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lilyswrittenworks · 4 months ago

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XVIII | Breaking Point

Warning(s): Lots of cursing, heavy angst, tension, and crying

Synopsis: Piccolo is struggling to accept his developing feelings towards you and so he does what he knows best; he becomes distant. Hoping that his absence and lack of engagement would deter you. But there is one fatal flaw from this decision: you were a very stubborn person who just wanted to know the truth.

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It had been two weeks since you first noticed it—the shift.

The way Piccolo's demeanor toward you had changed.

At first, you chalked it up to your own overthinking. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe something else was weighing on his mind. But as the days stretched on, it became impossible to ignore.

The warmth he had once shown you—the quiet patience, the silent but steadfast presence by your side—was gone.

Replaced by something cold.

Sharp.

Hostile.

It had started subtly, in the way he avoided looking at you for too long, the way he kept his distance. Then came the clipped responses, the indifference in his tone, and worst of all, the way he spoke to you as if you were nothing more than an obligation.

That realization hit you harder than any physical wound ever could.

You didn't understand.

You had spent three months recovering, leaning on his strength, comforted by the knowledge that he cared. But now? Now it felt like he couldn't get far enough away from you.

You had confronted him again and again, desperate to understand what you had done wrong. Each time, you were met with the same cold dismissal.

But tonight it all came to a boiling point, you were standing in the kitchen, confronting Piccolo once again about why he was acting out of character.

"Don't read into things," he had said. "I was only helping because you were reckless. That's all. Now that you're better, you don't need me."

That had cut deep.

Like a knife twisting in your chest, reopening wounds that had nothing to do with your injuries.

The words slipped out before you could stop them—an angry, wounded snarl as you shouted at him, defending your choices.

"If I hadn't done what I did, my student would've died! You know that!"

For the first time, you saw something flicker across Piccolo's face.

Regret.

And something else—something unreadable.

But you were too hurt to dwell on it. Too furious to try.

A sharp pain shot through your chest, yanking you back to reality. A strangled gasp tore from your lips as your knees nearly buckled. Your hand flew to your chest, pressing against the source of the pain as you braced yourself against the kitchen counter, breathing ragged.

The regret on Piccolo's face vanished instantly.

His entire body went rigid as his eyes locked onto you, widening in alarm. Without hesitation, he stepped toward you.

But before he could reach you—

"No."

Your voice came out in a shaky breath, but there was no mistaking the venom laced in it.

Piccolo halted.

"Don't you dare," you hissed through gritted teeth, lifting your gaze to meet his.

The strands of your hair had fallen over your eyes, but even through them, you could see the way his expression shifted. The way his hands clenched at his sides.

For a brief moment, you saw guilt.

But you didn't care.

Not anymore.

"Don't you dare act like you care all of a sudden."

Your voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion and something dangerously close to heartbreak. You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to push past the pain that gripped your chest, but it was becoming impossible. Your heart was hammering—too fast, too erratic—and deep down, you knew this wasn't good. You were still recovering from the operation from three months ago.

There was only so much your heart could take.

"I've been patient with you, Piccolo," you continued, your breaths coming in shorter bursts. "Trying to see past your cold indifference lately, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but..."

You trailed off, your throat tightening.

Seeing him look at you with such detachment, feeling the weight of his cold indifference toward you when all you had ever done was care for him—it was too much.

Another sharp wave of pain lanced through your chest. A pained gasp escaped your lips, and before you knew it, your body hunched over, forehead pressing against the cool surface of the kitchen counter.

You barely registered the movement beside you before you felt it.

A hand.

Warm. Solid. Him.

Piccolo's hand rested gently against your back, his touch impossibly careful, as if afraid you might shatter beneath his fingers.

For a split second, you almost gave in.

You almost turned to him, almost let yourself collapse into his arms where you knew you would find comfort.

You wanted to.

But just as quickly as the thought formed, you shoved it down—deep, deep into the pit of your stomach where all your unspoken words already rotted.

His voice came softly. "(Y/n)—"

You didn't let him finish.

With a sharp inhale, you pulled away from his touch like it had burned you, your expression twisted with pain—both physical and emotional. Without another glance, you turned toward the stairs.

"Whatever half-assed apology you have in mind—forget it. I don't want to hear it."

You reached the bottom step, then hesitated. For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, slowly, you turned your head just enough to meet his gaze over your shoulder.

"If you really feel sorry," you whispered, voice trembling, "then you'll tell me why you've been acting like a total jackass. But you won't. You never do."

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down the emotions threatening to claw their way out.

"So... stay here. Watch over me. Then Leave." Your grip on the railing tightened, nails digging into the wood. "I don't care anymore."

With that, you turned your back on him.

You didn't look at him again.

Couldn't.

The weight of sadness crashed into you like a tidal wave, pressing down on your chest until it felt like you might break. Your hand curled into the fabric of your shirt, gripping tightly over your heart as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You sucked in a slow, shaky breath before forcing your legs to move, each step up the stairs feeling heavier than the last.

Piccolo didn't move.

He simply stood there, watching as you disappeared at the top of the stairwell. A few moments later, he heard it—the faint click of your door closing.

And then the sound that nearly brought him to his knees.

Your muffled sobs.

His chest ached at the sound.

Because he knew.

He knew he was the reason you were crying.

His fists clenched at his sides, his sharp nails biting into his palms until the skin broke. A shadow cast over his eyes, his jaw locked so tightly it felt like it might snap.

A part of him wanted to go to you.

To hold you.

To tell you the truth.

That he was scared. That he felt something for you so strong it terrified him. That he had been pushing you away not because he didn't care—

—but because he cared too much.

But then came the other part of him.

The one that whispered bitterly in the back of his mind, reminding him of what he was.

A monster. A warrior originally born for world domination and destruction. Someone undeserving of the warmth you offered so freely.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He couldn't allow himself to love you.

And yet...

He already did.

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You let out a quiet sigh, resting your chin in your palm as you stared down at your half-eaten meal. The food, once warm and comforting, had gone cold, much like the atmosphere of your home since Piccolo stopped visiting. It was strange—how quickly you had grown accustomed to his presence, how easily his absence could make your house feel... hollow.

The TV droned on in the background, some late-night talk show playing, but you weren't really paying attention. Your mind kept replaying that moment—the way your voice had risen, frustration bubbling over, the sharp look in Piccolo's eyes before everything went south.

Four days. Four long, quiet days. Piccolo had never gone this long without at least stopping by—checking in on you like he always did. Even when he'd get on your nerves with his blunt remarks or silent observations, he was always there.

Now he wasn't.

You missed him and every time your mind circled back to him, the ache in your chest deepened. The weight of your own harsh words from four days ago hung heavy in the air. You clenched your fist, fingers curling into your palm as if trying to physically hold back the regret gnawing away inside you.

You had been so angry—so hurt—that day. The bitterness of his criticism had felt like betrayal, especially when all you had wanted was to protect your student. You knew Piccolo had only been trying to keep you safe, but his delivery... his coldness... it had cut you deeper than any bullet ever could.

But now?

Now all you could think about was how he had tried to reach out to you afterward. How his hand—so large, so warm—had rested on your back, grounding you for a moment. How his deep voice had softened as he murmured your name, his rare tenderness breaking through the walls he usually kept so firmly in place. And you had shoved him away.

You closed your eyes, setting down your fork before rubbing your temples.

You desperately wanted to hear his voice again, to have him by your side again. You cared for him, a lot more than you expected and the longer you sat there, the more unbearable the silence became. The realization of what he meant to you—what he had always meant to you—was crashing down like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and exposed.

You stared down at your half-eaten, untouched food with wide eyes.

"Oh my god," you rubbed your hands on your face. "Oh my god..."

You quickly rose from your stool and made your way toward the glass door. Your chest felt tight, your heart beating faster with every second. The weight of everything—your regret, your longing, your sudden realization—pressed against your ribs until it was almost hard to breathe.

You needed to talk to Piccolo. Now.

But where were you going to find him? Fuck. If only you knew how to fly properly you could've found him with ease, but sadly Piccolo only taught you how to hover to try and cover the basics in flying.

You folded your arms, staring through the glass sliding door onto the wooden porch, trying to come up with something. Piccolo didn't own a phone, so you couldn't even call him to begin with. Fucking hell, you couldn't even feel out his energy signature, because, wouldn't you know it? You haven't even mastered it. You felt frustrated by the limited options you had at your disposal.

Your fingers curled into the sleeves of your hoodie, the chill from the glass seeping into your skin. You stepped closer to the door, your breath fogging up the glass slightly as you squinted into the night. The backyard stretched out into the dark horizon, the faint outlines of trees swaying gently under the moonlight.

Then—movement.

At first, you thought you imagined it. But there it was again. A flicker of white through the shadows, disappearing behind the trees.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

It couldn't be... could it?

You pressed your hand against the glass, your eyes locked onto the spot where you'd seen it. The shape shifted again—a familiar billowing cape catching the faint breeze before vanishing behind the thick foliage.

It was him.

You threw open the sliding door, the night air rushing in and biting at your skin. Barefoot, you stepped onto the porch, the wood cold beneath your soles. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your voice catching in your throat as you whispered his name.

"Piccolo.."

Without a second thought, you rushed across the porch, your bare feet hit the wooden steps with a soft thud as you rushed down toward the yard, the grass tickling your ankles as you sprinted towards the tree line. The further you ran, the harder it became to see, the darkness pressing in on you, but you didn't care. You could feel him. You didn't need to know how to sense energies to know that he was here. He was close, you knew it, and nothing would stop you now.

Your breath hitched, and your legs burned from the sudden sprint. But you couldn't stop, not when you were this close.

There, just beyond the moonlight, was his silhouette—tall, unmistakable, and standing still. His back was turned, his arms folded as he looked out toward the horizon, lost in thought. He hadn't even noticed that you were standing just a few feet away from him.

"Piccolo?" You panted, stepping closer, barely aware of the sweat dotting your forehead.

At the sound of your voice, his body stiffened, but he didn't turn. A long, pregnant silence hung between you. He didn't move or speak, and it made the air around you feel heavy—like you were waiting for permission to be heard.

You swallowed, your throat dry, but you wouldn't back down. "I need to talk to you. I... I'm sorry for how I acted. I shouldn't have pushed you away like that."

Still, he remained silent. His broad back was a solid wall in the moonlight. The tightness in your chest threatened to suffocate you, and yet you couldn't stop yourself from taking another step forward. "But I need to know why," you took in a shaky breath, voice trembling with vulnerability. "Why have you been acting so differently? Was it something I said? What did I do?"

You waited, your heart pounding painfully against your ribcage as the silence stretched between you both, dragging on for what felt like an eternity.

He exhaled softly, breaking the stillness, but still didn't face you. There was a long pause before he finally spoke in that low, controlled voice of his.

"None of this is your fault. It never was."

"Then what is the issue, Piccolo? That doesn't excuse how cold and rude you were to me! Do you even care how you made me feel?!"

Piccolo whipped around, his cape billowing dramatically behind him as he faced you, his dark eyes furrowed deeply. The moonlight illuminated the hard lines of his face, casting shadows over the anguish etched into his features. "Do you think I liked hurting you? That was the last thing I wanted to do. All those horrible things I said... it's inexcusable. I regret it. All of it." Piccolo shut his eyes tightly, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides.

Your heart ached at the regret lacing his words.

"Do you even understand why I left?" he asked quietly, his tone distant. You remained silent, giving him the chance to explain himself. "I had to step back, to give you space, and to give myself time to think things through." He opened his eyes once again to meet yours. You looked so vulnerable under the pale moonlight—your shoulder-length hair unkempt, dark circles under your eyes betraying how little sleep you had gotten. Seeing you like this—because of him—broke something deep inside of him.

"You deserve better, (Y/n)." There was a heaviness in his words, like they had been weighing on him just as much as they had been weighing on you. "You don't need someone like me in your life anymore." He muttered, his voice barely above a breath. "I... I acted harsh on purpose to push you away. To protect you from—"

"From what?" you cut him off, your voice trembling. "From you?"

His silence was answer enough.

Your heart twisted painfully.

"That's not true," you whispered, clutching your trembling hands against your chest. "Please... tell me that isn't true."

Piccolo squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching tightly. Your heart dropped, fighting back tears that were building up at the corners of your eyes. "No, you can't. I—I need you in my life, Piccolo! You mean a lot to me... can't you see that? Don't leave me—please, please...."

His guarded features faltered, his brow furrowing deeply. The sound of your voice breaking—begging for him to stay—shattered whatever resolve he had been clinging onto. His eyes shot open as he blurted out, "Stop that, damn it! You're making this much harder than it needs to be."

"Then why... why can't you stay? What are you so afraid of, Piccolo? Why can't you just fucking tell me for once in you goddamn life?!"

He growled lowly, dragging his hand down his face in frustration. "I'm afraid of losing you!"

You froze.

He continued, voice breaking. "You are everything that I never knew I could have. How can I give you the life you deserve when just being affiliated with me is a bigger danger than you could possibly imagine?"

His mind flashed back to all the battles he had fought—the lives lost, the constant threats lurking in the shadows. Even before he met you, the nightmares of Majin Buu's rampage still haunted him—the fact that you were among the countless victims he'd failed to protect sent him over the edge. The threat was gone now, but there would always be another waiting just beyond the horizon. He couldn't drag you into that... not when your life meant more to him than his own.

You didn't deserve to be caught in his mess—all because of his own selfish desire to keep you close.

"Fuck—do you have any idea how terrified I am to know that I'm in love with you?!"

The weight of his confession hung thick in the air, suffocating the space between you both.

You couldn't breathe—wouldn't—as if any sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile moment you had stumbled into. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, your mind reeling from the admission you never thought you'd hear from him—Piccolo, the stoic, guarded warrior... in love with you?

Piccolo's sharp features were twisted in conflict, his jaw clenched tightly as if he'd already regretted letting those vulnerable words slip from his lips. His arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers twitching in small, nervous motions. Even with his back partially turned to you, you could see how tense his entire body was—like he was preparing for you to reject him... or worse, pity him.

But how could he not see what he meant to you?

"Piccolo..." you whispered, barely finding your voice. Your heart ached at how hard he was trying to suppress his own emotions—as if believing they were something to be ashamed of.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name on your lips, his breathing shallow and uneven. He looked like he was fighting himself—fighting every instinct screaming at him to retreat.

"I never wanted you to know..." he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud made him feel even smaller. "It would've been easier if I never—" His voice cracked, forcing him to stop mid-sentence. He dragged his hand down his face, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "You deserve someone who isn't... me. Someone who can give you a normal life—a safe life."

You felt your heart twist painfully.

God, he didn't even realize what he was doing to you.

"Don't you get it?" Your voice trembled, the frustration and heartbreak bubbling to the surface. "I don't want a normal life... not if it means you're not in it!"

His breath caught.

"I don't care if you're a Namekian... or a warrior... or if the whole damn universe thinks you're dangerous." Your voice broke, tears welling at the corners of your eyes. "All I care about is you. The man who always puts everyone else first. The man who's been silently protecting me from the moment we met without ever asking for anything in return."

Piccolo's eyes finally flicked toward you—sharp dark irises glinting beneath the pale moonlight. His chest rose and fell a little faster now, as if your words were chipping away at the walls he'd built around himself.

"You think you're dangerous to me?" You took a cautious step closer, clutching your trembling hands against your chest. "The only thing you've ever done is make me feel safe."

He froze.

His eyes locked onto yours, wide and disbelieving—like no one had ever dared to say something like that to him before.

"You don't understand," he muttered hoarsely, his voice breaking under the weight of his own self-loathing. "I could hurt you. Just by being around me... you could get killed. Do you know what that would do to me? Do you have any idea how many nights I've stayed awake... picturing what would happen if you got caught in the crossfire just because you were close to me?"

You could see the haunted memories flickering behind his eyes—the countless battles he'd fought, the lives he'd seen ripped away in an instant.

It was tearing him apart.

"You think you're protecting me by leaving?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "All you're doing is breaking my heart."

A pained growl rumbled in the back of his throat, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to argue—needed to—but the words wouldn't come out.

Instead, his chest heaved with every unsteady breath—his entire body trembling under the weight of emotions he'd spent years trying to suppress.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and took another step closer—close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his towering frame.

"You're not a monster, Piccolo," you whispered, your voice breaking. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

His entire body flinched—like your words physically hurt him.

For a long, agonizing moment, he couldn't even look at you—his sharp jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

But then... slowly, his head turned just enough to meet your gaze.

His dark eyes burned with so many emotions at once—fear, anguish, longing.

But underneath all of that...

There was love.

Raw, unfiltered love—so painfully obvious now that he couldn't hide it anymore.

Your heart skipped a beat, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

"You really don't get it, do you?" you whispered shakily. "You say you're afraid of losing me... but don't you realize? You've already got me. You had me from the very beginning."

Piccolo's breath caught—his eyes flicking between yours like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"You love me..." you said softly, testing the words on your tongue.

His gaze dropped to the ground, his sharp cheekbones tinged with that faint purple hue once again.

"I don't know how to..." he trailed off, his voice breaking. "...I don't know how to love someone the way you deserve."

Your heart shattered.

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached out—your fingertips brushing tentatively against the back of his clenched fist.

"You already do," you whispered.

Piccolo's shoulders trembled beneath his weighted shoulder-pads.

For a long moment, he didn't move.

But then—so slowly it made your heart ache—his fingers unfurled beneath yours, rough calloused skin brushing against your palm.

Your breath caught.

He was letting you in.

Finally—after all this time—he was letting himself be vulnerable.

You squeezed his hand gently, grounding him to the present.

"I'm not afraid of you, Piccolo," you whispered. "I'm afraid of losing you... of you walking away from something that's right in front of you because you don't think you're worthy of it."

His breath hitched, his eyes squeezing shut like your words physically hurt him.

"I don't deserve you..." he muttered brokenly.

"But you do," you insisted, your voice trembling. "You're so much more than what you think you are... and I love you for every part of it."

His eyes snapped open, wide and vulnerable.

You could see the exact moment his resolve crumbled—the way his chest caved slightly, his breath hitching in a ragged, broken exhale.

Without warning, Piccolo suddenly pulled you into his arms—his massive hands trembling as they gripped your body tightly, like he was terrified you'd disappear if he let go.

Your heart ached at how gentle he was—despite his strength, despite everything he'd tried to convince himself he was.

You buried your face against his abdomen, your tears soaking into the fabric of his gi.

"I'm right here," you whispered against him, your voice breaking. "I'm not going anywhere."

Piccolo's arms tightened around you, his chin pressing against the top of your head, slightly hunched over to keep you as close as he could.

For the first time in his life...

He let himself believe you.

(4,167 words)

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(a/n)

FINALLY. The moment we've all been waiting is hereee!

I was going to submit this post early as a surprise for you lovely reader but uh... the power grid on the entire island went out. 😭 I was so sad because of the timing lol

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Part XVII

You are currently reading Part XVIII

Part XIX

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It Turned into Love Masterlist

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Tag list:

@utakamo

@nerdy-girl-named-pumpkin

@dovah-bee

@thatsbunnysmind

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