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rogue1102 · 1 year

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Dragon Ball Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Characters: Bulma Briefs, Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Nappa (Dragon Ball), Frieza (Dragon Ball) Additional Tags: Superheroes, Supervillains, Implied Relationships, Eventual Smut, Power Dynamics Summary:

In a world of superheroes and supervillains, The Cerulean Avenger finds herself in the clutches of the Dark Destroyer. Why has he captured her, and what does he want?

Chapter 4 - Decisions

Chap Recap: Sensual dance moves and life-changing reveals. Once dinner had been completed, the point of the matter was discussed - a purely decent marriage proposal coupled with proof of corporate espionage.

Now: The Cerulean Avenger, Bulma, is now faced with an important task.

~ What we are seeing now is chaos. Up is down, and everything we once knew to be right is wrong. What we are about to show you has shaken this city to its very core.

“ All right, Nappa-lanche. You should surrender now, or I’ll have you...graveling...at my feet.”

“You think you’re pretty smart, dontcha, Blue? Feel like ya got your big girl panties on today? Why don’t you go back and make some coffee for the boys while I wait for the city’s true hero...uh...that monkey warrior.... what’s his name...uh...” Kameha Knight”?

“ Mmmm. I’m fresh outta coffee, but I’m stocked up on whoop-ass .”

Oh gosh! Did you see that?! Oh fuck…he was there…and now he ain’t no more. Bro…I’m gonna be sick…the smell…

“You see, Yuri? She was out for blood. She practically said so herself! Did you see the crazy look in her eyes when Kameha Knight was mentioned. We’ve long suspected that those two had a romantic entanglement, and this just proves that women, quote unquote, heroes are too emotional to think rationally.”

“Yet forensic analysts are still piecing together evidence and footage from this morning’s events and have not issued a statement. Right now, we can only guess as to what they will find. It is interesting to note, Kent, that recent polling suggests 52% of West City residents prefer Nappa-lanche dead rather than alive.

“This only confirms that these costumed freaks have warped traditional values of right and wrong in our citizens. When did she become judge, jury and executioner? These laws these heroes claim to uphold are in place for a reason, and by taking matters into their own hands they’re no different than the very “Villians” they say they’re fighting.”

“Is a more transparent cooperation between meta-humans and law enforcement on the horizon? We’ll let you know what Chief Krillin has to say about this matter, at Eleven.”~

—————————————————

...and I would rain hellfire itself, one hundred times over, upon those who make the same grievous error in judgment as to attempt to take your life.”

A bold declaration, and one that should not have surprised her - acceptable losses were a part of his modus operandi. Even as her mind reminded her of this clear and constant fact, her body became spent of its energy from the numerous revelations and realizations she had received.

The wine glass slipped from her fingers, its sound barely a whisper, and shattered on the floor as a syncoptic feeling overcame her. Darkness threatened to cloud her vision, the blood rushed from her head and she monetarily teetered on the edges of her heels, but she immediately felt the King’s steady hands around her waist as he guided her back to her seat.

“Bulma, sit.”

The masculine tenor of his voice, ordinarily arrogant and disdainful, was laced with temporary concern. Oftentimes oratorical and melodramatic, his speech was now pointed and direct as she heard him give instructions to his staff in what she could only assume was his native language, who had appeared out of nowhere.

“Drink this.”

As she felt the cool press of glass to her lips, she opened her mouth and gratefully swallowed the crisp, distilled water that was offered. The liquid brought a coolness to her overheated body and clarity to her senses. With a deep and fortifying breath, she opened her eyes and looked upwards to meet her one-time foe and now suitor’s gaze.

The mild concern that creased the King’s brow was adroitly camouflaged with his typical grimace, and, despite herself, her worried expression softening into a smile at the obfuscation. Although her mind raced with the plethora of data that had been uncovered this evening, Bulma did not feel burdened. The sense of foreboding that had lingered in the back of her mind the entire evening dissipated like a foul and fractious odor after a purifying rain.

Words and actions were suddenly making sense, and the scattered pieces of information were falling to form a coherent, yet, panoramic explanation of what had occurred.

“You killed him,” she asked after a few more sips of rejuvenating water were taken.

“Yes.”

Unsurprisingly, his response was without equivocation or repentance.

“He was going to kill you. Would you have preferred that I let him make you into an attractive, yet messy, smear on the pavement?”

At his flippant retort, which also housed a compliment, she snorted with mild amusement but still attempted to press the argument.

“My armour-”

“Your tech was failing,” he countered, coldly, and in a tone of voice that brokered no room for additional discussion. “You had perhaps thirty seconds of functionality left, and you knew it. My choice was either to remain unobtrusive and observe your inevitable demise, while countless of those inept fools watched, or intervene and see you fight another day; however, in reality, there was only one choice that I would accept.”

While her pride would not allow her to admit this aloud, Bulma knew that her fight was more perilous than her usual bouts. The Nappa-lanche was a heavy-hitter and one that only a few heroes had dared to combat. Unwilling to be seen as lessor than her meta-human compatriots, she had quickly engaged the brute, downtown, to ensure a maximum spectacle. Her inventions handled the task marvelously, but it was not enough. Full system failure had been imminent, and a strategic retreat had been her next course of action until everything went black.

“I would have preferred to see him in custody,” she muttered while momentarily conceding the point.

“Your known preference was considered, and it appears that his remains are in official hands, so your wish has been granted.” He replied with an arch of his brow as he took a cloth napkin and dipped it into the glass before placing it at the base of her neck. A shudder streaked through her body as the frigid moisture dripped down her back, but she welcomed its presence and unconsciously put her hand over his to keep him from moving away. Bulma could do little else but stare at the man and be in awe of the certainty of purpose and rectitude of action behind his eyes.

The King, too, was silent as he returned her probing gaze, save for the way his thumb briefly brushed against hers while he continued to hold the dampened cloth on her neck.

In his way, this man cared for her. She had seen it in his eyes during that sweat-drenched and muscle-melting night so many weeks ago. She had felt it with each tender caress of his lips across her skin and every moan he could coax from her throat. That unburdened and unencumbered emotion struck true and hit her heart despite the armoured cloak of anonymity that perpetually surrounded her.

He had given wholeheartedly, and she had taken without remorse. Their bodies, different yet moving in perfect synchronicity in a dance as old as time. She was empty, an unending void, yet he filled her so completely and saw who she was so acutely that she had almost wept with joy.

But, then the morning came, and she had disappeared as the sun began to crest above the buildings, ashamed at her weakness of will. The ever-present societal and ethical norms clawed at her and pulled her away from his warm bed and comforting arms.

He had murdered another person to save her. Her! This man never took additional care to reduce civilian losses and had, more than once, left her in situations that could have ended her death. However, the more Bulma considered their intense back and forth, the more she realized that he had never put her into a situation that she had not been able to escape using her quickness of mind and body. True, a few times had been close, but the Destroyer could have easily eviscerated her like confetti as he had done to countless before her.

He had not ended a life to help with matrimonial plans. In fact, it was evident that this whole elaborate proposal and presentation would have happened one way or another. Necessity had only accelerated the timeline. The Dark Destroyer...no, she should stop thinking of him in those terms. Vegeta...had killed for her, and what shocked her the most was her lack of immediate remorse. Try as she may, she could not even muster the barest hint of regret that the Nappa-lanche was no longer among the living. Did that make her a bad person? Was she no better than the man standing in front of her?

The blare of the ship’s horn startled her from her ruminative reverie, and she broke her gaze to see the previously darkened sky ablaze with lighted buildings. She stood up and walked to the bay windows, astonished to see the iconic West City bridge that framed the harbor come into view.

This was not possible. They were back...in the city?

She turned and faced her captor, but when her eyes found the King’s again, there was a trace of disquiet as if he were uncertain of the outcome of events for the first time that evening.

“Why are we here?” she asked as the port drew ever closer and closer.

Vegeta walked over to the table and poured himself the remainder of the wine. For several moments he stared at the contents, unaffected by the rocking and swaying of the yacht as it was safely moored to the docks. His lips were pressed in a thin, white line, and his ordinarily sharp and shrewd eyes were distant and unfocused.

“Vegeta!”

The sound of his name roused him from his stupor, and he quickly downed the glass before turning to her with a forced smile.

“As I said before, Ms. Briefs, this was not an abduction...but an offer.” The self-assurance had returned to his voice, but it was soft and subdued rather than showy and ostentatious.

The door leading to the dining room ‘whooshed’ open, as if on cue, and a steward carrying her gear entered the room. Another steward cleared the table, and her belongings were deposited on the surface with great care. Once they had vacated the room, fingers began to check each item with practiced ease. “Feel free to take stock. You will find nothing missing.”

Bulma glanced up, briefly pausing her mental inventory, and raised a dubious brow. “And nothing has been tampered with as well? No covert tracking devices or cameras so that you can jack off while watching me change?” Her questions were met with a barely audible tsk of perturbation, and a tiny smile twisted the corner of her mouth upwards as the minor victory she’d achieved in continuing to damage the ever-composed man’s calm; however just as she savored her success, her space was invaded once more with his regal presence.

“Ms. Briefs," the loquacious lothario breathed out in rich, velvety tones that were soft, sure and seductive. "there is no place on this earth or beyond where you could venture without me knowing.”

Damn that man - only he could make a stalker phrase sound sexy.

Bulma pulled out a Capsule Corp storage capsule from her utility belt and quickly deposited the bulk of her gear in it. Once she returned home, she would be able to run a full diagnostic for any foreign interference….and she could also verify the data he had so helpfully supplied. The King watched her with no appearance of concern and when her armour was safely stowed, he offered his arm for her to take. After a moment of hesitation, she laced her arm with his and allowed him to lead her onto the polished deck.

They walked down the gangplank onto the barnacled covered dock, in relative silence. The question from earlier in the evening still hung between them that they had yet to acknowledge. When her shoes touched the weather-worn wood, she stopped and turned.

“What if I do not want to take you up on your offer?” She asked. “What then, Vegeta?”

“Then, my dear Bulma,” he said as he carefully and reverently placed a caste kiss on her knuckles. She sucked in a sharp breath when his lips lingered a touch longer than was necessary, causing the fine hairs on her hand to stand on end. That ever-present spark that perpetually flitted between them raced through her up and down her spine before it settled between her legs.

“Then, you shall continue to be the Cerulean Avenger, and I, your Dark Destroyer

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