The hum of the time capsule faded. A spark in the air. A fleeting flash. And then, nothing.
Goku, Vegeta, and Trunks were gone.
Bulma stood still on the launch platform, arms crossed, the wind tugging at her white lab coat. She stared at the sky as if willing time to reverse.
But it didn't.
"Stubborn fools," she muttered. Then she sighed. The lab felt bigger. And emptier.
Two days later, Android 18 arrived at Capsule Corp. Invited by Bulma to collaborate on upgrading Earth's defense systems. A technical excuse. A proposal that surprised no one. Except Bulma herself.
Because her reason wasn't entirely professional.
Maybe it was curiosity. Or the memory of 18's cold skin, her voice so firm, so distinct. Or simply the fact that, in the post-Vegeta silence, she was the only person who seemed capable of stirring something inside her. Or underneath.
"Where do you want me to stay?" 18 asked in her usual neutral tone.
"The guest room is occupied by a project. It'll be free tomorrow," Bulma lied without hesitation. "You can sleep in my room tonight."
18 didn't respond. She just looked at her. Long. Direct.
Then nodded.
It was already night.
The tension had settled into the air like static electricity. They hadn't talked much since finishing the system updates. They didn't need to.
Bulma moved with deliberate steps around her room, checking her tablet as if she were truly busy. But she knew 18 was behind her, sitting at the edge of the bed. Silent. Watching.
She felt that weight. That artificial heat.
And she used it.
"Aren't you hot in that jacket?" Bulma asked, turning her face slightly.
"No. But if you want me to take it off, just say so."
Bulma hadn't expected such a direct response. But she wasn't one to back down.
"Take it off."
18 stood. The sound of fabric sliding down her arms was subtle, almost threatening. The jacket hit the floor, revealing a tight black sleeveless top clinging to her body. Every curve marked with clinical precision.
Bulma swallowed.
"What now?" the android asked, stepping closer.
"I'll show you," Bulma replied.
And she kissed her.
It wasn't soft. Or slow. It was direct, wet, hungry. A clash of energies contained for far too long. Bulma's hands dug into the fabric of the shirt while 18 gripped her waist with measured strength. As if she knew exactly how much pressure to use.
18's lips tasted like nothing. Like precision. Like danger. And Bulma hadn't felt so alive in a long time.
Within seconds, clothes became a nuisance.
Bulma yanked the shirt up, and 18 let her, unresisting. Her skin was smooth, flawless. Her body a work of engineering: firm, sculpted, perfect. Not because of the artificiality, but the intention behind every line.
And yet, she wasn't cold.
She was alive.
"You shouldn't be this… human," Bulma murmured, tracing the line between her breasts with her fingers.
"You shouldn't want me this much," 18 replied, slipping down the strap of her bra with a slowness that burned and chilled at the same time.
The bra fell. Gravity did the rest. Bulma stared for a moment. Like a scientist who'd just stumbled upon the greatest discovery of her life.
And then, she stopped looking.
And started exploring.
The bed didn't take long to creak under their weight.
Bulma, on her back, legs spread at either side of the android, gasped with moist lips while 18 undressed her like she could read her reactions down to the last nerve. And she could. Of course, she could.
"You vibrate," 18 whispered, descending slowly. "And you make me feel things even my system doesn't understand."
Bulma let out a breathless laugh.
"Was that a sexy line or a programming error?"
"The latter. But it works as the former."
18's hands were firm. Intentional. The way she pressed, stroked, opened, and took was more than desire: it was precision. As if every gesture was a new protocol being written in real time.
And Bulma couldn't take it anymore.
"Do it. Don't keep me waiting."
"I want you to say it."
"I already did."
"No. I want you to say it with that mouth that talks so much."
"I want you. Make me yours."
That was enough.
Bulma's skin reacted as if every cell had been waiting for that touch for years. Android 18's fingers were cold at first, almost clinical, but they soon warmed, as if her body was learning in real time how to touch, to explore, to understand desire.
"You're not running," the android whispered as her lips traced along Bulma's collarbone.
"I don't want to," Bulma replied, her voice trembling—not from fear. "I've been running all my life."
A pause. The words hovered like vapor in the dense air.
"Even when I was with Vegeta. Even when I thought I knew what I wanted."
18's hand moved up her back, stopping right between her shoulder blades.
"And now?"
"Now I just want… to feel."
There was no urgency. No desperation. Just a slow, measured hunger. Android 18's fingers moved with a precision that wasn't human, but with a surrender that was deeply intimate. It wasn't a game. It wasn't curiosity. It was… surrender.
Bulma's body gave in without hesitation, as if she could finally inhabit it without guilt. Every touch, every caress, every breath grew more intense for everything left unsaid.
The android lowered her head, bringing her lips close to Bulma's ear.
"You're warmer than I imagined."
"You imagined me?"
A pause. A whisper.
"Since the first time you said my name like you weren't afraid of it."
The lab's bedroom became a sanctuary. The cold metal of the tables, the screens filled with floating code, the hum of energy—all became a backdrop for the silent dance of two bodies recognizing each other for the first time.
Bulma allowed herself the luxury of really looking at 18. The curve of her back. The strength in her arms. The way her golden hair fell like a veil every time she bowed her head.
But more than anything, it was the intensity of her gaze. No fake tenderness. No games. Just truth. Raw, direct, beautiful.
"I'm not made for this," 18 murmured at one point, her face still buried in Bulma's neck.
"For what?"
"For feeling this much."
Bulma ran her fingers through her hair, as if trying to soothe something inside her.
"Neither of us is. But we still do it."
Hours later, the world was still out there. The sun had begun to peek over the buildings, and the lab filled with a gentle light that had nothing to do with its usual sterile glow.
Bulma lay on an improvised blanket. Her coat open, hair tousled, breathing steady. 18 was beside her, one hand laced with hers, staring at the ceiling as if trying to make sense of it all.
"So… what are we now?" she asked.
Bulma took a moment to answer.
"I don't know. But I don't want this to be just one night."
18 turned her head toward her.
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Of course I am. But I'd rather face this fear than go back to the emptiness I had before."
Silence.
"What if Krillin finds out?"
Bulma met her gaze.
"And you? Are you still with him?"
"Not like before. For a while now, we've only shared comfortable silences. You and I… we're uncomfortable silences. But real."
"Then there's nothing to discover."
The android leaned in and kissed her again. Not with carnal desire. With something deeper. A kind of wordless promise. The kind made not out of duty, but out of need.
That morning, no one noticed anything unusual at Capsule Corp. The scientists continued their routines. The robots cleaned the hallways. And in the energy development room, two women shared coffee and blueprints like any pair of colleagues.
Only their glances, their pauses, their accidental touches… said something else.
Something only they knew.
Something that no longer needed an explanation.
Bulma's body trembled beneath the exact weight of Android 18—not from cold, but from a wild wave of pleasure with no outlet. Every caress, every motion was a calculated provocation, yet loaded with barely-contained animal energy.
18 wasn't improvising. Everything about her was calculated... but also hungry.
"Your heart rate is increasing," 18 said, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Your skin is 1.2 degrees hotter than a minute ago. Can you feel it?"
Bulma barely managed a nod. Her breathing was uneven. Moans escaped her lips in broken gasps; her body was an open field, vulnerable, willing.
"I feel everything," she panted, fingers gripping the back of the android's neck. "Don't stop."
And she didn't.
The movement intensified. The pressure of her hips, the firm rhythm, lips trailing down her neck, her breasts, her abdomen… It was all a symphony, orchestrated with one goal: to push Bulma to the edge and leave her there, trembling.
18's tongue wasn't gentle. It was demanding. Every path it took across her skin left a trail of burning heat. Bulma no longer knew where the android ended and where her own unraveling began. The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn't want it to end.
"This isn't like being with a man," Bulma moaned between breaths. "It's like you're programmed to make me... addicted."
18 smiled. There was no pride in her expression—just restrained fierceness.
"Then let go. Don't think."
And Bulma obeyed.
The sheets were a mess. Moans filled the room. Bulma's body arched, surrendered, and the android still there—relentless—exploring her with firm hands, wet lips, and a determination that felt inhuman... yet so real, so alive, there was no comparison.
Bulma's legs wrapped around 18's waist, pulling her in harder. Her hips moved on instinct, chasing more friction, more contact—more of everything.
"God..." she gasped. "You're going to break me."
18 bit her lower lip gently, eyes locked onto hers.
"I promised I'd make you lose control. And you're not there yet."
The next move caught her off guard.
18 shifted the rhythm. She positioned herself behind Bulma, pulling her onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her, with Bulma's back pressed against her chest. From that angle, every touch felt different. More intense. More intimate. As if the android could read every reaction before Bulma even felt it herself.
18's hands roamed her stomach, her ribs, slowly climbing upward. Bulma leaned her head against her shoulder, eyes half-closed, surrendered.
"Yes... just like that," she murmured, as the android's fingers moved lower with torturous slowness.
And when she finally felt them there, when the pressure between her legs returned, stronger, deeper—she knew there was no turning back. 18 already knew her better than she expected.
The rhythm was firm. Unyielding.
And every second pushed her closer to that electric edge.
"Are you going to…?"
"Yes," Bulma whispered, breathless.
And then she exploded.
It wasn't a quiet orgasm.
It was a raw climax—full-bodied, soul-shaking, throat-ripping. One that made her arch, cling to 18's arms, cry out her name without restraint, her body shuddering with uncontrollable spasms.
18 held her. As if she knew that moment would shatter her from the inside.
And it did.
Bulma collapsed backward onto the bed, chest heaving, skin glistening with sweat, lips parted. 18 looked down at her, leaning in, hands resting beside her body.
"You alive?"
"More alive than ever."
Both smiled. But the desire hadn't vanished. Not completely.
"Now it's your turn," Bulma said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not letting you leave without returning the favor."
18 didn't respond.
She simply let herself fall onto Bulma.
And gave her the chance to return everything she'd just received.
The air in the room still vibrated with the echoes of climax. But Bulma wasn't done. Not when she had 18 in front of her—proud, perfect, her breathing only slightly altered and her lips still damp from Bulma's skin.
She sat up, grabbing the android by the waist, gently lowering her onto the warm sheets. She looked down at her, blue eyes gleaming, driven by a fresh wave of desire—this time fueled by the urge to give back.
"It's your turn," Bulma said, placing a hand on 18's firm chest. "Now I want to see if you can keep that cold look when I'm the one in charge."
18 didn't resist. She just gave a sideways smirk—defiant.
"Do your worst. If you can."
Bulma leaned over, capturing her lips in an intense, wet, playful kiss. Their tongues danced—more provocation than tenderness, more hunger than affection.
Her hands slid lower, caressing 18's flawless abdomen, feeling the subtle tremors in her synthetic skin—barely there, but real.
"Does this get to you?" she whispered, licking the line of her neck. "Because it turns me on knowing I can make you feel."
"I do feel," 18 said, her voice lower, as if admitting it cost her. "But not like you do. It's… different."
"Then let me show you."
Bulma moved with surgical precision. She straddled 18, grinding her hips against hers, keeping eye contact. The friction was electric, their bodies in sync like a rehearsed choreography.
Her lips descended across 18's body, leaving a wet, burning trail. Her tongue traced the lines of her chest, ribs, abdomen. Her breathing grew heavier with every inch she explored.
When she reached her inner thighs, she didn't hesitate. She pushed the fabric aside and smiled up at her.
"This won't be quick. I don't plan to let you off easy."
The first touch was slow—barely a brush, a whisper of contact. But 18's body reacted. A slight tremble ran through her torso. Bulma noticed. And smiled.
"Yes... you tremble too," she murmured, pressing harder.
The motions grew more rhythmic, more insistent. Bulma's fingers traced circles with purpose, knowing exactly how to unravel her.
18's eyes closed, lips parted, breathing faster. She didn't speak, but her body told the truth her mouth wouldn't. Bulma's fingers moved with expert skill—part punishment, part reward, part tenderness, part torment.
The android clenched the sheets with her fists.
"Bulma…"
"Yes?"
"Don't stop."
The heat in the room spiked along with the pace. Bulma didn't stop kissing her, licking her, provoking her. Each of 18's sighs was a small victory, every moan a hard-won trophy. And soon, those sighs turned into soft, restrained moans… but real.
"See?" Bulma said, her voice rough. "You're as human as anyone. And just as hot as I was a few minutes ago."
18 didn't answer, but her back arched when Bulma pressed deeper, firmer. Her body vibrated with an intensity that shattered her mask of perfection. The coldness was gone. She was just skin, heat, desire.
"You're close," Bulma whispered, kissing her lower belly. "You're going to break."
"No..."
"Yes. And I want all of it. No filters."
18's moans were no longer soft. She stopped holding back. Bulma felt the shift—the moment when everything breaks, when there's no more control, no logic, no pride. Just pleasure.
The android clenched her teeth, her body shook violently, trapping Bulma's wrist between her thighs, clinging to that moment like her life force depended on it.
And when she finally let out a low, guttural cry, Bulma knew she'd done it. She'd pushed her over the edge.
She had made her feel. Truly feel.
They lay there, tangled, sweaty, trembling. Breasts rising and falling in unison, bodies still intertwined.
18 was the first to speak.
"I didn't know I could… lose control like that."
Bulma looked at her, smiling.
"Welcome to what it means to feel alive."
The android tilted her head, meeting her eyes. She didn't say anything else. She just pulled Bulma into an embrace—for the first time, without lust. Just warmth.
And for the first time, Bulma felt something she hadn't expected after so much electric desire: a flicker of tenderness.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was thick, yes, but necessary. Almost sacred. The room still smelled of sweat, skin, overflowing desire. The sheets were damp, the air heavy. And yet, everything felt… peaceful.
Bulma hadn't felt anything like this in years.
The heat lingered, but it had changed. No longer searing—just warm. Like an ember that doesn't burn, but refuses to go out. She rolled onto her side and looked at 18, still lying on her back, blonde hair disheveled, chest rising and falling slowly—almost human.
"You okay?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.
"I don't know," the android replied, not meeting her eyes. "This was… more than I expected."
Bulma smiled, tracing slow patterns on her belly with her fingertips, as if still drawing memories into her skin.
"You didn't have expectations, did you?"
"I didn't know if I could have them."
Their eyes met. 18's icy blue wasn't distant anymore. There was something else. A question. A doubt. A crack.
"And now?"
"Now... I don't want it to end."
The confession was low, almost inaudible. Bulma blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in that usually sharp voice. She moved closer, resting her head on 18's shoulder, wrapping a leg between hers.
"Then let's not end it," she whispered. "Let's let it last a little longer. However long it needs to."
18 didn't reply right away. But her arms moved, wrapping around Bulma. Not with desire this time—but with calm. With intention.
The night moved on slowly. The city slept under the weight of a false peace, and inside Capsule Corp, the only sound was the synchronized heartbeat of two women who, for one moment, had stopped being what the world expected of them.
Bulma—the genius, the mother, the public figure.
18—the former assassin, the warrior, the combat machine.
Here, they were just exhausted bodies and hearts beating harder than they should.
"Does this happen to you often?" Bulma asked, playing with a lock of her own hair. "Needing something more?"
"I've never needed it before. But with you..."
"With me what?"
"It wasn't just physical. I don't know how to explain it."
Bulma propped herself up slightly, resting her chin on 18's chest. Her fingers traced soft circles on the android's skin.
"You don't have to explain it. Not with words."
Their lips met again. But this kiss was different. It didn't burn. It wasn't fire. It was... shelter.
Minutes passed like that, tangled up, kissing slowly, without urgency. As if the outside world didn't exist. As if the future wasn't a concern. As if Goku and Vegeta weren't risking their lives in another time, another place.
Here, only they mattered.
18 rolled over, straddling Bulma again—but not to resume the game. Just to look at her. To understand her, maybe.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Whatever we want. We can pretend this was a crazy night. Or we can do it again. Tomorrow. Or in an hour."
"And if I don't want to pretend?"
Bulma didn't hesitate.
"Then don't."
Morning wasn't far off. But it didn't matter. The sheets no longer smelled only of desire. They smelled of shared skin. Of confessions. Of discovery.
18 closed her eyes. And for the first time since becoming partly human, since Krillin became a memory and combat was no longer everything… she let herself feel without fear.
Bulma held her like someone who knows she can't control what's happening—but doesn't want to stop it.
They didn't know if this had a future.
But for one night, they had everything they wanted.
And for now, that was enough.