I realized I never posted this here. Whoops. It's an older challenge fic, and a tad mature so be warned.

Also, I promise I'm working on more BV stuff. I have too many projects, actually, I just have to decide what the heck I want to commit to long-term. I don't want lots of unfinished projects like I always seem to have laying around... Blah. But, please! Toss me a review or a PM and let me know what you'd like to see from me. :P

...

This didn't go as great as I'd like. When I saw the prompt 'Legend' I got excited and took off with it, hoping to make a seamless story. Things started to unravel a little, but hopefully I crammed it together well enough for my first BDVN. :)

Had a great time ladies! It's great fun, chatting with people who are just as invested as this fandom as I am. If you haven't joined the We're Just Saiyan G+ Community, do yourself a favor!

...

Prompt 1: Legend (306 words)

Legends were things her father had told her when she'd been young. She'd sit in his lab and watch him work, transfixed by the way his hands would coax the wires into something more. Legends were passed down, histories and fables to be remembered by the young.

There were no legends left to pass on now. No Earth. Just her, stranded on the dusty planet T403.

She built all day; it kept her mind alert. Frieza might've been a right asshole with a mean temper and a tendency to commit genocide on only slightly-suspecting planets, but he had an arsenal of scraps and more than enough projects to keep loneliness at bay.

But her nights were restless and she often found herself laying in bed, one hand in her flimsy thong. Sometimes she'd imagine a newcomer. A tech from the main base to assist with a big project. He'd look a bit like Zarbon, but with a pinchent for vigina.

Sometimes she'd remember that bumbling soldier Hamic. She'd thought he'd been handsome at the time. Square jaw, wide shoulders. But his hands had been clunky and he'd talked too much.

Sometimes she'd imagine a different soldier entirely. Someone very unlike Hamic. Someone confident and cocksure. Someone who wouldn't ask, he'd just do. Someone who wouldn't fumble, but please.

As Bulma reacquainted herself with her folds, she imagined that dark soldier touching her then. Imagined his calloused fingers dipping inside her. Maybe he'd reach one big, capable hand upward and cup her breast. Maybe he'd pull up, rubbing his erection against her inner thigh.

As she brought herself to completion, Bulma arched her back and panted, basking in the post-climactic bliss she'd all-too often brought herself to. It wasn't a fable or legend, no bedtime story of the sort. But it was one way to fall asleep.

Prompt 2: Pumpkin (300 words)

T403 was a hellhole. He hated coming here. Every breath had grains of sand infiltrating his senses. At his right Nappa choked, also struggling with the elements. When he'd rid his nose of the annoying sand that clung to everything here, he said, "Let's pick up the ship and go."

Nappa didn't have the right to command him, but since he was inclined to agree, Vegeta led the way. At least the headquarters of the PTO's engineering wing was indoors. Even if he hated it, the know-it-all scientists and the piles of metal scraps accumulating in every corner. His eyes darted around the room distastefully.

And that's when he spotted it. A round ass making a pair of tech pants look far more enticing than anything he'd ever seen. The woman was bent over a pile of rubble, her perfect cheeks on full display. The ass reminded him of a strange fruit he'd eaten on a planet he'd purged years ago. Something orange and…

"Hey pumpkin," the owner of the plump behind said. Vegeta blinked. That was it. Pumpkin. "Can you hand me the wrench?"

A second tech frowned. "I'm not pumpkin; I don't know what that means." Though Vegeta noticed the man flushed as the woman with the great ass winked at him.

"It's a term of endearment."

"Have you finished prepping the ship?"

She dusted her hands off on her tech-issued pants. "I'll do a final inspection, but we're good to go."

Vegeta followed the woman's retreating backside, watching the way her hips swayed, imagining how it would feel to skim his hand over the round cheeks and down to the juncture of her thighs. He'd revisit the thought at a more appropriate time. Later, when he was in his bunk and he didn't have shit to do.

Prompt 3: Bridge (302 words)

She was checking a ship's bridge when she spotted him. Her mouth fell slack and her knees got a little wobbly, and even though she prided herself in being a smart, capable woman she dropped the wrench on her foot and let out a choice exclamatory.

His lips flexed to a frown. "Is this the ship Frieza's demanded?"

"Yep. Got all the specifications he's asked for. Can even top the cruising speed of the model 4." She scooped up the wrench and looked at him. He didn't seem impressed. "The bridge here's also state-of-the-art." She gestured vaguely at the control panels where an array of monitors and a complicated scheme of buttons sat ready for use. Sensing she was grasping at straws, she said, "I'm lead engineer on the project. Name's Bulma."

He didn't give his name, even though she cocked her head to one side in anticipation of it.

"Vegeta," another voice said, and Bulma turned to discover a large, bald man filling the doorway. "We're squared away."

"Give us a moment, I was just finishing up."

As far as she was aware they hadn't started anything, but the big stranger nodded and disappeared from where he'd come. Then Vegeta was standing before her.

His index finger touched her chin before lifting her face toward his.

"Bulma," he said, and a shiver danced down her spine. She filed the sound away for later, when the dark soldier of her fantasies visited her with a clear face.

Then he dropped her chin and she bit her lip to contain a smile. "The bridge locks from the inside for safety."

Another jaded look crossed his features, and so she sauntered over to the door, yanking the large metal handle and sliding it shut. It clanged into place and she spun on her heel, wishing she was wearing something a touch more seductive.

Prompt 4: Dark Horse (302 words)

Though he couldn't afford the distraction, he felt himself smirking as she sidled up beside him. Her keen hands moving over his chest, nails scraping his chestplate and looping over his shoulders. He grabbed her wrist and turned her so that her backside was pressed against his erection. She didn't gasp in surprise, but leaned back into him and he felt himself harden at the feel of her.

This hadn't been what he'd come up for, but he found himself ignoring the pull of duty in favor of giving into his carnal desires. It was rare he let himself enjoy something.

"Are you a runner for Frieza?" she asked, still pressed against him. Vegeta stilled. A runner was a weakling who traveled to every corner of the universe fetching some device or laying some planet to waste.

Though some of the shit on his list was rather pathetic. He'd been born the strongest member of his race in a thousand years, a prince destined to lead his people to universal dominance. Instead his planet had been hit by a meteor and he'd become a pawn in the Cold's regime. Fetching spaceships and purging planets - whatever Lord Frieza demanded of him.

And though he ought to be something more, something victorious, often he was often left feeling like the dark horse in the race. One of three Saiyans left. Outmatched in battle by the infuriating Ginyu Force. It might seem like he was destined to fail, but he would emerge to prominence. He would reign supreme.

"Hey," Bulma spoke, her blue eyes wide. "I didn't mean to upset you. Just making conversation."

He didn't want to make conversation. Conversation was the last thing on his mind. And so he put his mouth firmly on her own to shut her up. She didn't object.

Prompt 5: Horseman (301 words)

In one of the legends that her father told her, a beautiful, kind princess was swept away from the evil queen by a prince. Bulma wasn't a princess. She wasn't even particularly kind. She did, however, consider herself rather good-looking but she'd never required rescuing. Frieza was not an evil queen and as far as she knew Vegeta wasn't a prince. A dark night, perhaps, riding in on his horse with as much bad intentions as he had good.

He shoved her against the wall and the lingering desire of her dark knight lit like a brushfire. Hands on her ass, he scooped her up and though she shouldn't have been surprised by his strength she marveled in the ease he balanced her.

Why her jumpsuit had so many damn buttons she didn't know - and why it'd never bothered her before then was another mystery. He yanked at them, no patience for threading them correctly, and then she was in nothing but a scrap of lace and he was rolling on a condom. With a single thrust he was inside her.

Vegeta closed her hands in his and held them prisoner above her head. When she came, she called his name. A few thrusts more, and he followed. It took a moment to catch her breath, and though he still held her upright she leaned her forehead against his chest for support.

"How long are you staying?"

"We leave now."

"Oh." Her lower lip jutted out and he squeezed her ass. "Look me up if you're ever on T403."

"Hn," he grunted, like he couldn't be bothered. But as he let her go and Bulma collected her scattered clothes and tried to situate her hair so that it fell like it had before, she knew - he'd come back.

They always did.

Prompt 6: Headless (304 words)

He didn't know what the device was. Some sort of weapon, guessing by the instructions for transfer. Why Frieza had sent him on another retrieval message was beyond him, but he didn't complain. Months ago he would have bitched a fair bit to Nappa on the way, but that was before he'd become acquainted with the design engineer. Bulma. She was a vulgar woman, always speaking her mind and making passes at him in front of other people. And if he had more time on T403 he would've lectured her on the proper way to address him, but as it stood they only had hours and he wanted to spend every last one in her bed.

She led the way, swinging her enticing hips, teasing him and she skimmed her finger over the keypad before popping the digit in her mouth and removing it, slowly. His balls were going to explode.

The second her door was opened he pushed her through, pressing his mouth against her neck as she slid her knee against his erection.

"How long do you have?"

"Four hours," he murmured against her throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

"Mm," she moaned, tilting her head back and giving him better access. "And if you're late?"

"Frieza will have my head."

"Well that would be inconvenient."

Her hand dipped inside his pants.

"Bulma," he growled out. She blinked at him like she had an innocent bone in her body. "Stop talking."

She laughed and knelt before him, looking up through her lashes and grinning devilishly. "If I'm not talking, then what should I do?"

She'd freed his erection and wrapped her lips around him before he had time to answer. He didn't object. Frieza might as well have his head. Where this woman was concerned he didn't think with his brains anyway.