Vegeta never expected his throne room: the proud heart of Saiyan history, to smell like pine sap and cinnamon. Yet here it was, wrapped in twinkling Earth lights and glittering ornaments like some embarrassing fairytale scene. Only one reason he tolerated it: you, humming off-key as you commanded royal guards to hold garlands and bullied elite Saiyans into fluffing artificial snow. He muttered under his breath while stringing lights across a towering column, Saiyan royalty, reduced to decorating like some Earthling servant. He’d never admit he checked their placement twice, ensuring symmetry, ensuring it pleased you. But every time your smile brushed his direction, he kept going. A prince did not surrender… except to you, apparently.

By evening, the palace glowed. Tarble laughed as Goku marveled at blinking lights; Broly sat stiffly by the fireplace, unsure whether to be alarmed or soothed. Chi-Chi chided Goku about not eating all the desserts as Beerus lounged like a smug cat claiming royal hospitality as his birthright. Vegeta stood with Broly near the balcony, arms crossed, cloak draped like a storm behind him. Broly spoke quietly, voice deep and unsure. “She… she looks happy here,” he said. Vegeta nodded once, pride sharp in his chest. “Of course she does. She is married to a Saiyan prince, not living in some shabby Earth home.”

Broly gave him a brief look. “You worry,” he said. Vegeta scoffed, rolling a shoulder. “I do not worry. She’s adapting. Our planet bends to no weak heart, but she…” His gaze drifted to you again, placing the star atop the massive tree, cheeks flushed from effort, hair dusted with tinsel like a crown of snow. “…she endures.” Then your laugh cut through the hall: bright, human, alive. You climbed a small step ladder to place the final star atop the alien pine tree that had been genetically modified to resemble an Earth fir. Trivial. Sweet. Infuriatingly captivating. Vegeta’s gaze softened without permission, bitterness turning nectar-sweet in his chest. Then the ladder wobbled. Your foot slipped. Time fractured — until arms that weren’t his shot forward, catching you with absurd, cheerful ease. Kakarot grinned, holding you steady. “Whoa! Careful, falling for me already?” The room laughed. You steadied yourself. But Vegeta froze. Something hot, sharp, and entirely foreign ripped through him. Not battle instinct. Not pride. Something burning in his gut — jealousy. No enemy had ever made his pulse spike like that idiotic grin did just now. His jaw clenched, tail instinctively lashing before he caught himself. You were his — chosen, claimed, vowed under stars and flame — and the sight of another holding you ignited something he didn’t yet have a name for.

He stepped forward, voice low, dangerous, carrying across the hall like a blade. “Enough party tricks, Kakarot. Put my wife down.” His eyes locked on yours, heat and storm behind them.