted slightly on his feet, unnerved by how drawn he was to her. She had never been so forward with him. It's not like he had never thought of her that way—contrary to what he told her in heated, anger-filled verbal spats, she was a highly attractive woman. A very desirable female indeed... And she was practically throwing herself at him...
He mentally slapped the thought away. He wouldn't lower himself to take a woman so obviously not functioning to her full emotional capacity.
"You and your pathetic human male provided me with entertainment. That is the only reason," he replied. He couldn't pull his eyes away from hers. They drew him in like a tractor beam.
Her half-lidded eyes brightened, and she pushed herself closer to him. A small, seductive smile played on her lips. "Are you sure that's the only reason, Your Highness?" she cooed playfully drawing lazy circles on his chest while never taking her eyes off his.
He felt a dwindling in his self-control at the way she said his title. Not in the mocking sense she had used in the past, but in the entirely serious, sexuality-laden breath. He needed to remove himself from this situation before he did something he was going to regret. He didn't need to deal with the mess that would cause. He hadn't been with a woman since before the first time he had come to Earth with Nappa; there hadn't been the time, and with all that was happening, sex was the furthest thing from his mind. Now, however... with this tempting piece of soft flesh before him on a daily basis... If he gave in now, he would be craving it constantly. Vegeta knew the likelihood of coming out of a drunken tryst and continuing a sexual affair were slim to none.
And she would become, no doubt, even more annoying because she would inevitably blame the Saiyan even if she was the one offering herself like a common streetwalker.
No, this would not happen. It could not.
Vegeta mildly pushed her back, ignoring the confusion written across her face. "Woman, control yourself. I have no time for this." He turned and walked away from her toward the stairs leading to his bedroom, choosing to forget that her room was just down the hall from his.
Bulma's face reddened at the rejection. She looked after him shocked that he had turned down such a blatant invitation. He had turned her on, and now she was horny, dammit! Her face screwed up in anger and determination, and her fists clenched at her side. Releasing a frustrated breath through her nostrils, she stomped her foot and called after him, "Fine! Be that way! But you'll help me out one way or another, Vegeta! Whether you like it or not! And I will certainly make sure you know it, buddy! I'll be thinking of your the whole time!"
True to her word, Vegeta was barely able to sleep the entire night over the sounds of battery-operated whirring and the blue-haired vixen's cries of pleasure. At times he cursed his superior Saiyan hearing...
The sun shining through the blinds was like a jackhammer to her skull, and she cursed the piercing ball of light. She groaned and pulled the covers over her head to try to block the offending brightness.
Ugh... serves me right to have all that alcohol... she thought, covering her head with her arms. Upon that thought, all of the previous night's events came back to her in a shameful rush—what she did, what she said, and what she did to herself. Oh my god... Vegeta must have heard everything! She could feel her face burning with embarrassment. How would she be able to face him after that?
She had to admit, though... Her inebriated fantasies were quite graphic—and extremely sexy. Just the memory of them got her warm even without the help of shots. She briefly closed her eyes and lost herself in them again.
"Ugh! Stop it, Bulma!" she cried, shaking her head to rid herself of the graphic images. "This is Vegeta we're talking about..." Letting out a sigh, Bulma swung her legs over onto the floor. Standing up and rubbing her eyes, she started contemplating ways to avoid Vegeta entirely so she could stay out of the sure-to-be awkward meeting.
"What have I gotten myself into?"
Bulma sat at the kitchen table nursing her freshly brewed coffee, her foot restlessly bobbing on the floor. She had contemplated going elsewhere to drink her coffee and prepare her day, but she refused to hide and let him have the sure satisfaction of winning in the battle of awkwardness. Bulma was sure that he would be gloating, rubbing it in her face, and generally making her feel more like an idiot than she already felt (if that were possible). She would not break her morning routine to avoid him; she would not hide from him like some sort of criminal. Bulma Briefs was strong, dammit, and she would not back down from anything!
Regardless, her foot continued to bounce a nervous pattern on the linoleum. Good thing she was sitting...
Then came the dreaded noise—the distinctly light padding of Vegeta heading toward the kitchen for his morning snack. She had always marveled at how such a muscled man could cause such little noise. Her 110-pound mother walks louder than him. At least it did warn her when he was coming as she could tell it apart from others.
She steeled herself—gripping her cup a little bit harder, forcing her foot to stop moving, and took a deep breath, making her face a mask. She would be prepared to handle anything he dished out to her; she just wasn't sure she would be able to shoot anything back. Her wittiness seemed rather dull when clouded by a thick film of embarrassment and hangover.
Vegeta finally rounded the corner with his usual food-honing intensity and bee-lined to the fridge without a single glance her way. Bulma sat there with a mild deer-in-headlights expression waiting for the barrage.
… that wasn't looking likely to come.
Bulma's awkwardness was overwhelming her. The sound of silence mixed with items getting shifted and grabbed from the fridge was setting her on edge and making her teeth itch. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he ripping into her like a 13-pound turkey? Was this part of the torture? The silence? She could feel her leg start to shake with the need to tap her nervousness out, but that—in the silence—would be like machine gun fire.
"Morning," she finally blurted, her voice sounding cracked and pitchy.
"Hn," was the response she got before he shut the fridge door, his arms laden with every different food stuff imaginable—and exited the room to eat in the gravity room as per usual.
Bulma gaped at the empty space in front of the fridge. Had she imagined her embarrassment? She was pretty sure not. It was quite vivid in her mind... Why was he not making a big deal out of it? It WAS a big deal! She threw herself at him! And he turned her down!
He turned down Bulma Briefs! What is wrong with him? She was an extremely desirable woman! The embarrassment was quickly being replaced by anger and disbelief. This has never happened to her before. Her advances were never turned down.
And so help her, it would remain that way. Not that she wanted that egotistical asshole or anything, but she refused to be turned down like that! It was too much of an ego shot for her to take. Come hell or high water, she would seduce him. Whether or not she actually went through with it or if she left him hanging like he had done was entirely up to her.
Vegeta lay panting on the floor of the gravity room after a long, satisfying session. He began his usual post-training regimen of calming his body and letting his mind return to the world of not fighting for his life. The last thing he needed was to leave the room in his adrenaline-pumping state and kill someone who happens to sneak up on him. That would certainly earn him a scream fest from the harpy.
Of course, thinking of her certainly did not help his calming process. Contrary to how he played it off to her, he did remember—quite vividly—that night she drunkenly threw herself at him and the subsequent self-induced screaming on her part... He had since done a pretty good job of avoiding or ignoring her, and she never brought it up. In fact, she had practically ceased to acknowledge him, much to his enjoyment.
The only problem was that even though it seemed to be the stereotype that the males of this planet are completely oblivious to their surroundings, Vegeta was not one of them, and he did notice things. Like the fact that the woman had changed her hair from that god-awful pouf head to a straighter, sleeker cut that didn't make his eyes bleed. Plus the outfit choices. She now seemed to enjoy waltzing around in shorts so short they bordered on indecent, small shirts, bikinis, and every manner of flimsy scrap of clothing material she could get to stick to her body. He noticed, and he was frustrated.
He did his best to ignore it and pay her no attention, but she was making it increasingly difficult. She was also making it increasingly difficult for him to focus on things that he needed to. Thankfully it had not affected his training the point of ruining his concentration, but it was certainly not helping his calming ritual.
Forcing himself to calm his mind and body, he was able to release his tensed muscles and focus his wandering thoughts. Getting the battle rage out of his body, his stomach made itself known. He pushed himself up and started for the door; time to raid the fridge.
Bulma applied the finishing makeup touches to her lips and admired herself in the mirror. New bathing suit, push-up top, low-rise bottom with half cheek coverage, and a color and pattern that complimented her hair and skin tone. She looked absolutely slammin', if she did say so herself—and she did. She smiled and winked at herself. "If he doesn't get down on his knees and beg when I look like this, there is something wrong with him." She blew herself a kiss and proceeded downstairs to confirm the second part of her latest plan.
She opened up the fridge to confirm what she already suspected: empty. She smiled. She had ensured that everything was either eaten or tossed rendering the fridge a barren wasteland. No way to escape me now, big boy. But I will make it worth your while. Bulma then made her way to the backyard to attempt the coup de grâce.
The half-naked scientist deposited herself on the side of the pool. She dangled her legs in the pool, leaned back on her arms to take in the sun, closed her eyes, and waited. She didn't get much sunbathing time in before she heard the familiar, angry steps of the flame-haired Saiyan who was sure to be pissed over the lack of food in the fridge.
"WOMAN!" he yelled as he saw her, not missing a beat or even seeming to be distracted in the slightest by her state of dress. Her eye twitched, but she acted like normal. She popped open one eye at him and smiled.
"What? Can't you see I'm busy?" That did not go over well.
"There is no food." Terse. Of course. To be expected.
She slid into the pool and proceeded to ignore him. Time to up the ante. She dove under the water and swam to the bottom. When her feet touched, she pushed off of the tile of the pool floor to shoot herself back up to the top.
As Bulma has always had a pension for the dramatics, she flung her hair back as her head broke the surface, water droplets arcing in a semicircle over her glistening body. Vegeta did not miss this action; quite the opposite, in fact. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She slowly and calmly swam her way over to the side of the pool at his feet and rested her arms on the edge. She placed her chin on her arm and looked up at him with her disarmingly blue eyes.
"So?" The short response was so clipped and unexpected that Vegeta stood in a stunned silence.
"So DO something about it, wench!" he finally blurted out.
She quirked her head to the side so that her cheek was resting on her arm. "Why? Just order pizza or something. You're a smart boy, you can figure it out." With that, she pushed off the edge and floated away on her back, deliberately displaying her sparkling wet chest and voluptuous curves above the water.
Vegeta's fists tightened in his crossed-arm stance. She was toying with him. How dare she! He was the Prince of all Saiyans! Nobody toyed with him! Especially not some blue-haired Earthling female. They essentially worked for him, dammit! They should be waiting on him hand and foot while kissing his feet (and shaking with fear, of course) as he was going to save their pathetic planet. Plus, he didn't know how to work their "phones." That's what servants are for.
"How about I just put that that little black creature your father carries around on a stick and make myself some roast meat?" he finally stated with a smirk. Bulma let out a choked squeak and lost her float, splashing her arms a lot as she kept her upper half afloat.
"Ew, Vegeta! That's disgusting!" she cried. He wouldn't do something like that. … Would he?
"Not to me," he replied haughtily as the turned on his heel and walked off. "You'd better get me some food, woman; unless you want to call my bluff."
Bulma puffed out her cheeks in frustration as he turned away. So much for that attempt. She thought she had him all flustered for a minute there, but maybe not. That man was so hard to read. She sighed as she swam over to the edge once again and pulled herself out. She didn't want to end up being the gruesome, crispy cause of death of her dad's favorite cat—no matter how much she hoped he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Who knew with that man.
The blue-haired genius now hypothesized that the Saiyan was un-seducible. Either that or he was gay. She would have laughed at that thought if she weren't so irritated.
How many more failed attempts over the last few weeks had it been? Bringing him a tray of food in an apron over clothing so small underneath that that it looked like she had nothing on beneath the apron at all; no response. He took the tray and shut the door. Camping out and sunbathing next to the GR; completely ignored. Walking around the house post shower in a tiny little towel—making sure that he was around to see. Finding him in the kitchen and reaching for a mug on the very top shelf, letting just enough of her well-toned behind to peak out from underneath the towel. She didn't even think he looked at her once.
Bulma didn't know what else she could do. She wasn't going to stop trying—hoping to maybe wear him down—so today she was sporting another bikini top and short shorts. Bulma Briefs did not give up. Some may call it stubborn, but she called it persistence.
She was tinkering around with a project in her lab while waiting for the general time of day when Vegeta would be making a food run when her phone rang. She sighed looking at the call screen. Yamcha...
"What do you want...?" she muttered as she picked up the phone. "Yes?" she stated bluntly as she accepted the call.
"Hey babe! What's up?" Yamcha greeted casually on the other end. It had been a month and more since their blow up, and she hadn't heard a word from him yet, which was exactly how she wanted it. Eventually she would be okay with being his friend again, but not quite yet. She could still feel her anger over his discretion churning in her gut.
"... Nothing..." she replied in a drawn-out fashion, confusion evident in her tone.
"Cool! So do you wanna maybe get a drink or dinner or something tonight?" He was so damn casual.
"What are you...?" she trailed off as the pieces fell into place. He thought this was another fight/break/back together cycle. He didn't get the hint. He thought she had enough time to get over it by now. He thought he'd take her out, get her some flowers, butter her up, and all would be right with them again.
He thought wrong.
"Ya know what would actually be so much better, Yamcha-bear?" she said, cooing in a soft voice as she made her way to the kitchen—like hell she would be able to focus on work after this.
"Hmm, what'd you have in mind?" Hook, line, sinker. She smiled a bit evilly and rested her elbows on the counter.
"How about you light a few candles, get a bottle of wine," she drawled sweetly, "maybe some popsicles..."
"Yeah?" he prodded eagerly.
Bulma's smirk widened, and she continued just as sweetly, "... and shove them all up your ass."
The other line was silent—shocked silence she hoped.
"Is that a joke?" he finally asked.
"Oh honey bunny, I have never been more serious in my life. Oh! And make sure the candles are lit. Send me a picture! Better yet, send the picture to ALL of your girlfriends, present and ex. I'm sure they would all enjoy it. Tootles!" She hung up the phone and took a deep, satisfied breath. "Aaaaand scene."
Then she heard the footsteps start up behind her, but they didn't start at the entrance. They were much closer. A certain eavesdropping Prince had heard the whole thing. Here we go... she thought.
Turning around, she eyed him wearily as he entered the kitchen, shirtless and sweaty from training. His eyes glanced at her, and she could see the shadow of a smirk ghosting across his face. She crossed her arms and watched him collect his food, waiting for the comments to come.
She saw his head turn just a few inches in her direction. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. She knew he hated Yamcha, and she knew he would have approved of her giving him what for. She knew it, and he knew it. But she didn't know if he'd tell her as much. "Looks like the bitch is out to play," he finally commented, turning his face fully away from her again.
Bulma felt the corner of her lip twitch. She leaned back against the counter with her arms still across her chest. "Damn straight." She continued to watch him as she made himself a leaning tower of sandwich. Boldness was now seeping through her following her outburst and subsequent validation.
"Something I've been meaning to ask you," she started, tilting her head to the side as she would while studying a particularly challenging project. He ignored her, as she assumed he would. "Why did you never bring it up?"
Silence. She had noticed the slightest of tensing of his shoulders. "Bring what up?" he finally responded without deigning to look at her.
Bulma gave an unlady-like snort and said, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I thew myself at you that night, and you didn't take advantage. Then the next day you acted as if it never happened. There was no acknowledgment of it—not even a condescending remark. Why?" She was starting to work herself up. She had been going this entire time with absolutely no indication, and she wanted—needed—an explanation.
For a while there was more silence. Bulma waited while the Prince continued to build his sandwich with ever-tightening shoulders.
After what felt like an eternity, he turned toward her, his face the bland mask of constant irritation that it normally was. "For your own good."
The heiress felt her eye twitch. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm a grown woman."
He shrugged. "That doesn't mean you can control your own outbursts, as you have already demonstrated today."
"My outbursts? What outburst would I have had? What could you have possibly said to cause that reaction?" The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her regret deepened as she saw the smirk rise on the haughty Saiyan's face.
"That it would have been funny had it not been so pathetic."
She stood still. The only evidence of her anger was her face slowly turning red and the darkening of the space around her to foreshadow the impending storm. Vegeta's face never changed, and she continued to stare at him as if he had said nothing. But her vision was quickly being painted red.
As if in a daze, she took one step forward, then another, and another, until she was standing nearly nose to nose with the continuously smirking man before her.
"Pathetic, huh?" she whispered icily. Vegeta shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll show you pathetic." She whipped her head around as she stormed out of the kitchen.
He chuckled as he began to gather his sandwich and other food products. He set them on the table and was about to sit down when his sensitive Saiyan hearing picked up a familiar and, in this case, very unwelcome sound: the door opening to the GR.
She wouldn't... he thought as his head jerked in the direction of the yard his second home was situated on. Oh yes she would. He bolted.
He burst into the small training room to the sound of the woman muttering angrily to herself while she lay on her back underneath the center console of the machine. He could hear her tinkering with it in an attempt to dismantle his only reason for staying on this backwater planet, and he would not have it.
Vegeta strode up to the console, kneeled over her, and pulled her out on her back. The words he was going to direct at her lodged in his throat at the last minute as he took her in—pliable and delicate beneath him in nothing but a glorified bra and shorts that could barely be classified as clothing. Her arms were still flung above her head as he had interrupted her in the middle of her sabotage, and her skin was flushed with her anger and fervent need for revenge against his previous statement. One hand was on the floor by her head holding him up and the other, he noticed, was still gripping her waist. His fingers flexed against her soft skin unconsciously.
"Just what do you think you are doing, woman?" he finally got out, a bit more huskily than intended.
The anger on her face was dissipating as the situation she was in became apparent. She was acutely aware of his hand on her bare waist and the sparks igniting across her skin, all shooting to the warming center of her body.
"You know exactly what I'm doing," she whispered, trying yet failing to keep the anger in her voice, unable to take her eyes off of his smoldering black pools. "What are you doing?"
There was silence as they stared at each other. The tension continued to build in the moment of tense quiet and stillness.
"You know exactly what I'm doing," he echoed. His fingers tensed on her waist in an unconscious attempt to get her closer. A small, almost silent gasp of air escaped her as her hips jumped up to him just enough to be noticeable.
With that small, knee-jerk movement the shoddily built dam of self-control that had been building up for what felt like forever broke in the Prince, and the subsequent flood could not be contained as his lips suddenly attacked her neck.
Bulma gasped again as her hands shot instinctively into his hair to hold him in place. She felt his hand greedily move up her side, coming to a stop on her breast. She let out a small groan as he began massaging her through her small bikini top. His rough fingers teased her barely-clothed nipples.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands that were in his hair grabbed a handful and pulled his head up away from her neck. His eyes met hers, and they both stopped. Bulma's breath stopped. The world stopped.
Why was she feeling like this? This outcome was supposed to be strictly the personal satisfaction of having him want her. She was also supposed to eventually turn him away. But getting lost in those eyes... She couldn't stop this if she wanted to. But why was that?
Who cares, she thought as she brought her hands to either side of his face and pulled him to her.
Their lips met like an electric shock. Vegeta found himself being less aggressive than he usually would be in this situation. This woman... What was she doing to him? The fire burning in the pit of his stomach overrode any tenderness, though; she was his, and he was taking her.
Bulma's passion was just as powerful as their lips and tongues warred with each other like two combatants in a long-overdue battle. Bulma tangled her hands in his thick, flame-like hair while his hands explored her bikini-clad body.
It wasn't long before her bikini top was pushed aside, and his lips moved to her chest to tease the sensitive pink buds. Bulma gasped and pushed herself closer to his rock-hard body, her hands still locked in his hair. While he lavished her breasts with his tongue, he moved one hand down to her shorts. Not one to bother with petty things such as buttons and zippers, he just ripped them open and found her most sensitive spot.
She lurched her hips toward him with a small cry. Her moans filed the small room as he continued her assault on her willing body.
Finally it became too much for her to handle. She yanked his head up from where he had been worshiping every inch of her breasts and locked eyes with him. The Prince's eyes were molten pools of desire, and she had no doubt hers had a similar smolder that left no uncertainty as to her need. "Fuck me, Vegeta," Bulma said as sternly as she could muster through the feverish lust she was all but drowning in. "Now."
That trademark smirk appeared on his face as he ripped his training shorts in two. "What makes you think you can order me around, woman?" he teased, placing himself at her heated core.
Biting her lip to keep from crying out her nearly unfathomable desire, she met his eyes and replied as business-like as she could manage in her current state. "Because you want this as much as I do. Don't think of it as an order as much as—" She gave a small gasp and closed her eyes as he moved his hips forward just enough to press against her without actually giving her what she so desperately needed. She met his eyes again. "... an open invitation."
The flame-haired warrior didn't need much to be persuaded. He crashed into her like a wave against the shore. She cried out at the final realization of what she had been burning for for longer than she had even realized. He gave a low groan, finally reveling in what he had been trying to deny since that drunken night what felt like ages ago. But soon, all thoughts aside from the rapidly mounting pleasure were pushed to the back of the mind as instinct and passion took over. Heat rose around them, and the small training chamber was filled with the growing moans and increasingly labored breathing of the couple. There were no sweet nothings, no romantic gestures; just pure animalistic need. This was what both of them craved.
Bulma shuddered and cried out, somewhat shocked at the force of her orgasm. She couldn't recall one ever feeling that powerful or... amazing. Soon after, Vegeta gave a grunt and tucked his head into the crook of her neck. They both lay there after, Bulma with one arm around his neck and the other pressing against his strong back and her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, and basked in the aftermath of pleasure. She absently ran her hands down his back, trailing the sweat that trickled down between his shoulder blades. Without even thinking, she nuzzled her face against his neck, inhaling his scent. But it wasn't long before her rational brain came back online and the realization that nearly every piece of clothing they had on had been shredded hit her.
Well... how am I going to explain this?
Vegeta, of course, couldn't have cared less who saw him nor what they thought, so he left with nothing but a towel covering his waist and without another word to her—presumably to go tend to his forgotten sandwich. That suited Bulma as she didn't know what she would have said to him anyway. Thankfully she still had an intact top, and the gravity machine was well stocked with towels. She threw it around her body as if she had just come from the pool.
The sky-haired heiress had immediately gone to her shower. She leaned her head against the tiles as steaming water cascaded down her back. This wasn't the plan... she thought, sighing. How can I look him in the eye? How can I pretend that nothing happened? Or... am I supposed to acknowledge it? Is that something I want or not? She put her head in her hands. I don't even know what I want!
Unbeknownst to her, Vegeta was doing the same thing. "That damn woman," he mumbled to himself as he soaked under the hot water in his own shower. He had been doing so well with either avoiding her or completely ignoring her. Ever since that drunken night when he turned her down, she was always the thought that filled his subconscious mind, threatening to converge on his everyday thoughts of training and sustenance at any given moment. Ever since moving into the compound on this God-forsaken planet, he had had random, fleeting thoughts of taking her on the kitchen counter or other such fantasy, but they were brief and infrequent. Subsequent to that night when she offered her inebriated self up on a platter, though, it was all he could do to NOT think about what he wanted to do to her.
This is not good, he thought, running a hand over his face. This is a distraction. I'm not here for sex. Though it was nice. I am here to get stronger so that I can destroy these androids when they arrive and then wipe Kakarot off the face of this miserable rock. Not to play house with some harpy who has nothing better to do with her time than spend all day tempting me.
That was that. Distractions were not tolerated. They would be ignored or avoided entirely.
No matter how much he craved them.
It had been a week, and Bulma could count on one hand the number of times she had seen the Saiyan Prince. It was usually at a distance, too. Part of her was okay with that as she was still working through her own feelings on what had happened and what it meant to her. The other part of her felt saddened, slighted, and borderline offended. How dare he avoid her after that! That he could just touch her, kiss her, slide his sweaty, muscular body over hers...
Stop it, Bulma! She shook her head to snap herself out of her reminiscing. She had been doing that a lot lately. It was almost all she could think about. At first the act itself, but then more and more it was his face, his mannerisms, his voice, his cocky attitude that she would be thinking about fondly. What the hell was wrong with her?
But it seemed the harder she tried to push him from her mind, the more he solidified himself in her subconscious. A stubborn staple in her brain. Just like the actual Vegeta, she thought wryly after what felt like the thousandth attempt to wrest him from her head—to no avail, of course. It was almost as if...
"Noooo... No no no!" Bulma cried putting her head in her hands.
"What's the matter, honey?" her bubbly mother asked as she walked into the kitchen.
Bulma shook her head. "Nothing, Mom..." Nothing. Nothing at all. Except I may have developed some feelings for the psychopathic killing machine living under our roof... She sighed and made her way out of the kitchen. She needed some fresh air.
Her mind was still reeling, trying to comprehend what she had just realized, as she opened the door to the backyard...
And nearly ran directly into the object of her thoughts.
Of course she didn't actually run into him. As small and nigh unnoticeable as her power level was—which he felt the need to point out on multiple occasions—he could still sense her. She was stopped by his hands on her shoulders. And the reaction was instant.
Every square inch that his hand touched was on fire; he hadn't even come within arm's reach of her since the gravity room. Her very nerve endings were responding to him. She looked up and met his eyes, and she could instantly feel warmth pooling between her thighs. His eyes seemed so much more intense than usual, which is saying something. In fact, his entire body seemed like a rubber band that was seconds from snapping. She could swear she felt his hands tremble the slightest against her shoulders—like the unconscious twitch of someone holding themselves back.
And with that, he was gone, moving past her and into the kitchen. Bulma was left visibly shaken and weak kneed. Now she really needed some air.
Focus. Focus. Punch. Kick. Ki blast. Dodge. Blue hair... FOCUS! Then he got blasted in the face by one of the bots and slammed to the ground.
"Goddammit!" he screamed, punching the floor. That was at least the third time it had happened. He couldn't keep his mind on the task at hand. Every time he tried his brain drifted to that blasted woman. How the hell was he supposed to train properly when he couldn't even FOCUS?!
His eyes drifted to the clock showing that it was the time that supper was usually prepared. He sighed and resigned himself to just giving up for the night and getting some food. Not like being here was doing him any good. He wasn't even able to fully pay attention to what he was doing. He was useless. Might as well fill his stomach and sleep it off. Hopefully...
He made his way to the kitchen after drying off. As usual, he didn't bother with a shirt; he was just going to be grabbing food and going to his room anyway. He heard the signs of conversation coming from the kitchen, but he didn't focus too much on it as his senses were overwhelmed by the delicious smell of pasta, cheese, and tomato sauce.
The second he stepped in the doorway, his eyes immediately went to Bulma—and hers immediately to his. It was like she could sense him even though she had no ability to detect power levels. He couldn't pull his eyes away, and he didn't move. He could see the blood rushing to her face—and smell the blood rushing elsewhere. The muscle beneath his eye twitched.
"Oh, Vegeta!" cried the shrill harpy that birthed that infernal woman. "You're just in time! We're having lasagna! I made you your own pan! Come sit down!"
His eyes flicked over to Mrs. Briefs momentarily, but then they were compulsively pulled back to the woman's. This would not end well if he stayed. His stomach could wait until everyone was gone. He did not trust himself staying here.
"... I'm not hungry." He turned on his heel and headed to the stairs to his room. He could feel the woman's eyes boring into his back as he left.
Bulma kept her eyes on her plate as she pushed her food around with her fork. She didn't want to look up. She could still feel the effects of Vegeta's presence, and she feared what her parents would see on her face if she met their eyes. It all sounded muffled and wordless to her as she focused on keeping her mind away from a certain someone—to little avail.
"Bulma?" She was snapped out of her swirling thoughts by her mother's cheery voice.
"Hmm?" the heiress responded as she jerked her head up and stopped her fork mid food push.
Her mother frowned at her. "Are you okay, honey? You've hardly eaten."
"I'm fine, Mom. Just not that hungry," she replied, shaking her head a little and returning her eyes to her plate. She resumed pushing her food before stabbing a piece and bringing it to her mouth, if only to make her mom feel better.
"Oh my... That's what Vegeta said, too..." Bulma stopped mid chew. "I wonder what could possibly be wrong with that big, strong man to affect his appetite of all things! Bulma, you work on his machine thingies. Do you know?"
Bulma stood up, pushing her chair away from her, and started toward the sink. "I'm done," she stated simply as she emptied what was on her plate into the garbage and brought her plate to the sink.
She was on her way out of the room when she stopped. The blue-haired beauty glanced back at the second pan of lasagna intended for Vegeta. I should... bring that to him... We need to clear the air... Well, she had to justify it somehow. Really, she just had an overwhelming need to be in his presence.
"I'll bring this up to Vegeta," she said as she walked over to the pan and picked it up. "He'll be hungry sooner than he realizes, I'm sure."
As she left the room with the lasagna, her mother watched her with a knowing look. She may not be a genius, but she wasn't blind. She smiled.
Vegeta walked out of the steaming bathroom with his towel wrapped around his shoulders. Sure, he could dry himself off, but he preferred to air dry. He did bring it up to dry his hair, though. Letting that air dry took far too long. Unfortunately, he was very hungry, but he wasn't going down into that rat's nest.
It was just another time that woman was causing problems for him. Now he couldn't even seem to be in the same room as her without feeling an unacceptable lack of control over himself. And now it was affecting his ability to get food. No. Something needed to be done.
The question was what.
Of course what he wanted to do was not likely to be a feasible option. What also didn't help him was that half of the time he wasn't even thinking about her body and what he wanted to do to it; he was just thinking about her. That was most disturbing of all. What possible use was she other than her mechanical abilities and her sexy, lithe body...
His stomach growled at him, and he cursed under his breath. She was ruining him.
He had just decided to go down and eat after everyone had gone to bed when he felt a familiar, barely registrable force making its way to the door. He could also smell the lasagna. It was unknown which of those two things affected him more. Before he registered what was happening, he had dropped the towel in his hand and was moving to the door.
Bulma's heart beat faster and faster in her chest the closer she got to the Saiyan's door. What was her plan when she got there anyway? Say hi, thought I'd bring you some room service? The whole way up her mind was working on what to say, but her thoughts were such a jumbled mess that she still had nothing.
And now it was too late. She was standing in front of the door to his room with a pan of lasagna in her hands and a blank mind. Lovely. But her body apparently had a plan as her hand raised to knock on the door almost without her even being aware of it. She stopped it before she knocked—what would she even say?
Then the door opened. There in front of her was a very naked Vegeta still glistening from his shower. Her eyes caught onto a bead of water that slid down from his neck down the middle of his scarred chest, over his perfectly chiseled abs, and down to his—
Her eyes shot up to his as warmth spread like wildfire throughout her body. She must look ridiculous standing there with her jaw slack just staring at his bodily perfection. His eyes told a different story, however. They were like liquid pools of lava boring into her, and she knew what he was seeing: a woman so filled with desire she was about ready to explode.
She dropped the forgotten pan of lasagna just as he reached for her and pulled her into the room. He shut the door behind her, pushed her against it, and immediately started devouring her mouth like she was an oasis in the desert. He trapped one hand against the wood with his own and gripped her slim waist with the other as her free hand gripped his neck in an attempt to keep his hungry lips on hers.
Then came the feverish rush to strip her of her pants and underclothes; this time, regardless of how deliriously horny she was, she wasn't going to let him destroy her wardrobe. They broke apart just long enough for her to yank down her pants and panties and kick them to the side, and then Vegeta's lips were consuming hers again. Gods, she needed him so bad.
Effortlessly, he grabbed her legs and hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and quickly sheathing himself in her. She cried out and threw her head back against the door in pleasure, and his lips found her throat as he slid in and out of her.
Bulma's moans and their panting breath filled the room as they slammed against the door. She couldn't take her eyes off of him (except for when she had to clench them shut against the sheer ecstasy she was feeling); everything about him was gorgeous. Sure, she always thought he was good looking, but she had never seen quite how exquisite he really was. Now she saw it, and she never wanted to look away. She wanted all of him, and she had come to the realization that she was unwilling to let go.
And then all thought left as her eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body tensed and trembled, and she shuddered against the wood at her back. She felt the Prince's hand come to her neck as he gave his final few thrusts, pulling her forehead to his. She could feel his ragged breath against her lips.
When her quivering subsided and her breath slowed, she opened her eyes. She found herself staring into Vegeta's black orbs that were locked on her icy blue gaze, still forehead to forehead. Neither said a word. Suddenly, Vegeta held her against him and effortlessly walked her over to his bed... where he unceremoniously dropped her.
"Hey!" she yelled in surprise. She sat up and stared in shock as Vegeta walked to the door. There is no way. He is not doing this! She opened her mouth to tear into him as he opened the door. She stopped herself, though, as he leaned down and picked up the dropped pan of lasagna and shut the door behind him. He shoved the spatula into the center of the pile and pulled out a chunk to shove in his mouth as he meandered back toward the bed. He stopped at the edge of the bed as he somehow got half of the spatula contents into his mouth and looked up at her. He jerked his head at her and mumbled through a full mouth, "Move over, wench."
Bulma scrunched her face in distaste but shifted over to the other side of the bed. She couldn't help a small smile from escaping when he plopped himself down of the bed with his back against the headboard and attacked the pan of baked pasta. She leaned up against the headboard on her side and gazed at him sidelong. He was like a bottomless pit. That didn't bother her as much as it used to, though. In fact, she almost found it endearing.
"So..." she started as he was cleaning out the pan. "What are we doing?"
Vegeta quirked an eyebrow and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "What the hell does it look like? I'm eating," he retorted as he got the final piece of lasagna crammed into his mouth.
Bulma smacked him on the arm—and immediately cradled her stinging hand. There was nothing pliable on that man. He was like steel. "You know what I mean..." she muttered.
The room was silent apart from the chewing. Bulma just waited. She could tell something was coming, she just didn't know what. Might as well wait until he was done stuffing his face. She needed to prepare herself for whatever came next, and work out some retorts for any outcome.
Finally Vegeta set the spatula in the empty glass container and put it on the floor. He let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. He remained with his back toward her for a beat before turning toward the bed. "Listen up, woman," he began. "It has become glaringly apparent that I cannot focus on my training with you flaunting yourself all over this compound. It also doesn't help that whenever you set eyes on me, I can smell your desire." Bulma opened her mouth to protest but immediately shut it as heat rose to her face; he was right. "So if you want me to save this ridiculous mud ball you call a planet, you will need to continue being available to me. And I will not tolerate you being with another man; I can smell it, and they usually smell disgusting. It is distasteful. So for all intents and purposes, you are mine from here on out until I otherwise specify."
Bulma couldn't help the small smile that pulled at one side of her mouth. "I believe you are saying that you want to be exclusive," she said coyly, knowing that he didn't understand the context of that on this planet, but relishing it nonetheless. He was basically admitting that he wanted her to be with him; that also indicated the potential for jealousy. That made her smile a bit bigger.
"If that is how you want to classify the terms I have set, then yes." Vegeta stood, arms crossed, looking at her. Bulma waited for him to say something else until she realized he was waiting on an answer.
She lay back on the bed with her hands behind her head, and her smile broadened to fill her face. "I accept."
"Damn right, you do," he replied before climbing onto the bed and on top of her. He ripped open her button-up shirt and looked down at her bra-covered chest. "Be forewarned. Once you awaken the beast, it will not be caged." He smirked at her, showing his teeth, and could smell the change in her body.
"Mmm, now why on earth would I want to do that?" She pulled his face down to hers. All of her anxiety from earlier in the day melted away. There was only this.
And the promise of every day to come.
END
That is all! I hope that everyone enjoyed it at least a little! Please review as I do SO enjoy those. :) And I'm not going to lie, randomly getting reviews for stories finished and posted 4+ years ago throughout all of this time has fueled me to work on this story. Hopefully more reviews will fuel me to write more! No guarantees, though. Sadly, I am sorely lacking on free time. A 2-year-old will do that to you. :P
Love and kisses!
- Trixie-chan