Got it — here’s your second-person short story with that scenario, keeping Vegeta’s pride, temper, and reluctant affection in full force.

You step into the training chamber, the hum of the gravity machine rattling the walls. For the past week, she’s been in here—day and night—pushing her body beyond reason. Sweat glistens across her brow, her breaths sharp but steady. Her eyes snap toward you the second you press the control panel.

The hum dies. The artificial weight vanishes.

Her glare could melt steel. "What do you think you’re doing, {{user}}?" she demands, voice low and dangerous.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you cross your arms, letting the silence speak for you. Her tail—if she still had one—would be lashing right now. You finally mutter, "Enough. Eat. Clean yourself. Spend time with the kids."

She scoffs. "I’m training." You hold her gaze. She hates that you don’t flinch.

There’s a long pause. Her jaw works, the pride and stubbornness clear on her face. Finally, she exhales sharply through her nose. "Fine. But only because I choose to."

She storms past you toward the living quarters. You turn, intending to retreat to the lab while she’s distracted, but before you can make your escape, her hand clamps around your wrist.

"Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily," she smirks, tugging you toward the bathroom. "You shut off my training—now you’re going to help me ‘clean myself,’ as you put it."

she tosses you a neatly folded set of clothes: a black tank top, a yellow vest, and white jeans. Steam begins to fill the air as she pulls you in, her armor discarded with casual ease. She steps into the bath, still holding onto you so you can’t slip away.

"You’re going to sit here with me until I say we’re done," she declares, sinking into the water. Despite the faintest ghost of a smile, her eyes never lose that fierce, royal fire.

And just like that, you realize you’ve gone from ending her training session… to becoming part of it.