BlueMoon Goddess: Alright guys here is my new Vegeta x Bulma fic! However it's not the one I gave the summary for in 'The Airport,' this is a totally different one. I decided to put 'Together For all the Wrong Reasons' on hold for now, but don't worry, I'll start writing it and should have it started between October and November or next year (hopefully it won't be the later). Also, like in all my fics, there are a little things you need to know about the story.
For starters this is an AU fic, however I added the Saiyans to an extent, which will be explained in this chapter. But there are no powers and everyone is human.
I think that's it for now, anything else will be explained as I go, so sit back, relax and enjoy the first chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, its characters or 'His Secret Baby' by Vanessa Waltz, which this fic is based on.
Summary: Seven years ago Bulma met Vegeta. She knew he was dangerous, but his devilish smile pulled her into his lap and straight into his bed. He was pure sin, good for one night of fun, and nothing else. For one night, she forgot about his dangerous side. But then she got pregnant. And with who he was and his line of work, she wasn't going to raise her son with him. So she ran away and he never knew about the baby. Now he's found them and he wants his family back. A bigger family... and another baby.
The bass pounds in Bulma's head like a hangover as she squeezes between two flannel-wearing hipsters to pick up cash from the table. She scoops the damp dollar bills and counts them. Twenty-two plus a couple extra bills. Just shy of ten percent.
'Ten percent. That's pretty bad.' She thinks. She shuts her eyes, making a fist that crushes the money. 'Breathe.' She tells herself. 'Think of the beach. Clear blue water, white sand, hot under your feet.' She lifts a sodden rag from one of the red plastic buckets. The hot water burns her skin but she ignores it, squeezing then moves her arm like a windshield wiper, giving the table a quick wipe down before throwing the filthy rag back into the bucket.
The Raven's Den has a reputation for cheap drinks and affordable, greasy diner food, making it an attractive location for all the people taking the train into the city to party. Rustic tables in varying stages of shabbiness are scattered throughout the bar, but the beaten-down décor contrasts sharply with the wide strip of blue LED lights on the countertop, a relic from an overenthusiastic previous owner. A chalkboard above the bar lists the happy hour specials and the new beers on tap. A greasy film covers the tables, bar and she even feels it in her hair sometimes, as if there are literal fat particles drifting through the place. She watches the soap bubbles burst in the swirl of dirty water, feeling a black mass at the center of her chest. Thoughts of her recent ex-boyfriend drift in her head and then she imagines him getting wasted at a bar somewhere in Eastside of Spring Valley, Nevada. Probably sweet-talking some girl into going home with him at his brand-new, vastly superior apartment.
A golf sized lump in her throat refuses to go down. 'Bland, he said, you're too bland.'
Five years and his parting words to her might as well have been a one-star review on a restaurant with lackluster food. Funnily enough, Bulma can't muster the energy to care too much, but paying the rent on her own is going to be a bitch. That's what's causing the ball of the hurt in her throat, that he'd actually put her in this horrible position. Or maybe it's the fact that she's not sad she lost him. What was the point of spending five years with Yamcha? Love, she guessed.
Shouldn't she be chasing him down right now and begging him to come back? She bites her lip to keep herself from laughing. 'Yea right. It wasn't love, and I wasted my time with him.' The smile vanishes from her face. She's twenty-eight. Most of her friends are married with kids, or at the very least engaged and she's waiting tables at The Raven's Den on a Friday night.
Suddenly her desire for being around other people evaporates. She wanted to go home, bury herself in bed and watch 'Orange is the New Black' for hours while eating a slab of chocolate cake.
'Or you could get laid.'
Bulma licks her lips, thinking of the last time Yamcha and her had sex. God, she could use a hook-up. Someone who'll make her feel wanted. Someone who'll fuck her in positions besides missionary. Just a wild night of sweaty, dirty fun. But she's got too many bills and the fifty dollar increase in rent per month is going to kill her and her boyfriend just left. It's too much piled up at once and she could use a good hard fucking.
Then a splash of something cold freezes her arm and chest. Beer. She can smell it all over her clothes.
The man who bumped into her gives a theatrical gasp. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" He really did look sorry. But it didn't change the fact that she was going to have to spend the next four hours smelling like a drunk.
"I'll get you something to wipe it off."
Bulma looked down, her shoes covered in the frosty liquid. She just bought them too. Fuck. Her. Life!
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving before she can tell the bouncer. Her rage flames red-hot and she retreats into the private oasis in her mind. The waters in the ocean aren't calm and the sky is scorched red. She shoves toward the back of the bar, through the Employees Only door.
"Bulma, you okay?"
Her face must be twisted into something foul. She adjusts it and pulls her lips over her teeth in an attempt to smile. Launch, another waitress, winces in response. The pressure in her head doubles the moment she passed the door and then she shoulders into the dingy bathroom and takes one look at her reflection. Her skin burns like the tight, red skin of a tomato. Half of her tank top was soaked, so she grabs a fistful of paper towels and dab her heels but it's useless, the stain already soaked through.
She watches her shoulders curl forward and then she grasps the sink as a sob works through her chest. And she cries. It's like this every night. She comes home stinking of this place to her empty apartment that no longer had Yamcha's boxes. It's expressionless, like a blank canvas. Nothing on the walls. She never had the time or the money to decorate it. Yamcha said she was too bland, which is really another word for boring.
"You have five more minutes to feel sorry for yourself Bulma." She said to herself. "Then you get your ass back out there."
The pain sifts to the front of her brain and pounds. She wipes the tears away furiously. She's not crying over that bastard Yamcha, who couldn't even figure out how to work the laundry machine. Who, when prompted that it was his turn to clean the kitchen would respond that he would "only make things worse." He was a useless human being who didn't' even have the decency to tell her he was planning on moving out.
"Get over it. So you had some beer spilled on you, big fucking deal. There are people living through a lot worst. Yeah…a lot worse." Her eyes were red, but everyone will assume she's just high. She lifts her arms and pulls the tank top from her head, wringing the alcohol from the fabric before holding it up to her nose. "Damn it, it still reeks." She runs it over the faucet quickly and squeezes out the brown liquid. Then she pulls it over her body again. It's cold as hell and it makes her nipples hard. Whatever. It's too dark in there anyway. She tries to flatten her hair and make herself look presentable. She wipes a few strands from her eyes and then she leaves the bathroom and returns to the bar.
The almost broken knob of the door twists and almost falls in Vegeta's hand as he opens the door to a dive packed with flannel-wearing jackasses. It's a Friday night and the air is humming with the energy of dozens of bearded hipsters drinking their craft beer with equally filthy girlfriends. He scans the crowd of drunken people, his lip curling in disgust. The floor sticks to his feet as he makes a beeline for the bar, which has a ridiculous LED display under the glass. It makes him think about what he might've been like if it weren't for him being a Saiyan. Maybe he'd be here, partying with these assholes. A pint of beer in one hand and a girl in another.
He tries to imagine it, appreciate it, but he can't. It's a fucking dump. Luckily he's only there to collect. Fuck staying for a drink, the sloppy vibe of this place makes him feel like he'll catch a disease if he touches anything. He didn't know why his father sent him here, but if he had to guess, it was probably an attempt to humble him. His father wants the hot air out of his head, so he sends him on this assignment.
Good luck.
He had this city by the balls. Nothing talks louder than old money and power and Vegeta's got both. Men hand over their girlfriends when they find out that he's a Saiyan. Everywhere he goes, he had beautiful women begging him to suck his cock, begging, in the hopes that he'll pull some strings to help them get somewhere in their career or that he'll take them on as a mistress. All that pussy would go to a man's head. And why not take advantage of it while he can? He's a single guy, but he won't be for much longer. Eventually he'll have to get married. Wife, kids, it's been written in his future since he was born. He had to pass on the family legacy and name. He should have a wife and kids by now, but he's having too much fun getting his dick wet. Something told him though that his fun will end this year. He just broke up with Melinda, the longest fling he ever had by far and it's been a week and a half since he had gotten laid. He was getting restless. Somewhere out there is a woman with gorgeous and his name on her ass, but he tired of the hookups. He wanted something steady, not just a girl to fuck on weekends. There should be no reason why he can't have both. Where the hell are all the women in this bar anyway? He had to find a wife soon, but hell if he's going to find her in this dump.
Vegeta brushed past someone. The guy turns around, irritated, his mouth half-open in some rude retort that he swallows the moment he notices Vegeta's grey suit and blue shirt. He mutters to the girl next to him and they put their drinks down to leave the bar. Terrified eyes dart at him as he walks towards the bar and people part like the Red Sea. Raditz and Nappa stand at his side like boulders, the unnecessary muscle that his father thinks he needs.
More people streak out of the bar and the bartender watches them go frowning. His frown deepens as Vegeta approaches him. He tries to hide behind the dirty glass he keeps wiping with the same filthy dishrag. Seats at the bar are packed, but Vegeta just has to tap on the shoulder of one of the men sitting there. He looks around, sees three Saiyans and damn near bolts out of his seat. The bartender slams the glass he's been wiping for a full minute on the counter and pours another customer a drink. He's still distracted, trying to avoid Vegeta's gaze. He slams his fist on the counter and the glass tips to its side, spilling its contents all over the glowing counter.
"Goddamn it!"
"Good evening." Vegeta says to the bartender.
"What the hell did you do that for?" The bartender says, irritated.
"I wanted your attention."
Vegeta raised his fist and motion to his other comrades hovering behind him, then move close to the bar, staring down the stringy, thin bartender, who backs into his bottles of alcohol. They rattle against each other. Raditz and Nappa have that effect on people. He'd rather not beat the bartender down. For one thing, there's no pleasure in beating the shit out of a man who looks like he'd keel over with one solid smack and two…he's just not in the mood tonight.
"Where is our money?"
The bartender wraps his arms around himself. "I…uh…I don't' have it."
Vegeta stands up from his seat and the lying bastard flinches under his shadow. "Ram."
"I don't' have it!"
'Like hell you don't.' But he decides to humor him anyway. "And why is that?"
"The business hasn't been doing so well."
Vegeta looks around the packed bar. "Looks like it's doing all right to me."
"L—Look, I'm a man of my word. I'll have it here next week, I always have my payments on time."
Ram practically wet himself as he babbled on and on about how he's good for it, how the people moving into the area are a different clientele and he can't afford the rent. And damning those craft breweries springing up everywhere and the whining goes on and on until Vegeta feels like he's being sucked into a black vortex. He's a Saiyan and he has to spend his Friday night listening to this guy's problems instead of looking for a woman.
"…And people keep tagging my windows with spray paint. Cleaning it takes all day."
Vegeta's fist slams onto the bar counter for a second time and the frayed bartender jumps a mile. "I didn't come here to listen to you bitch. Don't make me beat you until your legs stop working. Just give me the fucking money and you can go back to selling overpriced piss."
Ram mumbles something, turning a bright shade of red. Vegeta's patience snaps. "What?"
"I said I don't have the money. Please…don't hurt me. I'm having a really bad month and my landlord increased the rent again…" His eyes glaze over as he rambles on and on, his voice rising in pitch to an almost comical degree.
'This isn't worth my fucking time. It's just seven thousand dollars. I piss on seven thousand dollars. We make that in an hour. This is fucking stupid.' Vegeta says in his thoughts.
He focuses on a spot over his left shoulder as a blue blur moves behind him. The blur slides into focus, a woman's face. It takes only a few seconds to assess her. She's gorgeous. Really gorgeous, with the way her blue hair accentuates her face, which is frozen in apprehension. Her blue eyes look right at him. They're expressive, even from the distance. Haunting, though they look slightly red as if she'd been crying. It startles him for a moment, this image of beauty and the not quite dry tears on her cheeks. Crying women don't exactly do it for him, but there's something about her that makes him want to pull her over his lap and make it all better. She turns away and goddamn she has the body to die for. His skin gets hot just looking at her. Is her shirt wet? Fuck, he has to meet this girl.
"I'll take her."
Ram breaks off in the middle of counting all the important bills he has for this month on his fingers to look at him. "Wait, what?"
"I'll take her as partial payment."
Was it Bulma or had the mood changed the moment she made it back out to the bar? It was a bit more subdued, the drunken, rowdy laughter had dimmed down to a low murmur but wasn't exactly a peaceful vibe. Sharp tones leaden with fear echo around her as heads turn toward the entrance of the bar where three men are standing. Her eyes hook on one of them.
'He's one of them, a Saiyan. But it couldn't be. What the hell would they want in this bar?' She thought.
But there was no question he was a Saiyan. He was wearing the blue shirt, grey suit and tie, the Saiyan crest on the side of his jacket pocket. And there was that air of maddening superiority from the way he walks up to the bar. The people seated there immediately stand up, apologizing. He and his other two associates sit down. His hooded eyes scan the bar and fill her with dread as they lock onto her. And he doesn't look away.
A long finger flicks toward himself as his stare penetrates her across the room.
'Oh shit.' Her legs hitch forward with difficulty as though frozen. Against every instinct she obeys. She knew that when they beckon, you come. That's just the way it was.
Bulma's gut swirls as she presses against the mass of bodies, carefully weaving through. This is the last place she'd expected to see one of them. It's a shithole of a dive in this area. He's dressed in a grey suit, the jacket hanging open to reveal his colors. He's completely at odds with the plaid-flannel-shit wearing fucks that frequent this place. Just looking at him, she could tell that he looks like he has enough power in his finger to flick someone across the room. He was obviously someone important with the Saiyans, which made it even less likely that she'd be able to refuse whatever he wanted.
Resentment boils like acid in her throat when she stops within a few feet of him. She didn't care how good-looking he was, she wasn't going to like whatever it was he had to say. She won't take in his thick black hair that stood up like a flame. He was probably the hottest man to step foot in this dump. Bulma's eyes rake over his appearance. Everything about him was the complete opposite of Yamcha. While Saiyan men were angular and rough, Yamcha was soft. Not in stature but in personality. She always had to initiate sex with him, but this guy is already fucking her with his eyes. They're full of that swaggering arrogance she'd come to expect from all the Saiyan bastards. And this guy looks at her as though he owns her.
"Can I help you sir?" Her voice rings out strongly, even though she can feel her heart trying to escape from her chest. Her heart pounds as he lifts his finger and beckons her once more and she can't tell if it's from the bass shaking her body or the smirk he's giving her.
'Oh God, what does this guy want? Probably nothing good judging from the smirk on his face. There's no question that it's a handsome face, but there's no way in hell I'm touching that.' Bulma squeezes herself closer, uncomfortably aware of the blush spreading across her cheeks as he watches her steadily.
He looks at her for a few seconds, his gaze surprisingly soft.
"Did you need something?"
A blast of hot air hits her ear as he leans forward. "I'm Vegeta."
It's almost enough to hear the deep baritone of his voice. Bulma turns her head, narrowly missing his lips and leans in to talk back into his ear. "Bulma."
"What's a woman like you doing in such a low-rent bar?"
"I was wondering the same about you."
"I'm here on business." And his deep voice pauses for a moment. "And a bit of pleasure."
There's no hint of innuendo in his eyes. Lust burns through them, scorching through the black tank top that Bulma wore to get bigger tips. In many ways it's no different from the stares of other men she's learned to exploit.
'This man is different.' She thought.' 'If I'm not careful, he'll eat me alive and spit out my bones.' She swallows down that desperate urge stemming from the mountain of unpaid bills. "I'm on the clock."
She's trapped in this intoxicating cloud wrapped around her. Then a firm hand closes over her wrist and it's as though fire spreads from the skin Vegeta touches all the way up her arm and cheeks. His other hand touches her back, pulling her into the circle of his arms.
"Now you're not."
"Says who?"
"Me."
She rolls her eyes as a line of desire runs down her spine, glowing hot somewhere between her legs. They don't make them like him in the city. His coal-black eyes shift, hot and cold as they trace over her face, lingering over her lips and neck.
Ram, makes air-chopping motions while mouthing something: Get away from him.
Humor him, you'll get a big tip.
But he's not like the other jokes who empty their wallets and write their phone numbers on her bill. She's reminded by that when his hand touches the small of her back and when her thighs clench together when he breathes his name into her ear.
"Have a seat Bulma." His warm breath billows over her neck, breaking her train of thoughts. He stands up immediately, sweeping a broad hand to indicate that she should take his chair.
"Ignoring a worried look from Ram, Bulma sinks down into the vinyl seat. Vegeta moves to her left and leans on the countertop, flashing her a quick smirk before catching Ram's attention.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
She's never going to hear the end of this. "Sure. Gin and tonic."
Ram shoots a disapproving glare aimed in her direction and she returns the look with interest. What does he expect her to do? Tell him no? He's a freaking Saiyan.
"Whiskey sour."
Ram makes their drinks as Vegeta leans on the counter, facing her. Once again her eyes unabashedly slide up his torso to the broad, muscular chest straining against his shirt. The first couple buttons are loose, revealing a chest that just made her want to slather chocolate on it and lick it clean. A primal urge strikes her as she stares at him, knowing he's the promise of really good sex. Unlike Yamcha, he wouldn't wait for her to make a move, he'd just take her, just as he takes everything. She wants to use that tie like a leash and force his lips over hers. A thrill runs down her throat like a hot drop when one of his eyes closes in a sultry wink. Then he lifts his drink in the air. Bulma mimics as he delicately clinks his glass against hrs.
"Cheers."
"Cheers." She echoes him, tipping back her glass to let the alcohol burn through her lips. She lets it fill her skin with heat and she feels it blazing over her wet breasts like a warm hand. Vegeta watches her with the same eyes she sees all the time. He wants her, and she wants him. But the haze of desire mingles with a dose of healthy fear. He's not a normal man.
"You have a boyfriend?"
She laughs into her glass, already tipsy. "Not anymore."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, he left me for some other floozy and now I have to pay the rent by myself." She swirls the contents of her glass as the liquid punches her head.
"How much is your rent?"
Bulma exhales a long sigh. The number is so depressing that she doesn't even like to repeat it in her thoughts. "More than two legal jobs worth."
"Maybe you should just move in with me."
Perfect deadpan. She sputters in her drink, wondering for one crazy moment if he's serious, but then his lips curve and she chokes out a laugh. He almost got her there.
"Maybe if I was a freeloader."
"I wouldn't see it that way." Vegeta says.
"Oh?"
"I think I'd see it as having my way with you whenever I want in exchange for taking care of you. Doesn't seem like a bad deal to me."
The drink almost slips from her hand. "Are all Saiyan men this forward?"
Vegeta touches her shoulder, his fingertips grazing her skin and then his hand curls over her shoulder. For a moment the touch paralyzes her and she feels heat in her face.
"Don't act like this doesn't turn you on."
It did. She'd be lying if she denied it.
"I take care of my woman, that's all it is."
The way he says my woman brings a flush of heat to her nipples. What would it be like to be his woman? To wear the silks and attend the parties and free drinks and great food and paraded around on his arm like an expensive cufflink? She's seen the girls who hook up with Saiyan men and they either get married to them, or get tossed aside when their men get bored of them.
"I don't need to be taken care of." She's never been a gold digger. Bump that shit. She can make her own living, she didn't need any help.
"But it would be nice, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, but then it would end and I'm back to working my fingers to the bone."
"You think I go back on my promises?"
"No, I'd just rather not get mixed up with men like you."
"What's wrong with me?"
"Please. You know damn well what's wrong with you."
"You have no reason to be scared."
"Half the bar fled when you entered."
A shadow moves over his face like a passing cloud and then he shrugs. "I want to fuck you, not hurt you."
"Wow, that's succinct."
"But true. And I know you want me to fuck you."
She thinks she's addicted to the callous sound erupting from his mouth when he says fuck. But she's not tolerating this shit. Bulma had men look at her like dogs drooling over a bone and tell her what they wanted from her. It's always been nasty and it made her feeling nothing but contempt for them. Vegeta was no dog. He could tell her that he wanted to eat her out and she would squirm in her seat as a hot blush took over her face. If anything, he's her bone.
He sits down, close enough so that his knee juts between her legs. Fuck, Ram's standing nearby, she knew he was. She needs this job really fucking badly. She can't get involved with an almost offensively hot Saiyan man, no matter how many lewd things he whispers in her ear.
She feels his eyes all over her skin and she's tempted to shiver. Christ, he's not going to let her go, is he? His fingers glide over her collarbone, rubbing the hard nub on her shoulder. They slip under the strap of her tank top, then they stop.
"That's why you're letting me run my hands all over you."
"I'm letting you do it because it feels good."
"Come home with me. You know you want to."
"I want candy, but that doesn't mean I should eat it."
"Too much candy is bad for you. There's no such thing as too much sex."
"One time with you would be too much."
"Ouch."
Vegeta was driving Bulma crazy with his hands, and she looks away from his face, which is way too close to hers. So her gaze falls on his lap. Great, now it looks like she's staring at his cock.
"The whole pretend I'm-not-creaming-for-him act is really cute."
"I'm not creaming for you."
"Really? You're staring at my cock."
Bulma's face burns and she meets his laughing gaze. "I'm not interested."
He takes her hand in his massive one. She looks at it dumbly as he rotates a braid thumb between her knuckles. God it felt good. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, lost in the feeling of her heart hammering in her chest and the pulsing ball between her legs.
"Life is short, take it from me."
She opens her eyes and gaze into his deep ones. What a perfect thing to say. Life is short. Take a chance. Fuck the Saiyan man.
"You don't waste time do you?"
"I like to seize every opportunity I get."
"Is that what I am? An opportunity to get your dick wet?"
His shadow over the counter grows as he leans in, her hand still strapped in his. He squeezes possessively and her abdominal muscles tighten as he whispers into her ear.
"You're whatever the fuck I want you to be."
Oh God, the growl reverberating from his voice seems to stroke her right between her legs. It's been a while, two weeks since Yamcha left her, and this man is hot as fuck. What better way to get over an ex than to get under this man in front of her? She knows he's a Saiyan, she knows this is a fantastically bad idea.
"Oh Bulma. If I want you, I'll just take you."
'What did he just say?' Bulma thought.
His charming smile hardens into a mask of brute force as he turns away from her to snap his fingers at Ram, who stops drying a glass to grab something under the counter.
"Pay the fuck up, or I'll take her."
Maybe Bulma was drunk, maybe she misheard him. "What?"
"I told you that I don't have the money."
"Then I guess I'll hold onto one of your waitress for a while."
She freezes as Vegeta's warm hand encircles her arm. He looks at her with a dazzling smile. "Don't worry, I'll return you in one piece."
Did he just say?—
Vegeta almost looks disappointed when Ram reaches somewhere under the bar and slides a thick, white envelope over the counter to Vegeta, who opens it and thumbs through its contents. Her jaw drops. There are hundreds of twenty-dollar bills flipping across his finger. Protection money? Finally, Vegeta nods at him and stuffs the envelope inside his jacket.
"Lying piece of shit. Don't make me come back here for this again."
"I'm sorry sir."
The moment he faces her, he's still all smiles again. The alcohol's heat swirls in her chest and she wants to taste the sheen of wetness on his lips. His warmth returns to the back of her neck as he splays as hand there.
"Damn…I was looking forward to dragging you in my place and ripping off that tank top. You look surprised."
He leans forward confidently as Bulma stands up and she freezes as his face looms in closer. Her blood churns, heart racing, and his lips touch her cheek in a chaste kiss.
That's it?
Disappointment hits her body like ice cold water. What was all that talk about her breasts for if he was just planning to walk out of here? His jacket swings forward, and somehow through her awkward position, her hand slips inside his jacket pocket and touches something dry and papery. She felt it with her fingers and then suddenly he's pulling back and she has it in her hands. It's his goddamn money clip.
Shit!
Instinctively, she curls her fingers around it as blood rushes to her face and then she swings her hand back as he steps back. The money disappears into her back pocket.
Bulma studies his smooth face as her heart hammers against her chest, nearly bursting out of her ribs. She just stole money from a Saiyan. What the hell was she going to do? It's too late to do anything about it. He's already standing back with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. A smile staggers over his face.
"I'll be in touch."
"See you."
She slides down because his form is still blocking her way out and she bumps into a man's shoulder. She watches Vegeta with a horrified slowness as confusion knits his bow. He lifts his hands and reaches into his jacket.
"Sorry." She whispers to the man's knee as she takes a step around him.
It's like an animal trying to burst from her chest. Blood pounds so hard that she has to grip the bar to steady herself. She should just keep walking like nothing's wrong, but she can't help it. She looks back. Vegeta has his hands deep inside his jacket. He's searching for it. It's gone. The coal eyes flick toward the bartender and then to her. The look he sends her is like a spear right through her heart. All he has to do it point. A scream rips from her throat the moment she sees the snarl on his face.
BlueMoon Goddess: Yea I'm going to stop it right here. I actually had it longer but I thought this would leave you guys wanting more. But don't worry, the next chapter is the continuation of this chapter and I'll try and have it up soon. So until next time! ^_^
