It's been a while since I've posted anything. Life, y'know.
I'll be trying to upload unpublished BVDNs from 2017, and this one from August 2016. I never got around to posting because I didn't complete two of the prompts. I just finished them tonight. They do not all run together like some of my other BVDNs, but the first one does belong to my drabble western from June, July and November 2016. I'll try to get around to posting the rest soon.
My other larger projects will need me to work up a considerable amount of motivation and I'll need to carve out some time. Until then, I hope you enjoy these drabbles. Don't forget to let me know if you like them, maybe some of them might evolve into a large one shot; I was reallt liking where that last one was going.
These have not been beta'd.
BVDN August 2016
M-400, 40 min
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Moon
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Silvered moon light bathed Goldwater like sheer silk. Cattle in the yards lowed; horses at the stables nickered in reply. The town slept. Most of them.
Vegeta paced, the soles of his deer skin moccasins, padded across the Oriental rug with nary a sound. Someone was out there. There had to be. A full day had passed since he left Jeice for dead in Nugget.
He reached across with his right hand to his left hip and pulled the Colt from its holster, confirmed that is was loaded, and then shoved it back into place.
He couldn't put his finger on it but something in the air of this too calm night set his blood a buzz. There was no way that Ginyu would let such a crime slide. There was no way Freeza had not sent someone after him.
As Vegeta reached over with his left hand he winced and spat a muttered curse. His shoulder was still sore.
"Damn."
A few days of hard riding would get him to Leadville. Surely he could hole up in a town like that and stay out of Ginyu and Freeza's sights until they forgot about him long enough that he could head home.
A part of Vegeta loathed the thought of going home. Home, he thought, the word seeming foreign.
In a town like Leadville he might be able find other work. Or father north. Forget Leadville, why not head for Deadwood?
In the distant night a horse whinnied, the sound carried from the stables all the way to the Oro de Rio Hotel, right though Vegeta's open window. It was Turnip, greeting an approaching horse. A horse he knew.
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Death (01-28-18)
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The death knell of what little claim she had to being a proper and fully ethical woman rang when she first set eyes on him. Bulma was good, mostly. Save for shooting and unarmed kid without remorse, or lusting after numerous hot men of varying villainy. But, really, her heart was in the right place, she loved her family, her friends and her planet and put her big brains to use for the greater good on many occasions. That's why she was here on Namek, after all, schumpling about in this ass crack of mesa while the guys were out doing who hell knew what?
She sat in a camp chair, feet propped up on the beach ball sized Dragon Ball, quickly losing interest in the racing game she had set up on the flimsy table in front of her. She tossed the controller aside, it clattered on the plastic table top, a foreign sound amongst the rustle of wind through the ubiquitous blue grass and the occasional clatter of rock as the native lizards ignored her while the went about search for food. Bulma had already needed to shoo one away from her bag— really, she screeched at the sight of it and it ran off to save its hearing.
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes and immediately his evil grin leered back at her. She shivered. There was something feral in the way he grinned as he gained the upper hand in his fight against Zarbon.
Bulma never once question her fascination with bad men. They had an innate magnetism and she was hopelessly drawn to them like loose metal shavings. Speaking of loose, as much as she gave off the air of being a shameless floozy she really was more a flirt more than anything.
Lost deep in internal mental debate over double standards Bulma did not hear the gentle tap of boot upon gravel. She did see the alien lizard making another attempt to broach her rucksack scramble for cover. Eyes closed, she did not see the armored and jagged haired shadow eclipse her own, but she felt the cold chill of suddenly not being alone.
She opened her eyes, shocked gluing her to the spot, she was the proverbial deer in the headlights.
His voice was a low and dangerous growl, "Earth woman, you have want I need."
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Destruction
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He destroyed her. Piece by piece. Bit by bit. He took hold of her heart every time they came together and he would crush it, again. When the daylight came she would put the pieces back together, lovingly place each shard right where it was before. As she did she'd swear she be stronger next time. Next time she would guard herself better. Next time, she swore, she would not allow herself to feel the cold ache of emptiness he left her with despite his having physically filled her with such wicked heat. When he would come again in the night she promised herself she'd snip the wires from brain to heart, disconnecting that pathway to sorrow. Next time she'd only feel the carnal, the physical and she would take just as ruthlessly as he did.
She destroyed him, with her every sigh. She chipped away at his defenses with her every tender kiss. She burned holes into his soul with those deep blue eyes when their gazes met during the shadowed nights of their shared passion. When she'd laugh the sound echoed and reverberated inside him until it shook loose parts of himself he didn't think he had. When she touched him he could feel the ice around his heart melting a trickle at a time. No! He could not allow it. Next time he would steel himself against her and her womanly weapons. Next time he would fortify the walls to keep out the devastating way she'd tell a joke, or say something witty and make an almost smile dance upon his lips. He would push her away just enough and then draw her in when she least expected it; ambush her so she'd be without a battle plan against him. He would be ruthless in conquering her under his terms. He would be cold in taking her.
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Red Hue
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The sight of her soft pink lips wrapped around the red of the seed bedecked fruit stopped him in his tracks. The moan she let loose struck him right down the center of his spine and welded him to the spot.
"Oh Kami!" she gasped after chewing then swallowing. No sweeter gift existed but the bright red strawberry in her hand. No sweeter reward to hours in front of a computer screen was required. Except maybe some chocolate ice cream, which sat on the kitchen counter top a-melting on this sultry summer night.
His feet came unglued and rather than his room they took him to the kitchen. He plastered his best I-am-King-of-this-castle-and-who-the-fuck-are-you look upon his face as he sauntered in. Nonchalant was his middle and last name as he trained his gaze upon the refrigerator door, pretending the woman in the tight tank top and itty bitty shorts wasn't there, practically fellating a spoonful of sweet frozen dairy concoction.
Bulma gave him nary a glance as she dipped fruit into partially melted ice cream. She paid him no mind as he opened the door grabbed a can of something he didn't look at and popped it open. She didn't notice him swallowing air, indelicately, as she ran her tongue across the tip of the blushing berry, removing all cold chocolate in one swipe.
Vegeta watched; all attempts at detachment out the window. He knew right where she could swipe that tongue!
Strawberry devoured, Bulma turned her gaze to him, as he stood there mouth agape, can of orange soda threatening to escape his grasp.
"What?" she asked, her eyebrows shooting up into peaks, "do I have ice cream on my shirt?"
She looked down at her chest, absently pressing a hand on her c-cups, looking for sweet stains that weren't there.
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Prideful Nation (01-28-18)
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During the day he hardly acknowledged her but for impromptu machine fixes. He never gave her a second glance when in the presence of her silly mother or eccentric father. Always, he conducted himself like the true son of the prideful Saiyans he was.
But when night fell he was given a cloak of protection. Not long after moving into Capsule Corp did he discover that she was a night owl. At first he'd take advantage of this to pester her about training aids. Soon he found reason to bump into her and harass her just to work up her ire.
Her blue eyes would flash like fire, and her brows would slash down in anger and she would battle him in the only she was truly capable of. It thrilled him that she has no shame in fighting dirty, no curse nor epithet was off limits and the words and phrase the came out her pretty red lips stoked a growing flame inside him.
Playing with fire was risky, but he was a warrior. He lived for the thrill, and she, though not a fighter she had the spirt of one burning in her and seemed to drawn to danger.
The sultry summer night was ripe with potential. Tonight as he stalked into her lab his blood buzzed with a fervor to push the limit. As he pushed past the door she was ready for him, gasoline to his spark. They traded verbal blows. She turned away, thinking she had won the battle, but a snide quip from and turned, rounding on him, stomping up to him to prod a finger into his bare chest as gave him a thorough tongue lashing.
He caught her wrist, stoppering her frenzied outpouring. He leaned in close, giving a passing moment of fear as she finally remembered who she was dealing with, taking note that it had take him a lot of control to hold back the full depth of his power as her held her wrist.
"You say you could bring me to my knees, Woman," he whispered in a deadly timbre, dark eyes smoldering, burning the ice of her blues. "I think your threats are empty."
Swallowing back fear, she called his bluff, and hardened her resolve and answered, "I have a few tricks up my sleeves and there is more than one way to put out a fire."
Vegeta smirked, as she played right into her hand, intentional or not he didn't know, he didn't care.