A/N - Wow, it's been over a year since I last updated. You'll probably notice my writing style's changed a little bit. Anyway, many apologies for my absence!


Following Vegeta's return to Capsule Corporation, the prince and his courtesan had taken up a routine of largely avoiding one another as they went about with their daily tasks. It was usually Bulma who ended up stalking her prince throughout the compound in pursuit of her lewd conquests, all the while growing bolder and making passes at him even around her parents.

Eagerly he'd pay her back for her mockery and unwarranted verbal exchanges that preceded their trysts. Rather than letting her persistence get to him he instead allowed his anger to fuel him. Fornicating was his only means of retaliating against her; he found humor in regarding their coupling as him repeatedly impaling the feisty, masochistic woman with a part of his anatomy. He never grew tired of seeing her wrath emerge, although it was too often she wound up the victor in their little spats, cutting at his pride in the process (maybe he was the bigger masochist of the two). Making her angry was a sport he enjoyed, and the hate-sex she provided gratified his barbaric battle needs. With her it was never grueling nor short of supply.

Neither would profess that what drew them together wasn't just the pursuit of vulgar conquests, but something that didn't need to be affirmed through words. Nor was that bond founded with an obligation to keep the other company. Both were much too stubborn and independent. Bulma however seemed to take sadistic delight in coining her scowling prince as her significant other.

The adorable way he shifted uncomfortably beneath her when she called herself his Queen when she sat upon his lap. And she jeered at the way his face contorted with disgust when, snickering, she referred to him as a 'boyfriend'. He'd never permit himself to be addressed by such a demeaning title, so he was quick to counter by calling her a number of insults. Too bad for him she possessed a sharp tongue that was always ready to fire back at him with horrid, lewd comments that stung his pride.

He pretended he hated engaging in all the romantic activities she imposed on him, scowling his way into affections with complaints of 'Aren't you aware of how much this sickens me?' and Bulma's favorite, 'I'm only doing this so you will shut up. In no way am I complying with your absurd demands'.

It hadn't been difficult for her to provoke him into becoming more inventive with their sexual encounters, but he always excused himself on the pretense that he was merely controlling his slave. He would twist and contort her in the most uncomfortable positions, as if she were a wet towel he was wringing out, and with foreplay (which Bulma always insisted on) he'd start off by exploiting any means he could agitate her until she was left begging him to let her finish—to Vegeta it sounded more like she was pleading for a mercy kill. He smirked to correlate the two.

He never liked taking her in her own room. He hated going to the cluttered quarters of such a sloven miscreant. It was also a territorial issue for the proud royal. He'd prefer to drag her off somewhere where he felt he could exert some degree of mastery over her, marginal as it may be. He always found a more suitable location, up against a wall if necessary.

The heiress noted two dispositions of her prince in the sack—most commonly she faced him as the impatient, self-satisfying sadist. And on the other hand, if Bulma happened to say something indicating that she thought highly of him (offering compliments or calling him by his proper title) he would be accommodating. Only during such occasions would he allow her to do whatever she wished, and he would make sure to fully serve her needs, though never without feigning extreme resentment.

He tried not to come to any conclusions that he might actually like seeing her sated. He processed the satisfaction he derived as him taking nothing beyond fiendish pleasure in making her shudder with vulnerability. This was the only way he could get her to tremble, as he could not rely on fear to gain an edge over her. He put in the extra effort just to see her writhe so piteously, and she in turn liked the extra attention.

Bulma was beyond libidinous, perhaps even a nymphomaniac, Vegeta suspected. He soon learned that she could last for an indefinite amount of time, taking short and sparse breaks only to regain her breath, or to argue with him over which position to assume for the next round. The woman frequently went so far as to interrupt his training to demand a quick tussle. Not that he was really complaining. It felt pretty good to him to be worshiped in such a way.

So he was not completely disgusted when she would recline at his side post-sex to babble on about mechanical engineering, or her company's latest innovations to Hoi Poi capsules. These were not topics that held his interest, but he allowed her to stay for a while. Sometimes he would permit her to run her hands through his hair, or brush her fingertips along his rugged skin while fretting about the latest injuries he'd acquired, things he couldn't care less about. He could endure her badgering him if it meant receiving that unyielding support and adoration she provided him with.

At the time it really didn't seem so horrible—the thought of staying with her.


Bulma was loitering in the kitchen, guzzling down her fourth cup of coffee that day. It was the only thing keeping her awake, tired and grouchy as she was from overworking herself repairing her demanding prince's training equipment again.

Vegeta happened to be in the room when she'd entered, ransacking the fridge and piling a mountain of meat and vegetables on the counter. As always, Bulma took the opportunity to ogle him.

"So, how's your training going? Mister Super Saiyan."

She'd greeted him pleasantly enough, but she was prodding at a raw nerve. His tolerance wore thin after another day of no progress. He gave her that look, the one she'd come to recognize as his most probing, hateful scowl.

What was his deal? She huffed loudly, watching him storm away with his mountain of food in his arms.

This relationship was lacking in communication too, on his part at least, aside from his constant demands and the caveman sounds he made.

Perhaps later he would again tell her to hurl her corpse onto the mattress, to which she would squeal and offer protests. And they would role play 'master and servant' once more, though maybe it was only a game to her. She was certain he considered that more than fantasy.

They were both feeling pretty volatile today, which only made things all the more fun. Hopefully her fatigue would subside by that evening.


The feeling of his sweat-slicked forehead smeared against the back of her neck was all it took for her to be overwhelmed by nausea. She frantically slid out from underneath him, stumbling naked across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

It was all that caffeine, definitely.

Vegeta could only listen on in horror as she puked up her sixth cup of coffee.


Gradually the symptoms had intensified. She suffered a number of what she'd thought were common ailments. To Bulma this all registered as a bad stomach flu, and she shrugged it off. As time wore on and the symptoms persisted and escalated, along with an influx of hormones which worsened her temperament, she began to worry. She opted to set up for an appointment at her clinic and prayed it was nothing to be concerned about.

She was mortified when she was informed she was well along the first trimester of her pregnancy. In denial, she had screamed at her physician and hauled the poor woman over the counter to scream in her frightened face. "You've gotta be kidding me! I have a lot of very important projects that I need to finish! I can't have a baby, not now! CHECK AGAIN!"

An unplanned pregnancy couldn't fit into her schedule. She left the clinic in a rage and headed to her ob/gyn's office unappointed to demand a second opinion. The pregnancy was only reconfirmed to her.

She sped home, so distraught that she accidentally crash-landed her mini plane into her study. She stomped over the debris and headed for her room. Maybe she liked it better this way! Yeah, she'd just have a balcony extended to allow enough space for 5 helipads. Such a frivolous decision that she could tackle easily.

Unlike having a half-alien parasite depending on her body for safety and sustenance for nine months.

She almost felt sad for it, thinking about it that way. Until she imagined a Giger abomination bursting from her womb. It would have a tail, of course, and already a full head of hair with a receded hairline, just like its daddy. It would surely inherit her sea-foam green hair color, which would span every inch of its body like a primate's fur coat.

Bulma clenched her gut and shuddered. She'd have heaved and puked again if her stomach wasn't empty.

Oh, how she would love to eat a nice cake topped with strawberries and chocolate syrup to take her mind off this disaster. A nice early birthday cake for the Chestburster-baby inside her.

Would this pregnancy be a hindrance in any way? Inconvenient, yes. Would her life become hectic? This couldn't be any more hectic than the upcoming android invasion. She was blessed to live a rich, carefree life with parents who supported her with whatever she did. She would be able to afford caring for a child without any problems.

How would this impact the lives of those around her? Its father was someone who'd hurt her friends. If—when—they found out she'd been knocked-up by the guy who had tried to kill them all, they'd be heartbroken. Not that she could blame them after the atrocities Vegeta had committed, and they didn't know him on such an intimate level. Vegeta didn't show his nice side to just anybody. How could they understand? They didn't see the Saiyan in the same light that Bulma did. Hopefully they would see that he wasn't so awful when the time came for him to fight alongside them to save their future.

A future that was looking so bleak. There was a good possibility she only had a few more years left to live, though she was confident in Vegeta's abilities (more so in her own technical prowess; certainly it was her upgrades to his equipment that helped him become as powerful as he was now). Still, there was a chance that kid's prophecy about their future could not be altered.

This could be her only chance to get in as many life experiences as she could. Although it was happening a bit sooner than she'd have liked, she'd always wanted to keep her future open to the possibility of having a kid. She wasn't looking forward to the changes she'd need to make to her diet, though. Quitting smoking for good. Shopping for maternity clothes. The changes to her figure.

The tabloids would likely blow up with more libel, alleging the heiress got knocked-up out of wedlock to get back at her ex or some equally ludicrous garbage. That'd be only a small nuisance compared to everything else she had on her plate.

She struggled to remember what her mother had said about pregnancy—Bulma hadn't paid much attention at the time. She had been too busy thinking about adventures and chasing after boys, tuning out most of her mother's lectures. Her mother hadn't carried a half-Saiyan child, though, let alone the offspring of a bad-tempered intergalactic ape prince. There wasn't much the family matriarch could offer on the subject.

Bulma had no comprehension of what Saiyan pregnancies were like, and she doubted Vegeta would have the slightest knowledge on such a topic that likely didn't interest him. The heiress had a slight pang of fear that a Saiyan baby tore through its mother's womb at birth. She considered consulting Chi-Chi on the matter, but the risk of having anyone outside of her immediate family knowing of this predicament wasn't favorable.

How was she supposed to tell her parents? If telling them of her unplanned pregnancy alone wouldn't be distressing enough, they would also know of their daughter's scandalous relations with the freeloading space chimp. If the scratches she'd left all over his back on many occasions hadn't indicated as much, that is. Son of a bitch liked walking around her home shirtless.

Oh, well. If her parents had any qualms about her life choices, well, she had an argument prepared. "You know how I feel about muscular guys with nice butts. It was meant to be. And look at it this way, mom, now you won't have to feed me your 'I want cute grandchildren' monologue anymore."

But more mortifying over all else was the thought of having to inform the other party responsible for this. She blamed him, in a way. She was not consistent with taking her birth control at times and she easily blamed Vegeta for distracting her. The bastard. Demanding so much of her time and attention and love.

But now Vegeta would have an heir. A fellow Saiyan to keep him company. Maybe he wouldn't be so lonely anymore.

And mean. And murderous. Just maybe.

Oh, god. He was going to be a father.

"Bulma, did you feel that explosion?" Mrs. Briefs somehow managed to sprint into the room wearing 3 inch stilettos and balancing a tray of cocktails on one hand. "Did you fly your plane into the house again?"

Bulma looked on at the beautifully colored cocktails with intense, dismal yearning. Right, she couldn't have any alcohol when pregnant. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Is something the matter?"

The mother-to-be was in serious need of immediate comfort. She broke into sobs. "Mom... I have something to tell you. But you can't let anyone else know!"