#piccolo x reader insert

It had been a long time since you first experienced Piccolo’s full strength, but every time you faced him, it was like reliving that moment all over again. It was a brutal reminder of the vast difference in power between you. No matter how much you trained, how fast you moved, how well you anticipated his attacks—you simply weren’t built for raw strength. Evasion, redirection, and endurance were your game, but even that had its limits when facing someone like him.

How in the actual fuck am I supposed to compete with this?

“Really?” Piccolo’s deadpan voice cut through your thoughts. “Because you’re repeating yourself, you’re pale, and you look like you’re about to pass out.”

You blinked up at him, taking in his usual unimpressed stare. Without his weighted turban and cape, he seemed even more intimidating, standing there in his simple gi and moccasins—completely unaffected by the intensity of the sparring session. Meanwhile, you were dying.

“Yeah, you might wanna catch me.”

The second the words left your mouth, your knees buckled. Darkness tinged your vision for a split second before you felt strong arms catch you with ease. Piccolo’s hold was firm, steady, as if your weight was nothing to him. You found yourself slumped against his chest, the fabric of his gi warm against your cheek as you sucked in slow, deliberate breaths, trying to ease the ache in your lungs.

“Fuck— I’m sorry.” Your voice was muffled against him, and you barely had the energy to move.

“Don’t push yourself.” His tone was firm but not harsh. There was something softer in it, an underlying concern. “There’s only so much the human body can handle, and my training isn’t exactly meant for the faint of heart.”

You let out a breathless, exhausted laugh, your head still pressed lightly against him. No kidding. But just as you were about to make a joke, you felt it—

A subtle shift in his posture.

Piccolo tensed. Just for a moment. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The way your breath hit his abdomen, the closeness between you—something about it affected him. You didn’t understand why, but if you weren’t so damn exhausted, you might’ve called him out on it.

Instead, you pushed yourself off of him, standing on shaky legs. You avoided his gaze, a sad smile forming on your lips.

“I knew what I was getting into,” you admitted quietly. “It’s my fault for thinking I could stand a chance against you.” You let out a self-deprecating chuckle, shrugging. “Guess that’s just one of the downsides of being human.”

Piccolo frowned. Deeply.

Something about the way you said that bothered him.

Your humanity was not a weakness. He had seen your strength firsthand, witnessed your skill, your intelligence, your resilience. You were far more capable than you gave yourself credit for.

From the moment you first threw Piccolo to the ground with alarming ease, he had convinced himself it was nothing but a fluke. A mistake. An error on his part for underestimating you—a human of all things.

But then the two of you sparred.

And everything he thought he knew about you unraveled in an instant.

At first, Piccolo was frustrated. Rightfully so.

Your combat skills weren’t just impressive; they were on par with his own. Whether you were humiliating him on purpose or not, the fact remained—his pride took a hit. Every counter, every movement, every effortless evasion of his attacks only confirmed what he refused to admit.

And then it happened.

A subtle shift in energy. His body froze.

His eyes locked onto yours, and something clicked.

He could see it now.

Your ki.

It wrapped around you like a barely visible veil, a natural extension of yourself, flowing with an effortless grace he hadn’t noticed before. Every strike, every well-timed counter—it all made sense now. The energy concentrated at your fingertips, acting as an unseen force that bound his limbs in place.

That explained why the moment your fingers had brushed against his arm, it had gone numb—why his body had betrayed him, allowing you to gain the upper hand so easily.

Piccolo’s sharp gaze lingered on you.

Maybe… you weren’t just an ordinary human after all.

“You’re wrong.”

Your brows knitted together at his sudden remark, uncertainty flashing in your eyes.

Piccolo folded his arms. “I have a friend who’s human. And he’s one of the strongest, most skilled fighters I’ve ever met… even if he’s a scaredy-cat when it comes to danger.”

He grumbled out the last part under his breath, but you still caught it.

A surprised laugh bubbled from your lips.

“The point is,” Piccolo continued, ignoring the way his chest warmed at the sound of your laughter, “humans can become strong. But it requires proper training.”

To emphasize his words, he lifted a hand, conjuring a small sphere of glowing energy in his palm. The orb pulsed gently, illuminating the sharp contours of his face with an ethereal glow.

Your breath hitched.

You had never seen anything like it before.

Cautiously, you stepped forward, leaning in just enough to examine it without risking contact. It was beautiful—like a miniature star resting in his hand, radiating warmth and raw power.

Piccolo watched you silently, noting the fascination in your gaze.

For a moment, something in his chest tightened.

He had seen warriors react to ki before. With admiration. With fear. With greed.

But never with wonder.

“This,” he said, voice quieter now, “is just a small taste of what can be achieved.”

You blinked, pulling your gaze away from the orb to meet his eyes. “It can? So, it’s not something only people born with strength can use?”

Piccolo let the energy dissipate with a flick of his wrist. “It works both ways. Some are born with talent but still need to train. Others start weak but can grow stronger through discipline. The key is learning how to control your own ki.” His expression darkened slightly. “It’s not easy. If you aren’t naturally attuned to it, the process can take years.”

He paused.

“But you’re lucky.”

Your head tilted slightly in curiosity. “Lucky?”

Piccolo studied you, his lips quirking into something just short of a smirk. “I saw you use it in our fight.”

Your brows shot up.

“You might not have realized it, but you were manipulating ki the entire time. Whether it was instinct or something buried in your training, you’re already exceptional at it.”

Your mind reeled at the revelation.

You could use ki? Effortlessly? But… you hadn’t felt anything different.

Your gaze drifted past him, unfocused, too lost in thought to respond.

“(Y/n),” Piccolo’s voice grounded you, snapping you back to the present.

You blinked rapidly, heat creeping onto your cheeks. “Sorry! I was just… trying to process all of this.” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. “So, you’re saying I’ve been using ki this whole time? Without realizing it?”

Piccolo gave a single nod.

You exhaled, staring down at your hands. You clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to feel it—the energy he spoke of, the force that had unknowingly guided your movements.

Nothing.

No warmth. No shift. No spark.

Still, something within you stirred—determination.

Lifting your head, you met Piccolo’s sharp gaze, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Then,” you started, voice filled with newfound resolve, “do you mind if ki training is added to my lessons from now on?”

Piccolo scoffed, arms still folded. But the small grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth was all the answer you needed.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Again.”  

You exhaled sharply, your breath shaky with exertion. Wiping away the sweat gathering at your brow, you resisted the urge to collapse backward onto the grass. It hadn’t even been a full hour, and yet, your body already ached from the relentless training.  

Piccolo’s ki training was far beyond anything you’d ever experienced. Martial arts required discipline, strength, and technique, but ki control? That demanded patience, precision, and an awareness of yourself so deep it bordered on maddening. You clenched your fists, staring down at your empty palms in frustration. No matter how many times you followed his instructions, no matter how much you tried to reach for that flicker of energy inside you—nothing. No spark, no light, not even a damn wisp of power.  

“How the fuck…” You panted between words, head tilting up to glare at him. “Can you do this without feeling exhausted?”  

Piccolo stood over you, towering as always, arms at his sides. Without his usual weighted cape and turban, his broad frame seemed even more imposing. “A lot of endurance and stamina training,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s hell at first, but over time, it becomes second nature.”  

You shook your head with a tired chuckle, a mix of admiration and disbelief bubbling up despite yourself. “Geez, no wonder you’re so ripped. And insanely fucking fast. You never stop training. Do you even take a break?” You leaned back slightly to get a better look at him, only now realizing just how much your neck had to crane to meet his gaze.  

He huffed. “Hmp. And risk slacking off? No.”  

You rolled your eyes. “Really? Then how come you meditate so often?”  

“It’s another form of training.”  

“Of course it is.” You snorted before raising a brow. “Which is?”  

“Ki focus training.”  

You let out a slow breath, shifting your attention back to your hands. There was something there—a faint tingling at your fingertips, a pulse just beneath your skin. It was your ki. Your energy. It was there. It had always been there. You just couldn’t seem to grasp it the way Piccolo could.  

Sensing the change in your expression, Piccolo knelt down in front of you, lowering himself to eye level. His presence was grounding, his gaze sharp yet unreadable. You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you barely registered how close he was, nor did you notice the way his usual hard stare softened ever so slightly.  

“…You’re overthinking it.” His voice was quieter this time, lacking the usual blunt edge.  

You blinked, caught off guard, before huffing a tired laugh. “Yeah? Tell that to my brain.”  

Piccolo exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Tch. That’s the problem.”  

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could retort, his large hand reached out. You froze as he gently placed two fingers against your forehead, the contact unexpected. His skin was warmer than you thought it’d be.  

“Stop forcing it. Ki flows naturally,” he said, voice steady. “If you keep trying to control it like a muscle, you’ll keep burning yourself out. Let it come to you.”  

You swallowed, your heart beating a little faster—not from exhaustion, but from something else entirely. Whether it was his proximity, the way his voice dropped slightly, or the sudden realization of just how much trust he was putting in you, you weren’t sure.  

But as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, you found yourself listening.

Focusing on the steady rhythm of your breathing. You sat straighter, just as Piccolo instructed, allowing the tension in your body to melt away.  

Then, you turned your focus inward.  

At first, there was only silence. A vast, empty space within your mind. But then—just behind your eyes—you felt it. A faint buzz, like static at the edge of your awareness. It started at your fingertips, a tingling sensation, before spreading into the center of your palms.  

The current…

You remembered Piccolo’s words—energy, like water, flowing at the center of your body. You visualized it, a deep reservoir of warmth sitting just beneath your ribcage. It pulsed faintly, like the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide.  

Slowly, you willed the energy to move.  

It was sluggish at first, like trying to push against an invisible force, but the more you focused, the easier it became. The warmth traveled upward, swirling from your core into your arms, and finally—  

A faint glimmer of light flickered between your hands.  

Your eyes snapped open, breath catching in your throat. A dim, shifting glow hovered in your palm, barely the size of a pebble. It was weak, unstable, flickering as if it might disappear at any moment.  

But it was there.

Excitement surged through you, but you quickly tamped it down, remembering Piccolo’s warning about maintaining control. Taking another breath, you steadied your mind, focusing on keeping the energy contained.  

The tiny sphere of light pulsed in response, solidifying just a bit more.  

“That’s it,” Piccolo’s voice cut through the silence. You looked up to see him observing you with sharp, yet approving eyes. “You can feel it now, can’t you?”  

You nodded, gripping onto the sensation before it slipped away.  

Your lips curled up into a smile. You did it. You actually made a Ki sphere! Small, flickering, and unstable—but real. It wasn’t just some distant concept anymore; it was something you had drawn out from within.  

Laughter bubbled up in your throat, giddy and breathless, as you looked up at Piccolo, eyes bright with excitement. He was saying something—probably giving more instructions or a warning—but the sheer joy coursing through you drowned out his words.  

Without thinking, you moved.  

Throwing your arms around his neck, you pulled him into a spontaneous hug, the action as natural as breathing.  

For a moment, Piccolo didn’t react. His entire body went rigid, eyes widening in surprise. You were close. The warmth of your smaller frame pressed against him sent a jolt through his system. His hand hovered just above your waist, unsure if he should push you away or remain completely still.  

Then, your voice—soft and sincere—reached his ears.  

"Thank you for being patient with me, Piccolo."

His breath hitched.  

Something in his chest fluttered, an unfamiliar warmth unfurling deep within him. The tension in his shoulders melted ever so slightly, and before he could fully process it, his instincts took over.  

His large hand settled on the small of your back, hesitant yet deliberate. He hadn’t intended to pull you closer, but the second he did, something about the embrace felt… grounding.  

Comfortable.  

For someone who had spent most of his life avoiding unnecessary contact, it was strange how right this felt.  

“Hmph,” he finally grunted, the corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Just don’t get ahead of yourself. You still have a long way to go.”  

But even as he said that, he didn’t pull away.

(2,537 words)

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(a/n)

The long awaited chapter has finally come! (after being on hiatus for months on this story ;-;)

After some set backs and other hyperfixations, I finally managed to write this entire chapter after sitting in my pc for hours (it's like… almost 3 a.m over here lol).

I've been juggling between many scenarios on where this story might take off. There's a rough idea in my head that I need to write down on paper before I forget (again). Thank you for those who have waited (too long) for this chapter. For those that stuck around waiting anxiously, I apologize and thank you for your love and engagement. It really motivates me to keep on writing and to have fun with this story.

If you stuck around to read this silly note, thank you for reading!

Until next time, readers. xoxo

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Part VIII

You are currently reading Part IX

Part X

Tag list:

@utakamo

A few older students straightened at your words, but the younger ones still wilted under the heat. Your gaze softened.

“Hydrate yourselves. Ten-minute break.”

The students scattered toward their water bottles, eager to quench their thirst. You stepped down from the podium, wiping your forehead with a cloth tucked into your belt. Your mind wandered trying to come up with a solution to combat the summer heat.

An idea flickered in your mind, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Ten minutes passed quickly, and with a sharp whistle, the students lined up again, albeit slower than usual. Their expressions were a mix of exhaustion and curiosity.

“Alright,” you called out, walking toward the open doors. “We're moving class outside today.”

The students blinked in surprise, murmurs rippling through the crowd.

“The heat's getting to you, and the last thing I want is anyone passing out in the middle of training.” Your smile turned playful. “But that doesn't mean we're done. Defense isn't just about holding your ground—it's about adapting to your surroundings.”

You stepped into the sunlight, motioning for them to follow. The air outside was hot, but at least the breeze was stronger. The students shuffled out, some shading their eyes from the glare.

Your gaze flicked toward the garden where you spotted the fountain at its center, an almost mischievous glint in your eye.

“Today's lesson is about fluidity.” You turned to face them, hands on your hips. “Defense can be rigid, yes, but the best defense flows like water.”

A few students exchanged confused glances, but others began catching on as you walked over to the fountain, dipping your hand into the cool water. The splash echoed through the courtyard, drawing all eyes to you.

“Water doesn't resist—it moves around obstacles. It cools, it refreshes… and it can strike when necessary.”

Without warning, you flicked your wet fingers toward a young dark-haired boy, sending a small spray of water his way. The boy yelped, jumping back. The students froze, stunned into silence.

Then, laughter bubbled up from the younger ones, breaking the tension.

A slow grin spread across your face.

“Lesson one: always be prepared for the unexpected.”

With the good amount of trees and the large wooden pergola roof overhead, which was covered with thick vines and orchids, there was enough shade to shelter you and your students from the blazing sun. It made you feel content. You made the right call by moving the class outside.

“Alright, I want you all to split into small groups of five, with one person doing the attacking while the four will only focus on defense and deflecting, got it?”

“Yes, sensei!” they all answered in unison, their voices echoing through the garden before they scattered like leaves in the wind.

You remained beside the fountain, your eyes trailing after your students as they took their positions among the greenery. One path to your right was lined with hydrangea shrubs, their blue and purple blossoms swaying gently in the breeze. On the opposite side, lavender stood tall, filling the air with its calming fragrance. This once-tiny garden, built with your students' dedication and hard work, had flourished over the years— a living testament to their care. Each plant had been chosen by the hands that trained here, making this place more than just a training ground— it was a sanctuary.

A hush fell over the space, broken only by the soft trickle of water from the fountain behind you. You closed your eyes, letting the sounds wash over you— the rhythmic clash of hands slapping, distant laughter, and the faint rustling of leaves. It was peaceful in a way that made the world feel far away, the weight on your shoulders momentarily lighter.

The breeze stirred, carrying with it the familiar presence that made your senses flicker. You didn't need to open your eyes to know who it was.

“I had a feeling you would pop by,” you said, a smile already tugging at your lips.

Piccolo's heavy footsteps came to a stop beside you. He glanced toward the lavender, his long ears giving the slightest twitch. “You weren’t at the dojo. I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Your smile softened. “That’s sweet of you to check up on me.”

Piccolo let out a low grunt, crossing his arms as he looked away. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, though the deepening hue of his cheeks suggested otherwise.

You chuckled softly. “Still, I appreciate it.”

Your gaze drifted back to your students, watching as they engaged in their defensive drills, the air filled with the rhythmic sounds of feet shuffling, light grunts, and the occasional slap of a successfully deflected strike. A soft breeze rustled through the pergola’s vines, carrying the scent of lavender and damp earth.

Piccolo shifted his weight beside you, his keen eyes scanning the students. “They seem more focused out here,” he observed.

You nodded. “The heat inside the dojo was unbearable. I figured the garden would be a better place to train—more shade, fresh air, and nature to keep them grounded.” You paused, smirking. “Not to mention, it stops them from whining about the temperature.”

Piccolo huffed in amusement. “Smart move.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, simply standing side by side, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere of the garden. It wasn’t often that you got quiet moments like this—between training your students and the chaos that life tended to throw at you, stillness was a rare gift.

Then, Piccolo spoke again, his voice lower this time. “You’re doing a good job with them.”

Your eyes widened slightly before a warm smile took over your lips. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you caught the way his fingers briefly curled at his sides, as if debating whether to say something more. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You push them hard, but you care. They see that.”

You exhaled softly, a gentle warmth spreading in your chest. “I do care about them. They’re more than just my students.” You tilted your head slightly, gazing up at him. “Kind of like how you care about us, even if you pretend you don’t.”

Piccolo let out a scoff but didn’t refute your words. Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in the tranquil surroundings before speaking again.

“…You should take a break too, (Y/n).”

You blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“You’re always putting your students first.” His eyes flickered to you, sharp yet oddly gentle. “Don’t forget to look after yourself too.”

Something about his words sent a flutter through your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the concern in his voice or the fact that it was coming from him of all people, but either way, it made your smile soften.

“I will,” you assured him. “But only if you promise to do the same.”

Piccolo raised a brow. “I don’t need—”

“No excuses,” you cut in playfully. “You may be tough, but even you need to recharge every now and then.”

He stared at you for a moment before exhaling through his nose. “…Fine.”

You grinned. “Good.”

The two of you stood there a little while longer, side by side, as the afternoon sun peeked through the leaves, casting dappled light across the garden. As much as you loved the peaceful moment that you and Piccolo shared, you were itching to walk around and observe your students in action. But as you went to take a step away from the fountain when suddenly Piccolo stopped you, his hand firmly held onto your shoulder preventing you from taking another step.

Confused, you looked over to him. “Piccolo, what are you—”

“What part of taking a break did you not understand?”

Judging by the earnestness in his tone, he wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. “Wait—you mean take a break, like now? I thought you meant later or something!” You shifted to fully face him. 

The gentle breeze carried the distant sounds of students practicing in the garden, their movements punctuated by soft grunts and the occasional shuffle of feet on the grass. Birds chirped in the trees above, filling the warm afternoon with a tranquil melody. Yet, despite the serene atmosphere surrounding the garden, there was a flicker of defiance lingering in your chest.

You shifted under Piccolo’s steady gaze, your lips parting as if to protest—but the look in his onyx eyes silenced you before the words could leave your mouth. His gaze was unwavering, serious, yet not harsh. He wasn’t just ordering you to rest—he was asking you to. His hand on your shoulder was firm, radiating a quiet reassurance that made your heart ache.

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flickering down to the grass beneath your feet.

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I took a proper break.”

Piccolo’s brow furrowed, a subtle frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He already suspected as much—but hearing you say it aloud made his chest tighten.

“You push yourself too hard,” he murmured, his voice low but certain. “Always worrying about everyone else... but when do you ever stop to worry about yourself?”

His words struck a nerve, sending a pang through your heart.

You opened your mouth to argue—because that’s what you always did. You had to be strong, had to keep going. Your students needed you, your dojo needed you. If you slowed down, who would pick up the slack? Who would make sure everyone got the guidance they needed?

But Piccolo already knew what you were going to say before you could even speak.

“That’s exactly why I’m stepping in,” he said firmly, his hand slipping away from your shoulder only to fold across his broad chest. His cape shifted slightly as he leaned back, his sharp gaze still locked onto you. “Your students will be fine. They’re disciplined... because you taught them how to be. And if they have questions—” his brow arched slightly, a hint of dry amusement flashing in his eyes, “—I think I can handle it.”

You blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded.

The idea of Piccolo, the stoic namekian, teaching your students martial arts was almost too surreal to process. Sure, he’d been around the dojo plenty of times, observing quietly from the sidelines or offering advice during sparring matches when asked. But to actually step in as an instructor? That was different.

“But... what if they don’t listen to you?” you asked hesitantly, trying to mask the small spark of curiosity blooming in your chest.

Piccolo smirked, just barely.

“They will.”

You almost snorted at how confident he sounded, but the thought of him towering over your students—arms folded, sharp gaze watching their every move—painted such a vivid picture in your mind that you actually believed him.

Of course they’d listen.

Hell, they’d probably be terrified not to.

Still, the worry gnawed at you.

“I just... I don’t know how to not be involved,” you admitted quietly, your fingers toying with the hem of your black gi sleeve. “I’m so used to being the one in charge, making sure everything runs smoothly.”

Piccolo’s expression softened—just barely.

“I know,” he said, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s not easy to let go... but you need to trust me. Just for today.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Trust him.

Those two simple words carried so much weight, more than he probably realized. You weren’t sure when it happened—when Piccolo had become such a steady presence in your life, someone you could lean on without even realizing you were doing it. But the thought of handing over your responsibilities, even just for a little while... it scared you.

Because if you let go, even for a moment, you weren’t sure what you’d find underneath all the exhaustion you’d been pushing down for so long.

But Piccolo could see that too.

He always saw right through you.

His large hand reached out again, this time brushing against your elbow—careful, deliberate, as if giving you one final chance to pull away.

“Let me take care of things for once,” he said softly. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, grounding you in place. He wasn’t pushing you... he was giving you the choice.

And for once—just this once—you wanted to let someone else carry the weight.

Your fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into your palms as you wrestled with the decision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled shakily and gave him a small, reluctant nod.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Just for today.”

Piccolo’s lips twitched ever so slightly—not quite a smile, but something close.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

You watched as he stepped away, his cape billowing slightly behind him as he turned toward the center of the garden. His tall, imposing figure looked perfectly at ease—like he belonged there. He really was going to teach your students.

You weren’t sure who was more insane—you for agreeing to this... or him for offering in the first place.

As he walked away, you couldn’t resist calling out after him.

“If any of them cry, I will blame you!”

Piccolo paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder with that same faint smirk playing on his lips.

“They’ll survive.”

You snorted, finally allowing yourself to sink back onto the edge of the fountain, letting the cool breeze wash over you.

For the first time in what felt like forever... you allowed yourself to just be.

And as you watched Piccolo, listening to his deep voice echoing throughout the garden as he barked instructions to your students, you realized something.

Maybe... it wasn’t so bad to let someone take care of you for a change.

(2,523 words)

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Part IX

You are currently reading part X

Part XI

Tag list:

@utakamo

You started slow, swaying gently with the rhythm, letting the music guide you. Your movements were fluid, instinctual—a blend of grace and precision. Each step, each turn, each extension of your arms was effortless, a seamless fusion of strength and elegance. There was no choreography, only feeling. The world faded around you, leaving only the song, your heartbeat, and the dance.

Your body moved like water, flowing with controlled precision. A turn—graceful. A leap—effortless. A spin—the fabric of your dress flaring out like a wave before settling back against your skin.

The song built to its final crescendo, and you followed, your movements reaching their peak. Then, with a final twirl, you slowed, your dress whispering around you before you came to a still.

Your chest rose and fell with steady breaths, adrenaline humming in your veins. You closed your eyes, savoring the rush, the quiet, the peace.

Then, something made you look up.

And you froze.

There, standing on your balcony, was him.

Piccolo.

His tall figure was silhouetted against the warm glow of your home, his arms crossed, his sharp gaze unreadable as he watched you. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, nor could you begin to guess what was running through his mind.

Embarrassment flared hot in your chest. You weren’t ashamed of dancing—far from it—but knowing he had seen you, watched you so intently, left you feeling exposed in a way you weren’t used to.

You swallowed, shifting your weight awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Then, Piccolo did something that made your breath catch.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, but there was something soft in his gaze—an unspoken acknowledgment, an appreciation for what he had just witnessed.

The longer you stared at him, the hotter your cheeks became. Oh, no. He saw everything.

“P-Piccolo! Hey… uhm,” you stammered, quickly averting your gaze as your fingers instinctively reached for the back of your neck, rubbing it in a nervous habit. A chuckle escaped your lips, light but awkward. “How long have you been, uh, standing there?”

“Long enough.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh… heh, heh, right.” Shit, this is embarrassing. You forced a laugh, hoping to shake off the flustered feeling crawling up your spine.

Before you could fully recover, Piccolo moved.

Uncrossing his arms, he pushed off the wooden balcony, descending toward you with effortless grace. His movements were always calculated, precise—never wasted energy. You barely had time to react before his feet touched the earth mere inches from you.

The weight of his presence settled around you, and only then did you realize just how close he was. His towering frame loomed over yours, and his sharp, dark eyes held something unreadable—curiosity, perhaps? Intrigue?

Then, his voice cut through the night, low and smooth.

“I never knew you could dance.”

A small, nervous smile tugged at your lips as you dropped your gaze to the grass. “Yeah, well… not many people do.” You exhaled softly, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the vulnerability that had unexpectedly crept in. “Only a few close friends know, and even then, I hardly ever dance anymore.”

There was a pause before you finally found the courage to look up at him again. His expression remained neutral, yet his eyes held a quiet intensity, as if he were truly listening—truly seeing you.

“In the past,” you continued, voice a little softer, “I used to dance a lot. Maybe too much.” A nostalgic chuckle slipped from your lips before you shrugged. “I guess that’s why I like teaching martial arts—it’s like dancing, but with purpose.”

Piccolo studied you for a moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Controlled movement,” he mused, “discipline, flow… I can see the connection.”

You blinked, momentarily surprised. He understood.

A small warmth blossomed in your chest, and for the first time since realizing he had been watching you, you felt less embarrassed and more… seen.

Then, just as the quiet between you settled, your ears caught a familiar melody drifting from the radio—soft, delicate strings weaving into the night. Dandelions.

Your lips curled into a knowing smile as an idea took root. Without hesitation, you reached out toward Piccolo, palm open in invitation.  

He stared down at your hand, brow furrowing. “What?”  

“Dance with me, Piccolo.”  

Piccolo visibly stiffened. A single sweatdrop formed on his cheek as his expression twisted into something between disbelief and sheer reluctance. Of all the things you could have asked him to do, this had to be the most unexpected.  

“I…” His voice trailed off as his eyes darted from your hand to your face, searching for any sign that you were joking. But you weren’t.  

"(Y/n), I can’t dance. I don’t even know how.” He admitted, his deep voice edged with hesitation.  

“So?” You tilted your head slightly, your smile unfaltering.  

Piccolo exhaled through his nose, clearly unamused. “So, I’d rather not make a fool of myself.”  

You giggled. “You won’t. Besides, it’s just us here. No audience, no pressure—just you and me.”  

His eyes narrowed slightly, still unconvinced.  

Sensing his hesitation, you softened your expression and took a small step closer, lowering your hand just enough to seem less demanding and more inviting. “You’ve spent so much time teaching me to control my energy, Piccolo. Let me teach you something in return.”  

Piccolo’s lips pressed into a firm line, his sharp gaze flickering to your outstretched hand once more. For a moment, it seemed like he might outright refuse—but then, something in your earnest gaze made him pause.  

With a heavy sigh, he finally relented. “…Fine.”  

Your heart fluttered with excitement as his large, calloused hand hesitantly met yours. His grip was unsure, a stark contrast to the confidence he always carried in battle.  

You grinned up at him. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”  

Piccolo huffed but said nothing, his ears twitching slightly as the violin continued its gentle but upbeat serenade.  

Guiding him slowly, you placed his other hand at your waist before resting your free hand on his bicep. His muscles tensed at the contact, but you simply smiled.  

“Relax, Piccolo,” you murmured. “Just follow my lead.”  

He swallowed hard. Easier said than done.

You made the first move—slow, steady, and deliberate—giving Piccolo an easy rhythm to follow. His stiffness was palpable, every motion calculated as he struggled to mirror your footwork. The closeness between you made it even harder for him to predict your next step, the stark height difference forcing him to rely more on instinct than sight. The strange warmth blooming in his chest only made it harder to concentrate, distracting him until he accidentally stepped on your foot.

“Damn it, sorry,” he muttered, frustration flickering in his usually composed features as if trying to banish the strange sensation stirring in his chest.

You laughed softly, the sound light and forgiving. His green cheeks darkened with a deep purple hue, betraying his embarrassment. “It’s alright, Piccolo. Don’t overthink the steps—just feel them. Let the music guide you, like the energy flowing within you.”

Piccolo’s brow furrowed at your advice, his sharp gaze flickering down toward your smaller frame. His large green hand rested against your waist, his grip firm yet mindful of his strength. His other hand lightly clasped yours, his fingers easily enveloping your own. The heat radiating from his palm made your heart flutter, but you did your best to focus on guiding him—rather than the gentle squeeze of his hand or how close his body was to yours.

“Feel it…” he echoed softly, almost to himself, as if testing how the words tasted on his tongue.

You nodded, your smile warm and patient. “Mhm. Don’t fight the rhythm—listen to it. The music will tell you what to do.”

Piccolo’s ears twitched at the faint melody playing from the nearby bluetooth speaker. The slow, melodic tune filled the air, wrapping around both of you like a gentle current. His steps were still clumsy, unsure—like a warrior trying to navigate a battlefield without a clear enemy in sight. But there was something oddly endearing about seeing him struggle with such a simple, human activity.

You swayed slightly to the beat, letting your body relax into the rhythm. Piccolo followed a second later, albeit stiffly, his movements too calculated—too methodical.

“You’re overthinking it again,” you teased, your voice light. “You’re not trying to counterattack someone, Piccolo.”

His grip on your waist tensed ever so slightly, and you caught the subtle flicker of frustration in his dark eyes. He was trying so hard—not because he cared about the dance itself, but because he cared about not disappointing you.

That realization made your chest ache in the sweetest way.

“Close your eyes,” you encouraged softly.

Piccolo’s eyes snapped to yours, his brow lifting in mild surprise.

You smiled gently. “Trust me.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue—but something in your gaze made him stop. His shoulders slumped, exhaling through his nose before reluctantly closing his eyes.

“There you go…” you murmured, swaying your bodies in sync. “Now… stop thinking about what your feet should be doing.”

Piccolo’s brow twitched, but he obeyed.

“Feel me,” you whispered without fully realizing the weight of your own words.

A beat of silence passed.

His large hand unconsciously tightened on your waist, his palm pressing against the small of your back. His fingers curled ever so slightly around yours, his thumb brushing along your knuckles in an absent, feather-light caress. The sudden tenderness of the gesture made your breath hitch—but if Piccolo noticed, he didn’t show it.

He was too busy trying to follow your lead.

And little by little… he did.

His steps gradually grew smoother, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding as he matched your rhythm. He still wasn’t perfect—his movements were too cautious, too careful—but he was listening now. Not just to the music… but to you.

The odd warmth in his chest burned brighter, blooming in a way that made his breath feel heavier—like something deep inside him was stirring for the first time.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling.

“See?” you whispered. “You’re doing it.”

Piccolo’s brow twitched, his lips parting slightly—but whatever he was about to say died on his tongue.

He could feel your heartbeat through your fingertips.

Steady.

Warm.

Alive.

His chest tightened, unfamiliar and unsettling—but not unwelcome.

The song carried on around you, filling the small space between your bodies. You were so close now—closer than you had ever been before. The height difference forced you to tilt your head back to look at him, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

For once… Piccolo wasn’t thinking.

He was simply feeling.

And for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the warmth of you.

Once the song ended, a new one began to play—something slower, softer. The gentle melody wove through the night air, filling the space between you both like a whispered secret. You parted your lips to praise him, maybe even add a playful comment on how he didn't step on your foot again—but the words caught in your throat as he suddenly moved.

Piccolo's large hand shifted on the small of your back, his fingers splaying out with newfound confidence. He took the lead without a word, guiding you into the rhythm of the song. The subtle sway of his body was fluid now, almost natural, a stark contrast to the awkward fumbling from earlier. His cape billowed behind him, catching the moonlight in its fabric, making it shimmer like something out of a dream.

Your heart leapt into your chest, a sharp intake of breath hitching in your throat. The strength in his hold was undeniable, yet his touch was gentle—careful, even—as if afraid he might break you if he held on too tightly.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, and your pulse thudded in your ears, drowning out the music for a moment. He was close—so close—the warmth of his body seeping through the thin barrier of your clothes. The scent of him, something earthy and clean, filled your senses. Your fingers tightened against his bicep, and you swallowed hard.

You tried to match his movements, but your feet stumbled against his precise steps. A breathless chuckle escaped your lips, equal parts nervous and embarrassed, but Piccolo didn’t falter. Instead, his hand at your back pressed a little firmer, silently guiding you without judgment.

When you finally managed to tilt your head up, meeting his eyes—dark, intense, and impossibly gentle. The sight of him like this stole the breath from your lungs all over again.

Gone was the stoic mask he always wore, the hardened lines that rarely betrayed what lay beneath. In its place was something softer. His dark eyes glimmered beneath the moonlight, half-lidded and unreadable. There was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite decipher in the depths of his dark eyes.

Then, out of nowhere, Piccolo proceeded to let go of your waist for a fleeting moment to spin you. The loose fabric of your flowy dress flared gracefully, catching the moonlight as if it had a life of its own. His movement was perfectly timed with the music, seamless and deliberate. The sudden motion left you breathless, your heart skipping a beat before he pulled you back in, his large hand once again finding its place on the small of your back—grounding you, steadying you.

A genuine laugh bubbled from your lips, light and melodic.

Hearing your laugh was like a balm to his soul.

He couldn’t even begin to explain why he was experiencing such a foreign feeling, and the more he tried to ignore it like he always did, it would slither its way back into his consciousness—stubborn and persistent. Whatever it was he was feeling—he couldn’t stop himself from seeking it out. It was addictive, this warmth that radiated from you, this unguarded joy that made him feel something he never thought possible.

His mind warred against itself, logic battling against the strange pull in his chest. He had always been in control—his emotions locked away behind an impenetrable wall. Yet here you were, dismantling it piece by piece without even realizing it. Every soft laugh, every lingering glance, every brush of your fingers against his was a chisel carving away at something he'd buried long ago.

He tightened his grip on your waist as if grounding himself in the present—in you. His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythmic echo of something both foreign and frightening. He couldn't name it. And yet... it stirred within him, refusing to be silenced.

Eventually, the dance slowed to a gentle sway, and the two of you came to a natural stop. Both of you lingered in the silence, neither quite ready to let go. But the night carried on, and exhaustion began to creep in.

Piccolo finally released you, his hand falling away with a reluctance he didn't quite understand. You sat down on the grass, catching your breath, the cool night air kissing the sweat sliding down your cheeks.

He remained standing, watching you—his piercing gaze softer than before, though his expression was still unreadable. His mind churned, trying to push down the unfamiliar warmth threatening to consume him. It was dangerous—this ache blooming in his chest. Dangerous because he wasn't sure if he wanted to fight it... or surrender to it.

“Okay, I’ll admit… you were pretty good at dancing waltz, Piccolo,” you teased between breaths, wiping your brow. “I almost couldn’t keep up with you.”

For a fleeting moment, the corner of his mouth twitched—you barely even noticed it if you weren’t so exhausted.

Even while you were sitting down, your chest still heaved from the lingering rush of dancing. Your heart pounded so hard against your ribcage that it almost echoed in your ears. With a breathless laugh, you threw yourself back onto the cool grass, arms sprawled out at your sides. The damp blades tickled against your skin through the thin fabric of your dress, grounding you as the night air kissed your flushed face.

“Holy shit… I think I… need a moment to calm my heart down.” Your voice came out breathy, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through you.

Your chest rose and fell with each deep breath, eyes fluttering closed as you focused on steadying your breathing. Inhale… exhale… slowly but surely, your hammering heart began to ease into a steady rhythm. The muffled sound of music still trickled softly from your bluetooth speaker above your balcony, the melody blending into the peaceful chorus of crickets and rustling leaves.

For a while, the only sound was your own breathing—until you caught the faint, deliberate shuffle of Piccolo’s footsteps against the grass. The sound was soft, almost cautious. You cracked one eye open, just in time to watch him lower himself down beside you. 

He didn’t lay down, of course—that would’ve been too casual for someone like Piccolo. Instead, he settled into his familiar lotus position, legs folded, hands resting on his knees. The faint glow of moonlight traced along the sharp lines of his face, casting long shadows over his furrowed brow. His cape pooled around him like a white cloud against the dark grass, making him stand out even more against the night.

At first, you thought maybe he was meditating—like he always did—but his eyes weren’t closed. Instead, they stared straight ahead, fixed on some distant point among the treetops as if lost in thought. Whether he realized you were staring or not, he didn’t give any indication.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

You had seen him like this so many times before—stoic, quiet, always at ease within his own silence. Yet, there was something different about tonight. Maybe it was the lingering warmth from your dance... or the way he had willingly indulged you without a single complaint. The usually aloof Namekian had stepped so far out of his comfort zone just to humor you—to make you happy.

Your gaze drifted back toward the sky, the stars scattered like tiny flecks of silver across the dark canvas above. The gentle night breeze rustled through the trees, brushing strands of hair across your forehead. It was so peaceful—so perfect—that neither of you needed to fill the silence.

Until your voice broke through the tranquil stillness.

“Thank you… for dancing with me, Piccolo.”

You half-expected him not to respond. Maybe offer one of his usual grunts or a dismissive comment—something along the lines of “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” But instead, Piccolo’s head shifted ever so slightly, glancing down at you from the corner of his eye. The moonlight reflected faintly in those dark onyx depths, but he said nothing right away—as if weighing his words carefully.

His silence stretched on long enough that you wondered if he would respond at all. But just when you thought he wouldn’t, his deep, gravelly voice finally broke through the night.

“…It wasn’t so bad.”

It was such a simple, understated response—but coming from him, it might as well have been a full-blown confession.

You couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that escaped your lips, warmth blooming in your chest. “Not so bad, huh?” You turned your head to glance up at him, teasing smile in place. “That’s probably the closest thing to a compliment I’ll ever get from you.”

Piccolo’s brow twitched, but there was no irritation behind it—just the faintest flicker of amusement buried deep within his expression. His gaze shifted back toward the trees, pretending not to notice the way your smile lingered.

“You’re exaggerating,” he muttered. “I’ve given you plenty of compliments.”

“Name one.”

His brow furrowed deeper, the corner of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a smile of his own. He went quiet again, and for a moment you thought he might try to avoid the question entirely.

But then…

“…You have good form.”

It was such a Piccolo response that you couldn’t help but laugh—a soft, breathy sound that seemed to catch him off guard. His ears gave the smallest twitch at the sound, as if the warmth behind your laughter somehow affected him more than he wanted to admit.

You shifted onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him. “That’s not a compliment—that’s constructive criticism.”

Piccolo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flicking away stubbornly. “It’s both.”

Another chuckle slipped out before you settled back onto the grass, your head resting against your arm as you gazed up at the sky once more. The playful smile lingered on your lips, but beneath the teasing banter, there was a gentle warmth that neither of you dared to acknowledge out loud. 

You knew Piccolo wasn’t the kind of person to toss out kind words easily. Every small gesture—every subtle, carefully chosen word—held weight with him.

And the fact that he’d willingly stepped so far out of his comfort zone tonight, just to humor you…?

It was more than enough.

You let out a long, contented sigh, closing your eyes again as the night breeze whispered across your skin.

“Sure… keep telling yourself that, Piccolo.”

(3,916 words)

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Part X

You are currently reading part XI

Part XII: Coming Soon...

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