Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ On Set ❯ 01 - Beginnings ( Chapter 1 )

AN: WARNING!!! This is `crack fic'. It's ridiculous. It's not believable. The characters are gonna be out of character. There is no canon here. This is sheer, dumb fun and pure sin. We cordially invite you to join us, but it's cool if this aint your jam ^_^

This story is the brainchild of stupidoomdoodles and myself. I made the (genius) mistake of recommending “Zack and Miri Make a Porno” to her, and this story is a result of some crazy ideas we discussed, born from that movie and the desire to have Vegeta and Bulma doing porn together, because we are fucking shameless. And we are NOT sorry.

(But really guys, don't take this AU seriously. We don't. It's our `relief' story, when we need to just be fucking ridiculous for a moment, haha).

On Set

-01 Beginnings-

The bar was awful. It was hot, and crowded, the music oppressively loud, the sound waves attempting to suffocate the patrons from sheer pressure alone. Bulma was nursing the beginnings of a headache at the bar, irritated at the place, at her empty glass that she couldn't afford to refill if she wanted to have hot water next month, and at the people around her who apparently had it all fucking together and didn't need a roommate when she so desperately did.

Living on her own was turning out to be far more troublesome than she had bargained for. She had always known, in an abstract kind of way, that she had come from money, but it wasn't until recently, when she had fled to this city to stretch the wings of her independence, that she realized just how much her parents had done for her, and how woefully unaware she was of balancing a checkbook. And Bulma hadn't counted on not being able to bank a steady job. She was a genius after all, but she was learning the hard way that her managers didn't find her temper as cute as her parents and childhood friends had. She got laid off that week, and didn't have any leads on another job she deemed worthy of her skills. She just needed to find someone to help pay the bills, someone to help keep her afloat for a little longer until she could land another gig. Was that too much to ask for? A chance to weather out this slump before she was forced to return to home, tail between her legs, back to her insufferable parents' place to spend her evenings staring up at her bedroom ceiling, pretending she couldn't hear the wild orgies her folks got up to with their swingers' club. She would do anything to keep that from happening.

Bulma shuddered at the memory and seriously considered ordering another drink. Who really needed hot water anyway?

No, fuck. She would never land a roommate if she couldn't even offer them a hot shower. Damnit. With every person who turned her down, with every, “Sorry, I don't know anyone looking for a roomie,”, she was getting more and more desperate, and more and more drunk, or had been until the cash had somehow up and vanished from her purse, and she was left with only her credit card that she wasn't drunk enough to start using. Yet.

Bulma looked around the throngs of people and came to the bitter conclusions that tonight was going to be a bust. She didn't know anyone here, and while that idea had excited her when she first moved to this city, ripe and eager for a challenge, a new start, a grand adventure away from her recent break up and overly-gregarious family, now it only depressed her. She was alone, and no one here gave two shits about her.

Oh good, she was getting morose. Fucking fantastic.

Bulma sighed, picking up her clutch as she hopped off her bar stool, shimmying her skirt down her thighs before trying to cut a straight line towards the exit without stumbling too much. She would just have to go home, sleep off a hang over, and apply herself all the more on the morrow. That's all there was to it. No need to be feeling sorry for-

“Hoooooo babe, where you going in a hurry?” Someone slurred, coming up right behind her, their breath uncomfortably hot on her neck and stinking of liquor.

With a narrowed gaze, Bulma looked at the offender. He was quite tall and well built, good looking. Under different circumstances Bulma might have been interested, but she wasn't in the mood, and didn't find his tactics charming. She gave him a very obvious once over and then locked eyes with the drunk. “Not interested,” she said clearly, so he would understand. She turned and continued walking off.

“Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. I'll buy you a drink,” the drunk man insisted, following at her heels.

“I said no.”

“Just one drink!”

Wow, was this guy for real? Bulma was so done with this fucking dive. She kept walking, the exit just a few more paces away, hoping that if her cold shoulder treatment didn't work, that at least exiting the bar would deter the man.

“Hey, you goddamn bitch, I'm talking to you!” the guy shouted, and just as she felt the cool outside air against her face, a vice like grip latched onto her slender wrist and tugged Bulma back.

Startled, and ready to let loose a fountain of frustration that she had bubbling up inside her all night, Bulma turned around. But before she could rip the guy a proverbial new hole, someone else intervened. It all happened so fast. One minute the drunk guy was holding her, the next he was doubled over in pain, a new man in a black t-shirt and spiky hair standing over him, flexing his fingers, shaking out his knuckles after having dealt a rather fast and devastating punch. The new guy wasn't much taller than she was, but boy he was built, and he wore the face of someone you would cross the street to avoid. He picked the drunk up and, easy as you please, threw the asshole out on the street with a satisfying sound of flesh hitting pavement.

Bulma stood, rooted to the spot, stunned, and a little in awe if she was being honest. “Wow, nice work,” she said.

The guy in black glanced back at her, his face impassive. He gave her a cursory glance over, almost disinterested. “…You okay?”

She nodded and took a step towards him to better watch the drunk guy pick himself up the pavement and stumble off down the street.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath as she watched him leave.

The guy next to her grunted in agreement. Bulma gave him a sidelong look, taking in his features. He looked serious. No, that actually wasn't quite right. What was the word she was looking for… Bored? Apathetic? She had never seen anyone so blasé about beating someone up before. Still, underneath that surly expression were strong features. Definitely handsome. “Um, thank you, by the way,” she said.

He gave her a one shouldered shrug. “That's the job.”

“Huh?”

His brow rose, and he turned to face her, pointing at his chest. That's when Bulma noticed for the first time the bright white letters printed on his shirt.

BOUNCER.

Oh, well, duh. Some genius she was.

“Ah,” she said, embarrassed. “Still, thanks. You handled him pretty well.”

The bouncer gave another shrug, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the door frame, his dark, unreadable eyes watching people come and go, but always his gaze flicked back to her. “I've had practice,” he offered.

Bulma arched a brow. “Oh?” she replied, moving to his side to get out of the doorway, keeping him company. “Been a bouncer for long?”

“Tch,” he replied, his brows pulling down unhappily. “Just a week.”

“Like it?”

Another shrug. “No. But I need the money.”

Bulma felt the blossoming of an idea forming, her fingers tightening over her clutch in excitement. “Really? Does bouncing pay well?”

“Fuck no… But I don't get arrested when I beat people up here.”

Bulma arched a brow, but held back any questions. The less she knew about why he was beating people up elsewhere, the better. Besides, she was no stranger to men with a rebellious streak. In fact, that was really working in his favor because she could respect a person who knew how to handle themselves. She lived in such a shitty neighborhood; having a bouncer as a roommate would certainly help her sleep at night. “Yeah,” she said, trying to sound casual and not too excited as she put her plan into action. “For such a shit hole, this city is really expensive. I'm looking for a roommate myself to try and save some money. I don't suppose you know anyone who might be interested?” she asked, giving him a sly look.

He met her gaze, his face completely unreadable. It was like trying to read a brick wall. “… No.”

Pop! The bubble of excitement within Bulma burst. Man, she had such a good feeling about this guy… She tried to put on a brave smile. “Ah, well, you and the rest of the bar, haha,” she joked lamely. This night was a total wipeout. Bulma sighed and pushed away from the guy. “Anyway, I should get home. Enjoy the rest of your night. Knock `em dead, killer,” she offered, giving the man a small fist-bump to the chest as she headed out into the cold evening air.

He scowled at the contact and watched her leave, his eyes impassive. Bulma walked down the street. Compelled for reasons she couldn't place, she looked over her shoulder, and sure enough, found the bouncer was still watching her. She gave him a wave that he didn't return, and he looked away. Rolling her eyes, Bulma headed home.

~xox~

The night was cold. He hadn't thought to buy a warmer coat, hadn't thought he would need one. Then again, he hadn't thought they would discover he was sleeping in the backroom of the bar, and hadn't planned on being fired for it, had he?

Fuck.

Vegeta looked up from his spot on the sidewalk at the night sky. If the stars were out, he couldn't see them. The city lights and air pollution left the sky black and empty, and he tried not to draw any conclusions about how it might reflect his own mood. He pulled his beat-up duffle bag closer between his legs, and pressed a hand over his face, resisting the urge to swear audibly.

What the fuck was he going to do now? He had no resume, no references, and no reputable skills that he could put towards any respectable job. He had barely been out from under Frieza's thumb for two weeks, and already his life was falling apart. At this rate he was going to have to resort back to cracking skulls, robbing gas stations and worse, and he really, really didn't want to have to do that shit anymore if he could help it. He was better than that, better than being someone's pawn. Vegeta wanted something more, and if he couldn't have it better, he at least wanted to struggle and bleed and scrape by on his own fucking terms and not someone else's. He thought living on the streets would make it easy to live in the `real' world, but reality was proving to be a cold, merciless bitch.

People walked passed him, giving him a wide berth on the pavement as they went to and from the various bars that lined the street. Vegeta ignored them all, wallowing in self-pity and wondering if he should blow the little cash he had for a motel, or suck it up and find a park bench somewhere to spend the frigid night. While he contemplated those two choices, a pair of slender legs passed him. They slowed, then stopped. Then they turned around and came to stand right in front of him. Vegeta was about to tell the legs to go fuck off when he heard a feminine voice address him from above.

“Bouncer?”

Vegeta removed the hand from his face and looked up, his eyes going wide at seeing familiar blue eyes and hair. The woman from the bar. Yes, he recognized her instantly. Vegeta would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of her once or twice since their encounter. She was, after all, the first person he had exchanged more than two words with in weeks, hell, in months. That was going to leave an impression, even if her unique complexion didn't.

The woman looked him over, taking in his defeated demeanor and scuffed up bag, and a moment later she was sitting down next to him like they were long lost friends. He tensed, but all she did was rest her chin on her knees and look up at the sky.

“So,” she said, her tone commiserating.

Vegeta felt his shoulders ease, the tension leaving him. Something about her slipped past his guard and made him feel like it was okay to be miserable around her. Perhaps because he sensed she had her own misery about her, and the idea of being miserable with someone like her didn't disgust him like he thought it would. Vegeta didn't reply to her, but he didn't tell her to fuck off either. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was far prettier than most, a real down-to-earth beauty, only her unusual coloring gave her something of an ethereal quality, especially in the glow of the street lamps. She was all pouty lips, a stubborn chin, aquamarine eyes a man could drown in, and short hair an unusual eggshell blue. Yeah, she wasn't easily forgotten.

“I guess it's not `bouncer' anymore then, huh?” she asked after a while.

“… No.”

“Got a place to stay?”

“…No…”

“Hmm… Well, if you don't mind cold showers, I'm still looking for a roommate,” she admitted cheerily.

“Cold showers?” he asked, though it didn't matter. Like he gave a fuck what kind of showers she had. Whatever she was offering was far better than the options he currently had. But he asked regardless because he didn't want to sound too fucking eager or grateful that she had renewed her offer. Ever since she had left his bar a few nights ago, Vegeta wondered if he had made a mistake turning her down. He thought he had a good thing going at the bar, and he wasn't about to trust some broad because she was pretty and nice to talk to. He didn't trust anyone. But that all quickly changed, and now he had no job or home, so forced between taking her up on her offer, or slumming it on a park bench, Vegeta knew which way he would be leaning, showers be damned.

“Ah, well… I may have blown the gas money on drinks, trying to find a roommate…” she admitted sheepishly.

“Tch,” he groused. He shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling out several crumpled notes of various denominations and handed them to her. “That's what I've got on me. I prefer my showers hot.”

“Oh… Of course. Thanks,” she said, giving him a bewildered look, but she didn't try to feign politeness and refuse the cash. She counted the money, pocketing most of it before waving a ten between them and nudging his shoulder. “I don't live far. Wanna get a six pack on the way home?”

“Fuck yes,” he agreed. They stood and he swung his duffle over his shoulder, his other hand in his pocket.

“Bulma,” she said, sticking out her hand towards him. He eyed it warily, grudgingly taking his hand from his pocket and giving her palm a shake.

“Vegeta.”

She smiled at him and he frowned, defensively. “This way, killer,” she said, breaking the handshake before she led him down the street. Following at her side, glaring balefully at anyone they passed, Vegeta let his new roommate take him to shelter.

~xox~

“God DAMNIT, VEGETA!”

He frowned, his brow furrowing in irritation at the voice that was becoming all too annoyingly familiar in his day to day life. He tried turning the volume on the TV up.

“Oh, no you fucking don't!” Bulma snapped, stomping in from the bathroom in only a pair of underpants and a tank top. Braless. She marched up to the TV and turned it off at the wall, leaving his remote useless.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her from his place on the couch.

His steely gaze was returned with one of her own, a soggy toothbrush pointed at him. “The kitchen is a fucking mess!”

He didn't have to glance over his shoulder at the kitchenette to confirm her statement. When wasn't the kitchen a fucking mess? “I didn't make it. I can't even cook.”

“That's… EXACTLY!” she fumed. “I cook. You fucking clean!”

“Tch. Like hell,” he snarled back.

“Oh. Excuse me, your highness,” she snapped back. “Perhaps you're too tired from your JOB to clean the dishes. Oh wait, that's right, YOU DON'T HAVE ONE!”

He felt his lip curl in in distaste and he looked away from her. His lack of employment was quickly becoming a sore point, all the more annoying for his inability to deny it. She was right. He was still unemployed, had been the entire month he had lived with her. The money given that first night was the only payment he had made towards their rent so far. Bulma seemed forgiving at first, after all, she hadn't found work either. For someone so desperate, she was being incredibly picky about the ads she circled in the wanted section of the newspaper. “I'm over qualified for those,” she snarked when he pointed out some retail positions. But who was he to criticize? He was picky too, albeit for different reasons, trying to find work where the employers wouldn't require a background check or history of employment, because no one was going to like the results of either of those. So if Bulma wanted to stick to her laurels and wait to find her perfect job, Vegeta could hardly fault her; it wasn't his name on the lease they were going to default on, and it wasn't him who had a modest (if dwindling) savings account or a credit card to use and hope it would be enough to float them into next month, before they had to resort to playing Which Utility They Could Live Without, or, Which Ramen Flavor They Should Buy In Bulk. Not to mention, Bulma was likely not in the best of moods, having to cover his half of the expenses as well as her own. She had wanted a roommate to help her financial situation, not make it worse. Vegeta suspected the only reason she hadn't kicked him out yet was because she found him useful to have around for security reasons. Ironic, given his past, but he could understand her reasoning. She was only a tiny thing, easy bait, and she lived in a rough neighborhood, with rougher neighbors. On his third night staying with her, the people next door had gotten into some kind of row, screaming and throwing around furniture by the sounds of it. Bulma had pulled her legs up to her chest while she watched TV and tried not to look disturbed.

“Argh, for fucks sake! I can't hear a thing with all that racket!” he grouched, futility turning up the TV.

Bulma nodded into her knees. “Yeah well… get used to it. It happens once or twice a week. I tried talking to them about it once, but they told me they'd skull fuck me if I stuck my nose into their business again.”

He arched a brow at the colorful term, looking at her. That she didn't meet his eyes, staring fixedly at the screen, told him she wasn't exaggerating. They had actually threatened her. And it had worked.

His jaw clenched.

Without a word, he got up and left.

Shortly after, when he had seen to the noise next door, Vegeta stepped back into their apartment. Bulma was still huddled on the couch, staring at him with the widest blue eyes, her expression a mixture of fear and awe. She opened her mouth as if to question him, but then she closed it, thinking better of doing so.

He broke her gaze, feeling awkward. “Beer?” he offered, going to the fridge.

“Only one left,” she replied softly. “You have it.”

He did. He took the can and sat back on the couch beside her. They didn't speak the rest of the evening, but when she got up to go to bed, she gave him a quiet, “Thanks, Vegeta,” before closing her bedroom door.

And since then, he had been able to get away without having a job. For about a week. Then she started dropping hints. Then she straight up told him he needed to get off his ass and contribute. Apparently, his looming, don't-fuck-with-me presence and occasional tidying up only got him so far on a free ride. Sooner or later, Bulma's good will towards him was going to run out. No doubt sooner if their escalating bickering was any telling sign.

“Don't ignore me, Vegeta!” Bulma snapped at him, the toothbrush still waving furiously, wielded like a wand about to cast a curse. “Those dishes better be clean by the time I get home, or I'll…” she hesitated, trying to think of an appropriate threat.

Vegeta felt his chest tighten, waiting, waiting for her to say she'd kick him out.

“…I'll shove them up your ass.”

He snorted at the idle threat, trying to ignore the relief he felt. He lived to stay another day.

Bulma stomped back into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it bounced back open, but he refrained from looking. Instead he dug about in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He sifted through his contacts — it only took a second, he barely knew anyone — and pulled up a number.

They answered on the fifth ring.

“Vegeta?” a gruff voice answered.

“Nappa,” Vegeta greeted back.

“Shiiit. Thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

“Well, that sounds ominous,” Nappa drawled. “Hey. I heard you left?”

“Yeah.”

“Good for you. Doing okay?” Nappa asked, his question hitting awfully close to home because no, he really fucking wasn't doing okay, was he?

Vegeta scowled, huffing. “Fan-fucking-tastic. You?”

“Eh, can't complain. I'm seeing this woman-”

“Ugh, damnit. Don't tell me that shit,” Vegeta snapped, feeling especially testy because he didn't know how to broach the topic he wanted to. It bordered on asking for help, and he wasn't particularily good at doing that. In fact, he never had done that, and wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

“You asked,” Nappa pointed out.

“Tch.”

There was an awkward silence. Nappa sighed. “…You working?”

“…Was. Bouncing. Got fired though,” Vegeta admitted. He glanced over at the bathroom but Bulma was still preoccupied. He rubbed a hand over his face in agitation, let out a breath, and asked his question before he lost his nerve entirely. “I'm looking for a lead on work… if you have any…”

Nappa was silent for a moment. Finally, he replied, “Hmmm… If you were bouncing, I'm guessing you're still in good shape, right?”

Vegeta scowled. “Yes?”

“Okay, well… I think Kame Studios is hiring. I can text you the address. It'll be better if you go there in person so they can size you up.”

“Okay.”

There was another hesitation, then Nappa added. “You know that's a porn company, right?”

Vegeta huffed, unconcerned. He didn't care what they did so long as they were looking to hire muscle. Actually, it made sense that a porn studio would need more security. They probably got all sorts of weirdos lurking about trying to perv on the employees. “Just send me the goddamn address, Nappa.”

“Yeah, yeah… You're welcome, asshole.”

“Tch.”

Vegeta got up and went to fetch a scrap of paper to write down the address Nappa texted over. As he did so, Bulma came out of the bathroom, dressed more appropriately than before. She gave the dirty kitchen a pointed glare, then turned it on him.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a haughty tone that clearly meant, why aren't you cleaning dishes?

“Trying to get a goddamn job so you can stop fucking nagging me,” he snapped back.

She scoffed and snatched the paper out from under his pen.

“The fuck!” he roared at her.

“Kame Studios?” Bulma asked, unconcerned by his ire as she read the address, cocking her head to the side. Her mouth pinched thoughtfully. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Well unless you watch porn, it…” he trailed off, seeing the lightbulb of revelation go off inside her head. He sighed. “You've got to be kidding me.”

She put a fist on her hip. “What? So I watch porn sometimes.” Of course she fucking would. “Don't you?”

“No.”

“Really?” She gave him an assessing look, up and down. “Maybe you should. Then you wouldn't be wound so tightly.”

Sneering, he snatched the address back out of her hand. “Thanks for the advice.” He held out his hand to her. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“So I can look up this address,” he replied, growing impatient. His own phone was the cheapest, shittiest little disposable cell he could get; it could call and text and even had Snake on it, but otherwise was a useless piece of shit. Bulma's phone was fancy and had the internet, and he would need it to find this Kame Studios.

“Get lost, you can't have my phone,” she replied, clearly in one of her difficult moods. Great, the bitch was still pissed about the kitchen, wasn't she?

“Bulma,” he growled, his voice low as he struggled to remain calm. “If you don't give me your phone, I can't find this fucking place, and then I can't get a job and can't give you any rent money.” He hoped spelling it out for her would make her more agreeable.

Bulma ignored him, walking to the front door to grab her jacket and slip it on. “I am not giving you my phone. But I'll come with you.”

“…What?”

She smiled at him and shrugged, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I've always wanted to see what goes on behind the scenes at a porn studio. Should be fun.”

“No,” he told her clearly.

Bulma's eyes squinted ever so slightly, the threat of a tantrum about to arise. “Why not?”

“It's a job site, not a goddamn sideshow. You're going to blow my interview before I even take it.”

“Oh please,” Bulma rolled her eyes. “You're going to do that on your own as soon as you open your mouth.” Vegeta grit his teeth and balled his fists. She only grinned wider, amused at getting under his skin. “C'mon, be a sport. I'll even pay for your bus fare so you don't have to walk.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he let out a frustrated sigh to dispel his anger. It was useless arguing with her, and a free ride was worth the hassle of her company. Probably.

She sensed his acquiescence because she picked up the house keys and jingled them with a dazzling smile. “Let's go, Stud. You know, all those times I told you to suck a dick, I didn't think you'd actually listen.”

“Ha ha,” he bit back sarcastically, pulling on his threadbare jacket. “It's for security detail, so morally questionable people like yourself can't just walk up and snoop around… You know, I'm glad you're coming. It might help my case.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes at him, then eyed his outfit. Her mouth thinned. “Are you really going wearing that?”

Vegeta looked down at himself, observing his BOUNCER shirt and his only pair of jeans, ratty at the ends. “What's wrong with this?”

Bulma sighed. “Nothing. Let's just go already.”

“Finally,” he grouched under his breath as he followed her out of the apartment. He turned the lock before leaving, - not that they had much to steal, but it was a force of habit, and he would be damned if he was going to make it easy for anyone to encroach on his territory. As Bulma looked up the studio's address on her phone, trying to bum WiFi off the neighbors who hadn't locked their signal, Vegeta shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her downstairs.

~xoXox~

AN: beta-read by Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp ^_^

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he'd be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of stupidoomdoodles and myself, ladyvegeets. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist and illustrator extraordinaire ) and LadyVegeets (writer) can be found on twitter, tubmlr and p atreon. We'd love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^