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True Love	By : chroniclyflaming Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female > Vegeta/Bulma Views: 1317 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own DBZ and am making no profit from this

Chapter List
- 1-True Love
- 1
The Prompt:

For whatever reason, Future Trunks and Future Bulma decide to relocate to the main time-line dimension. At first Vegeta thinks that he's lucky because now he has two Bulmas but unfortunately the one person Bulma truly loves is her future self. So I basically want Vegeta to be super-jealous about the whole situation and some nice Bulma/Bulma sexing.
(Also, if you fill like referencing the other prompts, such as the Krillin-Androids-Trunks madness, you get bonus points.)

The fill:

This entire pointless endeavor was meant to fall apart from the beginning. Like a wet paper bag, just barely holding on until the weight became too much and it fell to pieces that Bulma’s mother would need to clean up. Truly, it was only shocking that it had lasted as long as it had.

One of them was tapping out ashes, on his chest, and he realized that it didn’t even matter which one it had been.

At first, in the beginning, they had tried to keep up some vague act that they were both still interested in him. “Oh, Vegeta. How I’ve missed you. If not technically you.”

“Admire him.” Bulma, his version, running a hand down his stomach like she was showing off a new piece of technology. “Take it all in.”

He’d enjoyed that quite a bit. Having two separate version of his woman. Looking up at him, smiling into his tanned skin so similar and different to them, all of them meshed so closely it was hard for a moment to tell one from the other. Stupidly, even when they’d begun becoming intimate with each other he hadn’t had much of a problem. Everyone knew that the woman loved herself dearly. Sexually or not, this was just more of her pampering herself, and what better way than sliding a hand or her mouth down on the other woman as Vegeta entered her. Or even when he wasn’t inside her.

So long as they continued to include him…until they were no longer including him.

How he’d woken up after a week of almost-avoidance to the sound of them laughing and beaming at each other. Slowly creeping down towards the lab, the stupid slippers Bulma had forced him to wear at night rasping against the floor. Towards where the cackling was occurring to overhear: “You’re such a genius.”

“Beautiful genius.”

“Should have been on magazine covers.”

“Ah, I’m not shallow and empty-headed enough to be some super model.”

“But physically.”

“Totally.”

“Amazing how we chose science over modeling.”

“We’re such humanitarians. Beautiful genius humanitarians.”

Vegeta had just rolled his eyes, preparing to move on. The blonde curly woman always left snacks in the fridge kept down here, and he could have done with a sandwich.

“The world is so lucky we turned our powers towards the good side.”

“Yes. That gorgeous hair.”

“How it complements the eyes.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Cooing at each other, over each other, in such a disturbing manner. In a manner they hadn’t done for him in some time. Their claim that they couldn’t and didn’t want to have sex as they were having their monthly blood, yes, it syncs up with women, and therefore they had no interest in him. Though that had never stopped her before--Why didn’t he run off and play with his training chamber?

Then there was polite kissing (for Bulma), nuzzling, then passionately necking. Hands sliding carefully to not muss the hair. Wiggling out of clothes, from the sound and tiny looks he was sneaking out of a desire to not be found so disgracefully spying on them. The Prince of Saiyans did not need to hide and creep through his own house. Vegeta had nearly stepped into the room to yell at them—until he realized what liars they’d been all along, that he did not want to confront them on this like this, that Bulma had never smiled at him so happily in so long.

Not since her older doppelganger had arrived with big smiles and huge suitcases, and a sheepish Trunks at her side. Made him wonder, in retrospect, how much she, the older Bulma, had truly missed him. When all she really needed was a mirror.

That fierce look of delight, how they’d run to each other rather than inspected the other’s children, and how Vegeta had been an afterthought, oh, yeah, he’s alive and here too. Pure delight that they could have someone to understand that, and how come Vegeta couldn’t get that, and why did he have to pout like this, and if he was going to act like a spoiled child, he could just leave this bedroom. Both Bulma’s concurred, and in his fury he didn’t realize what a foolish mistake he’d made to leave such a field to them. He’d been put on the defense, and lost a large span of territory that left him on the couch to listen to their giggles and the hum of a nearby cleaning robot.

Now, days and long nights later, sitting alone besides the window and looking out onto the huge slopping yawn, he nearly chewed on a knuckle. Recalling without wanting to going to his future son for advise, since the smaller one could barely walk and talk at the same time. How he’d discovered that so much time, and possibly the issue of genetics, had also ruined Trunks. As he’d unfortunately, horrifically, heard over the dim of some foolish ‘video game’ that imitated human’s driving around their automobiles and crashing them.

“I hate how you two are all, fuckbuddy-fuckbuddy.” The blonde girl android dispassionate voice.

“What’s that mean?” The short human’s annoying nasal drone.

“You blow each other, and then go right back to playing a video game, or watching sports. Acting like best friends.”

“Jealous?” The brunette girl android’s smug sleek voice.

“I’m so sorry you can’t have such a normal, healthy relationship like Krillin and me.” Trunks sarcastic cutting voice.

Right then, Vegeta knew it was time to cover his ears and turn away. Just as with the two women, to just leave the area before their conversation imprinted onto his head.

Like the androids’ next words that become permanently ingrained into his head, repeating themselves at the dinner table while he sat across from a perfectly polite Trunks who always allowed his father to take the largest slices of pork roast and never once mentioned either of the machines, ever.

“You know what would be awesome? If you two could give us oral while we played this game.”

“We could rest the controllers on your heads.”

The next words were his older son's, whom he now wished he'd never met. "Isn't that what Yamcha should be used for? Go get Yamcha for that."

Worse in so many ways than what the two Bulma’s were doing. In ways that he could not even confront, and instead kept him up at night. Or would have him come to consciousness and find himself in the kitchen, twisting a toaster into a crumbling ball of mechanical parts, and toast. Yet, that didn’t make what his wife was doing with the other women any easier.

Another week passed. Kakarotte’s own woman had given birth previously, and called to brag. The two Bulma’s exchanged looks of conniving and plotting towards their latest victim, a look that no one knew as well as Vegeta. He finally knew it was time to step in.

The Saiyan sent Trunks away, both trying to pretend the mention of him going to Kame Island was just a coincidence that didn’t need to be thought about. Then he stomped up the stairs, ripping open the door to find them curled up together on the bed, a solid mixture of white skin and blue hair interspersed with magazines, nail paint, and various nuts and screws. Legs entwined, like they were becoming one being. Separating only because it fed her ego to have another person compliment her. Even if that person was herself.

“Woman! Women!”

“What? God.” Bulma, his Bulma, sat up to cover her eyes as he flicked the lights on. The bite marks on her breasts were neither his own, nor even their son Trunks.’ Rage filled him, burning away any of the doubt or sensation of unease.

“Weren’t you only here to gather the dragonballs?” He nearly howled at the older Bulma, who just blinked up at him as satisfied and lazy as a lizard in the sun. Languid. Taking up his side of the bed.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Well, you can’t just send her back to that horrible timeline. Hardly any running water, for God’s sake. It just wouldn’t be right.”

Vegeta looked at his Bulma for a long moment. Until she caught on, and rolled her eyes. “I’m allowed to do whatever I want, to whomever I want.”

“Does this mean,” he hissed out, knowing how jealous the blue-haired woman could be. “That I can do the same?”

“Oh. Oh my god. Yes!” Both women clapped their hands together and exchanged worryingly delighted looks. “That would be the best thing.”

“Tomorrow. We’re going to get the dragonballs.”

“Exactly. Brilliant.”

“As always.”

“No!” He slammed a fist in the wall, only the barest restraint keeping him from knocking the entire building down. “We will collect the dragonballs. Use them to bring the others from that timeline back to life. And then she will leave.”

Bulma seemed to think about it for the shortest second. “Hm. Nope.”

“Yeah. I think I prefer it here.” Cheerfully, the two women exchanged smiles.

His teeth were revealed as his lips peeled back in what was definitely not a smile. “I will not stand for this.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrows that Bulma loved to brag about rose. “Then lay down.”

“Oh no. I’m not falling for that. You allow me to join in for one night, then the following day I am shoved out.”

“No, no. We’ll be better about including you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“”Then we’re sorta out of options here, Veggie.” Bulma picked up and began flipping through a magazine. “We’ll wait until you reach the rational decision and come to join us.”

“No!”

“Well, then,” the other Bulma interrupted, going to open a small jar of nail paint that filled the air with a hideous odor. “I guess you need to go get your other counterpart.”

“Oh, no. I did not go through all that insanity, when taking that foolish vow of foreverness, to be tossed aside.”

“Aw. You two got married?”

“Yes.” Younger Bulma rubbed at her forehead. “It was not a pleasant experience.”

“Friends eating everything? Vegeta surly?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But I did it, woman! You wanted ‘marriage,’ and I signed the necessary paperwork and spoke those words!”

“Look, Veggie Dip--”

“You call him that too?”

“You and I are still together. But how can you say that I can’t have myself?”

Vegeta pointed at the other woman, carelessly handling the bottle and brush. “She is not you! Don’t pull that bullshit!”

“Close enough. Would you like us to perform a DNA test?”

“What I want,” he growled. “Is you. Just you. Us together. Alone.”

“Aw, Vegeta. That’s so sweet. Not gonna happen, but sweet.”

“Why? Do you need there to be two people here, to serve your whims?”

“Considering how happy you were to have her here, I don’t think you can talk.”

“With you there as well!”

“So, let’s do it then!”

“No more.” Vegeta glared at them both, wanting the words to be carved into their blue heads. “We’ve gone past the sex part.”

“We’re never past the sex part.”

There was a hideous truth to that. He could still recall that time before the androids, that year that had brought forth his transformation to Super Saiyan, and when Trunks had been conceived. That year of ups and down. The strange so-called experiment that had required them to kiss to test some invention she’d concocted. When he’d stupidly undressed before her, in too much pain to not require assistance, only to find her also naked and lying out on the table, “oooh, Vegeta…?’ With a painful start, Vegeta remembered the weak scarred human throwing his hands up, and leaving them, wordlessly telling the Saiyan that this drunken slurring woman on the couch surrounded by bottles was now…his. Again and again locked in an embrace where he’d try his best not to hurt her, and she’d do the opposite.

His.

And now, that other woman’s as well. Her literal other half. Looking back at him, just daring him to go on.

“Tomorrow. We’re gathering the dragonballs. And then you’re going back. And you’re taking Trunks with you, as well.”

This timeline had only proved to be a horrible influence on the boy. Inspiration struck, smoothing his face in a way that made the two women stare at each other nervously. “You have to leave. The boy has to go to his timeline…to help others. Yes. And. Because here he’s…not doing well.”

“What? I’ve never seen my Trunks happier lately.”

Vegeta couldn’t hold himself back from shuddering. “He’s…don’t make me say it.” She was his mother after all, and despite everything, Vegeta didn’t quite want to hurt Bulma. Any Bulma. Not in this way.

“Oh. Is this about…” Again, the exchanging of looks. “Him. And Yamcha?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Never mind. Trunks was thinking of getting a job as baseball player and wanted Yamcha to help him, is all.”

“Yeah. They were thinking of starting a band together. What? It’s nothing. Let it go.”

“She’s not leaving. Look. Tomorrow.” Bulma was doing that bullshit where she looked deep into his eyes, trying for sincerity, trying to trick him. “We’ll go and get the dragonballs. And wish everyone back to life. You can hang out with yourself.”

“Everything will be fine.” The other female was undressing, also a standard attempt to turn his mind from the matter at hand. “You’ll see.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Come here.”

Pulling him into bed, the blue eyes looking at him and covering the entire world. Inescapable. Arms wrapped around his shoulders. Convincing him that tonight wouldn't be so bad and reminding him that morning wouldn't come for hours. And besides, he couldn’t just leave the two Bulmas alone to further continue their plotting. Foolishness. “Shh. It’s perfectly okay.”

“We’ll all be together.”

“Everything’s

“Going to

“Be fine.”

“I bet your other half’s going to love joining in with us. Eventually.”
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