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Being a proud and powerful warrior, Vegeta neither sought nor condoned softness of any kind.
He was built of strong, sinewy muscle. His stature was tall and proud, unyielding. His gaze was hard and penetrating. His mind was quick and razor-sharp. His words were scathing and crass, merciless. Every single aspect of his physique and character could be described as anything but soft.
Vegeta liked even his nourishment strong. He appreciated a meal consisting of a well-cooked meat more than anything. He liked his beverages strong, his meals sturdy. He rarely ever had the stomach for the sweet things the Briefs indulged in once in a while.
As an individual who was as particular about everything about him and around him being tough and durable, it made zero sense to Vegeta how he could’ve let such a frail, weak creature such as Bulma Briefs get underneath his skin.
For starters, she was his exact opposite in too many aspects to account for. Where he was stubborn to a fault, she was willing to compromise. Where he was violent and unforgiving in his speech, she was kind and soft-spoken, constantly trying to understand. Where his body was made of wired, tough muscle, she was all soft curves and alluring appeal.
Everything about her outward appearance screamed soft.
Of course, he had quickly learnt as he got closer acquainted with her, it would be a mistake to be led to believe everything about Bulma Briefs was softness. She was a spitfire of a woman, with a quick wit to match and a mouth that ran faster than some lesser men’s minds could catch up with. She was driven and determined, striving to achieve her goals whenever she set them, regardless of what obstacles were put in her way.
Slowly, very slowly and gradually, even though he hadn’t cared at the beginning for her at all, she had earned his respect and slight awe. From there, the sly minx had slowly wormed her way to his fancy until he had found himself one day involved at such an intimate level with her—body and mind—that he could barely believe it himself.
It had made him soft. She had made him soft.
And he would have none of it. Fed up with the weakness that was his wife and family, Vegeta had jumped at the opportunity to get a taste of his past coarseness, to forget all flimsy attachments that made him feel weak and pitiable.
He had taken the power Babidi offered him to satisfy his own selfish desires and needs, just like he had always done in the past. Just like he had always been used to doing. He had taken the power and nearly drowned himself in it, believing he was unbeatable, his strength unparalleled.
For the first time in years, he had been soaring, drunk on his power. He felt invincible, he knew he was invincible. He had given Kakarot a run for his money and was convinced he would’ve won if they had only finished that fight.
When he fought with Buu though, his confidence flagged. None of his best attacks were having any effect whatsoever and the monster seemed to be no worse for wear regardless what he did. He, on the other hand, no matter how tough, seasoned and calloused, was still made of flesh and blood. He had stamina.
And it was quickly running out on him.
What was worse than his impotence was the fact that should he fail to stop the beast then, there would be no one left to stop it. Not with Kakarot out of commission and with no senzu beans to restore him to full battle potential.
And if no one could stop Buu, then he would most certainly destroy each and every single human, most probably along with the planet itself once he was done.
He’d do it for no other reason than the fact he simply could. Because it would serve as an amusing pastime for him, he’d kill them all.
Bulma and Trunks included.
And that was something Vegeta would not stand for – not then, not ever. To hell with the voice that was traitorously whispering in his ear that he’d grown soft, that the reason he was rusty was that softness pouring out of his every fibre. To hell with him being soft and to hell with Majin Buu wanting to kill his family on a whim of boredom.
But most of all, to hell with Vegeta himself if he allowed such an outrageousness to happen as long as there was still breath in his lungs and strength in his muscles.
He may have grown soft over the years but as they had worn on, he’d begun begrudging it to himself less and less. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped fighting Bulma’s attempts at non-sexual intimacy. He’d stopped trying to pull away from her whenever she tried to fuss over him after a strenuous day of training. He’d stopped avoiding spending time with his son who surprised him more and more with his unbridled potential every day.
Maybe it was the sign of him having grown hopelessly soft the more time he had spent with the earthlings. But regardless of that, as Vegeta continued burning out his ki, his life’s flame, till he could feel none left and oblivion approaching him, all he could think was how glad he was that he could at least use his life as a shield for the people he cared about.
While he burned away, along the last of his thoughts, the only “regrets” he could name, was that he would miss the softness of his wife’s touch when he could no longer be with her.