DISCLAIMER: Just a fan playing in someone else's amazing sandbox! All characters belong to their rightful owners.
WRITER'S NOTES: Get ready for some Vegebul goodness! I'm switching gears from a heavier story to bring you a (sort of) chick flick centered on our favorite Saiyan Prince and brilliant scientist. This fic, aptly titled, will explore those little moments that reveal the Vegeta only Bulma sees, hopefully shedding some light on the eternal "Why?" of their relationship. Prepare for more heat, more angst, and definitely more laughs! Your comments fuel my writing, so let me know what you think!
Chapter one – "The Saiyan Innocence Debunking Experiment"
Bulma stared at the photo on her tablet, lips pursed into a line so tight it could've sliced metal. There he was — Yamcha — grinning with his arm around that girl again. The one from the West City Expo, the one who'd definitely been flirting with him. She had called it. Twice.
"How many times do I have to tell that idiot?" she muttered, tossing the tablet onto her bed like it had personally offended her. "She's obviously into you. And you're obviously letting her."
The tablet bounced once, screen still aglow, the photo mocking her with perfect lighting and fake smiles. She rubbed her temple. It wasn't heartbreak — not exactly. It hadn't been love for a while now. But it still stung. Maybe because she'd expected better by now. Maybe because she was tired of wasting time on men who couldn't take a hint — or worse, pretended not to.
She needed air.
Bulma slipped out of her room, walking the long hallway of Capsule Corp like it might rearrange her thoughts for her. Her mind, of course, had other plans. Thoughts of Yamcha swirled — messy, familiar, frustrating.
Then, a distant boom.
She paused.
Another explosion echoed through the building. Muffled, rhythmic. Predictable.
"Still at it?" she sighed, eyes narrowing as she followed the sound.
She made her way to the control panel room overlooking the reinforced training chamber. Inside, Vegeta was a blur of movement and raw power, fists flying faster than the eye could follow, ki flaring in perfect control.
Bulma leaned against the edge of the console, arms crossed.
He was fierce. Focused. His entire body moved with purpose, zero hesitation. There was no wasted energy, no moment spent thinking about anything other than the fight. No distractions.
No women.
Her eyes lingered on him a second longer than intended.
"He's got no time for nonsense," she said under her breath, almost amused. Then, softer, "No time for fans at expos."
Yamcha flashed in her mind again — his stupid laugh, the way he always said "You're overthinking it, babe" when she tried to point things out.
She looked back at Vegeta. Not a smile in sight. Just grit, sweat, and the fire of a man who existed for combat and nothing else.
Then it hit her.
"I bet this is why Goku's the same way…" she murmured, narrowing her eyes. "No wandering eyes. No flirting. Saiyans must be wired only for battle. That's their obsession."
Her brain clicked into gear. She was still hurt — but now she had a theory.
Bulma's eyes lingered on the controls for a beat longer.
"Could it be that Saiyans aren't interested at all in female companionship?" she whispered to herself. "Maybe they don't even feel sexual attraction."
It sounded ridiculous out loud. But then again, so did Yamcha's excuses.
For years, Goku had been her main reference — clueless, awkward, borderline asexual in how he interacted with women. And she'd known him since he was a kid, back when Chi-Chi had to force him into marriage like it was part of a contract he forgot to read.
But now there was another data point. Vegeta.
He was different. Rough, intelligent in a very alien way. Prideful, cold. Dangerous. But still… not exactly the type to chase skirts. Not even hers — and she'd definitely caught him looking once or twice, hadn't she?
Her eyes scanned the drawer beneath the control panel. She found an old Capsule Corp recorder, dusty but intact. Bulma brushed it off and clicked the record button, voice clear and analytical.
"New experiment: Understanding of Saiyan nature.
Theory: Saiyans do not feel physical attraction or love the same way humans do.
Experimental fieldwork required."
She paused, glancing at the glass.
Vegeta was still at it, though his pace had slowed. He was sweating, his breath labored. A small cut gleamed red on his shoulder, left by one of the sparring drones still floating near the edge of the room.
Bulma smirked. "Might as well proceed with the experiment right now."
Her finger slid to the gravity controls. With a flick, the artificial pressure dropped.
Inside, Vegeta immediately stilled. His head snapped toward the control room window, eyes narrowing.
He looked irritated. She waved.
"I think that's enough for today, Vegeta-kun," she called, sweet and pointed all at once.
Vegeta didn't move. "That's not for you to decide."
Bulma didn't flinch. She already knew the routine.
He was injured — barely — and tired, but his pride wouldn't let him show it. So she pushed a little further, the same way she adjusted machinery under pressure. Calibrating.
She stepped into the training room, heels clicking against the reinforced floor. Her gait slowed. She rolled her shoulders, straightened her spine. One hip swayed just slightly as she walked. She flicked her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease.
Most men got the message immediately.
Vegeta didn't.
He stood exactly where he was, arms crossed, breathing steadying, gaze unreadable. If he noticed her little performance, he didn't show it. If anything, his eyes flicked once — maybe to the cut on his arm, maybe to the broken drone — and then away.
Nothing.
No reaction.
Bulma stopped a few feet in front of him, arching a brow.
"You're bleeding," she noted, motioning to his shoulder.
Vegeta glanced down as if just realizing it. "It's nothing."
Of course it is.
She stepped closer, reaching for a cloth in her lab coat pocket. "Let me—"
He pulled back slightly. "I said it's nothing."
Bulma froze, eyes narrowing. Not in anger. In curiosity.
No flicker. No shift in his stance. Not even a twitch when she got close.
This wasn't pride. Or even disdain. It was something else.
Data.
Bulma tucked the cloth away again, looking at him almost clinically.
"You're not even curious?" she asked, tone casual.
Vegeta's eyes sharpened. "About what?"
She smiled — but only with her lips. "About me."
A long silence followed.
Then:
"No," he said. Not coldly. Just honestly.
And that, more than anything, caught her off guard.
Bulma stormed back into the control room, trying not to stomp. The soft click of the door behind her felt like a slap. She refused to look back.
Fine. So he was immune. So what?
She hit the record button on the device again, voice clipped and cool.
"Observation: Subject V is immune to female flirting. Does not respond to subtle input nor to open, straight flirting. End note: subject appears either aromantic, deeply repressed, or simply uninterested in Earth women."
She paused.
Then muttered, almost as an afterthought: "...If only Yamcha were like that."
Bulma clicked the recorder off, tossed it onto the console, and crossed her arms. She had proven her theory. That should've been satisfying.
So why did it sting?
She was halfway to convincing herself it didn't when the console buzzed, and the phone lit up.
Yamcha.
She stared at it, hesitated—then picked up.
"I don't want to hear your stupid excuses!" she snapped before he even spoke. "No, I don't believe you! I only asked for one thing, didn't I? NOT HER! NOT HER!"
She paced as she spoke, voice rising, heart pounding. The words were bile, rising out of her before she could think.
And then—
SLAM.
The door to the control cabin flew open.
Vegeta stepped in like a thunderclap, shirt clinging to his torso, still gleaming with sweat, hair wild from training. His scowl was darker than before.
"Can you keep it down, woman?" he barked, voice razor-sharp. "Some of us are trying to train!"
Bulma froze mid-pace, phone still to her ear.
Her entire face pivoted toward him slowly, murder in her eyes.
"Oh, forgive me, Your Royal Highness," she hissed, full of venom masked as elegance. "I didn't realize my heartbreak was interfering with your crucial Saiyan training."
Yamcha's voice crackled on the phone. "B-Bulma? What's going on? Who's yelling—?"
She ended the call with one vicious tap.
Vegeta didn't flinch.
Bulma stared back—maybe still stung by his rejection, or maybe still angry at Yamcha and needing someone to pay for it.
"But you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? You Saiyans aren't wired that way!" she declared, her voice laced with a teasing challenge. "You wouldn't even know the first thing about what to do with a woman if…"
A sudden, unwelcome image of Vegeta's intense gaze from their recent, surprisingly charged argument flashed through her mind, causing her to almost wince internally.
His eyes narrowed dangerously, the muscles in his jaw tightening. His fists clenched—almost imperceptibly—at his sides.
"What ignorant drivel are you spouting now, Earthling?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You know nothing of Saiyans!"
Oh no, Bulma thought, her eyes widening slightly. I might have just poked the bear. He's totally gonna kill me.
Before she could formulate a witty (and hopefully non-lethal) retort, Vegeta moved with lightning speed. He yanked her by the wrist, his grip firm—but surprisingly not painful.
Their faces were mere inches apart. Vegeta's dark eyes burned into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. Bulma's expression was a mixture of startled nervousness and a forced bravado she didn't quite feel.
"I can show you right now," Vegeta said, his voice a low, husky rumble that sent a strange shiver down her spine.
"You wouldn't dare," Bulma managed, forcing a shaky smile. Beads of nervous sweat prickled at her temples.
Vegeta's other hand shot out, cupping her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheekbone. His grip was firm—possessive.
"Shut up," he growled again, his gaze unwavering.
Then he kissed her.
It was a sudden, decisive action—his lips crashing against hers with a raw, almost brutal intensity. Bulma's eyes flew wide open in sheer shock, her mind reeling at the audacity of the Prince of all Saiyans. It was a kiss devoid of tenderness, a primal assertion of… something she couldn't quite decipher.
The initial shock was slowly giving way to a confusing swirl of sensations. Her lips tingled, and a strange warmth was spreading through her chest. His intensity hadn't lessened. His eyes were still locked on hers—even through his closed eyelids.
The initial shock was slowly giving way to a confusing swirl of sensations. Her lips tingled, and a strange warmth was spreading through her chest. His intensity hadn't lessened. His eyes were still locked on hers—even through his closed eyelids.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn't gentle. It was as if restraint had a time limit, and his had just expired. The air between them was thin and electric, the silence screaming louder than any outburst.
Bulma blinked up at him, dazed, her mind scrambling for a coherent thought. Her fingers twitched, still halfway raised as if she hadn't decided whether to shove him or pull him back.
Vegeta exhaled sharply through his nose—something between annoyance and frustration.
"You talk too much," he muttered, voice low and unreadable. And then, without waiting for a reaction, he turned and walked out.
The door hissed shut behind him.
For a long moment, Bulma stood frozen, her breath shaky. Then her knees gave a little, and she gripped the edge of the console to steady herself. Her fingers reached for the recorder almost on instinct, her voice cracking slightly as it activated with a soft beep.
"Update: Subject V demonstrated a… decidedly forceful method of expressing attraction. Finesse? None. Subtlety? Absolutely not." She paused, lips pressing together before she allowed the smallest, almost reluctant smile to ghost across her face. "Effectiveness? Alarmingly high."
She clicked the recorder off and stared blankly ahead.
"…Damn it."