“I mean, what’s with the stupid monologuing all the time? And that stupid pointy hair he’s got?! How lame!”
“Shut up, Yamcha!” you find yourself screaming at dinner one night.
You’ve had it. You’ve had enough of it.
You growl, slamming your fists down on the table. He’s not here to defend himself, and that’s what makes it worse.
You narrow your eyes across the table, “The only reason you have anything nasty to say is because he’s not here to kick your ass. So keep your mouth shut before I do it for him.”
Your fangs are bared and your eyes are threatening to glow blue at the pure rage pouring through your body like liquid metal. The base of your spine starts to tickle and you know if you don’t control it, you’ll go super right here in front of everyone. You ache for your tail, longing for the time when you could rampage and blame it on the uncontrollable, archaic form of your ancestors.
The way your stomach twists makes it easy for you not to be hungry any longer. Your Saiyan brethren would be disappointed, but you don’t care. Ferocity eats away at you like an itch you can’t scratch and you walk away from the group before you’re threatening them one too many times.
After a while, you find yourself trudging along the sandy pathway that leads to the different areas of Capsule Corporation grounds. Your fingers pass over the bushes of flowers, plucking a plume for yourself. Holding it up to your nose, you lose yourself in the scent as you continue to where Vegeta and Goku normally train - a special arena built by Bulma to simulate natural fighting situations.
The grunting you hear off in the distance makes you feel like you’ve intruded on someone’s personal time - as a Saiyan, you know how important training is to the others. Vegeta’s form is hovering midair, mocking punches to a faux enemy as his hair glows a bright golden. He senses your energy and turns his attention to you, muscles tensing momentarily before his body relaxes.
“Oh, just you,” he clears his throat and levitates near the ground before pointing his toes and dropping downward. “What do you want?”
You narrow your eyes and curl your hands to fists, “Spar with me.”
Vegeta raises a brow, “Something has you angry. I can feel your energy rising the more you sit there, thinking about whatever pissed you off.”
“The earthlings have rubbed off on you, Prince,” you sneer, turning your hips so you’re in fighting position. “Shut up and fight me.”
Your Saiyan counterpart smirks and braces himself at the knees before charging at you, fists held forward in an attempt to land a punch to your face. You turn, allowing him to pass you by and also giving you the opportunity to land the heel of your foot into the base of his spine, successfully slamming his body into the dirt.
Vegeta lets loose a grunt and digs his hands into the soil, gritting his teeth as he glares up at you, “Cheap shot! Have you no pride?!”
“Pride enough for the both of us, baby.” You curl your toes and channel your Super Saiyan form, your scalp tickling as you stack your energy in your stomach. You grip your hands to fists and cry out in a feral rage, eyes blinded for a moment while you transform. When you come out of your power-induced cocoon, you see the cusp of Vegeta’s fist about to punch you right between the eyes.
His upper lip curls into a proud snarl as you grab him by the knuckles and stop his attack before he can touch you. You grip him harder and the sight of him reminds you why you’re here, sparking your anger all over again.
“F’ing Yamcha,” you growl, turning Vegeta’s wrist so he does a twirl midair before you sling him to the ground.
He catches himself before he crushes the earth beneath him, hovering only inches above the grass. Vegeta’s eyes simmer with ferocity and he lets out a short yell before his super form overtakes his body and his blue irises are scanning you for weaknesses in your form. With a quick shout, he bursts forward to land a punch to your gut.
The two of you trade blows, and with every fist he throws your way, you hear another insult, another one-liner from another villainous mouth. You feel the way the energy curls up in your spine, your super form threatening to become something much more menacing. Sweat drips from every orifice of your body and your face is bright red.
“Hey,” Vegeta’s voice calls you out of a blind rage of volleys.
You blink hard, pausing in midair, “Wh-What?”
He grabs both of your fists and immobilizes you, “What’s actually going on? You said Yamcha’s name earlier. Should I be worried about something?”
“Hell no,” you shake your head and power down, your hair falling back to your shoulders and your form slimming down. You sigh and he releases your fist, his own super form retreating.
“I’m just so sick and tired of you getting the brunt of everything,” you shake your head and the comments and remarks start repeating in your mind. You swallow, “The butt of the joke because they know you can’t do anything to them, not with Goku standing in the way. They’re only asses because they’re not afraid. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to make them afraid again.”
Your hands shake with the threat of power overtaking your body, blind rage like that of an ape curling around your spine and strengthening your posture. You grit your teeth and look him in the eyes, “Goku gets the praise every time. I’m sick of it! You do so much for us and...and this is what you get?!”
You’re surprised to hear Vegeta chuckling, and it only spurs your rage on. Your heels dig into the dirt and you break the surface of the earth, your form becoming heavier the longer you think about it.
“I’m gonna fight the next person who talks shit about you,” you vow, holding your hands in tight fists. You growl, your fangs bared as you look up at him, “I’m done holding back!”
Vegeta feels something stir in his stomach at the sight of you so enraged on his behalf. His pride swells and he tilts his head, considering you before he speaks, “I’m such trash. Such a waste of space. Pathetic excuse of a Saiyan.”
Your jaw drops, “Wh-Wha-fine. Put ‘um up. Let’s go.”
There is an air of confidence about him when you start sparring again, the both of you pushing one another to your very limits, trying to break through your ceiling of power. You scream and the very sound makes Vegeta’s hair stand on end, but it does more to fuel his desire than anything else.
Your fist connects with his stomach, tossing him in the air. You take the advantage of him being blindsided to teleport above him and, using your fists curled together, slam your hands into his back. He reels downward, unable to catch himself before he makes a deep dent into the earth below.
Just as you go after him, the group celebrating at Bulma’s makes their way into the woods, wondering where all the noise is coming from. Your eyes connect with Yamcha and you see red, flying towards him with power at your heels, your fists shaking with the need to send him to Other World for what he was saying earlier.
“Oh my god, wait, I’m-” Yamcha puts his hands in front to protect himself as best he can, but you never make contact.
Your jaw is close to snapping under the pressure of your teeth, fist just millimeters away from connecting with Yamcha’s nose. The only thing saving him is the pair of arms wrapped around your waist belonging to a certain Saiyan Prince.
“You’re lucky,” you seethe between your teeth, eyes narrowed at the earthling. “You’re lucky that he’s stronger than me, or else you’d be in other world crying to King Yemma right about now.”
Yamcha starts stuttering, but Vegeta has already bolted into the sky, leaving the group of earthlings dazed and confused below. Even in the distance you can hear Bulma complaining loudly about how much she’s going to have to pay someone to fix up the battle grounds.
“Why did you do that?” you ask once he’s deposited you on the balcony.
Vegeta’s mouth is on yours in a moment. His body backs you into a wall, hands gripping at your waist like his life depends on it. You feel the tip of his tongue nudging at you and you gasp, allowing him to map out the cavity of your mouth. You feel his palm tap at your hips and you jump up into his arms, rocking your hips against his as you situate yourself in his grip. Your hands tug at his hair, silently begging him to make quick work of your body with that devilish mouth.
“Can’t resist you when you’re bloodthirsty,” he growls against your collarbone before running the tip of his nose against your jugular. You gasp, hips canting as he bares his teeth to your veins, your body keening at the idea of a bruise blooming on your throat.
You grip his hair tighter, tugging at his scalp but it only spurs him on, “O-Only for you.”
“Damn right,” he mumbles into the swell of your chest. He presses sloppy, wet kisses to the area and when the balmy afternoon air washes over the two of you, you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze against his hips as gooseflesh blossoms on your skin.
Vegeta slams open the balcony door and tosses you onto the nearby mattress, the layout of your bedroom overly familiar to you both. He smirks as he closes the door and shuts the blinds, encasing the room in a shadow.
The last thing you see before your eyes screw shut is electricity crackling around his teal irises, palms open and ready to take you for all you’re worth.