Chapter Text
Nestled on the edge of a quiet forest far removed from the chaos of cities or the interference of curious neighbors, a modest capsule home stood tucked beneath the shade of tall, swaying pines. The sky stretched wide above it, endless and blue, occasionally broken by the drifting shapes of clouds or the soft hum of a passing bird. It was peaceful here. Eerily so to those unfamiliar with the stillness, but for the two who lived here, it was nothing short of paradise.
Piccolo had chosen this place deliberately. Not just for its remoteness, but for the way the light filtered through the trees in the early morning, for the absolute silence that came just before dawn, and for the distance it gave him from the rest of the world. For a man who had once been born of rage and solitude, he had come to value quietude in a far more personal way. It was not an escape, but rather clarity. In the echo of birdsong and the breeze moving over water, he found something that resembled contentment.
It wasn’t long after settling here that Y/N moved in.
Their meeting had been unexpected, one of those seemingly small moments that somehow unraveled the fabric of a life and rewove it entirely. He had only gone to the pet store to entertain Pan. She’d begged to see the animals, and he, as always, had given in to the girl’s energy. He hadn’t planned to notice the woman behind the counter, hadn’t planned to be drawn in by the sound of her laugh or the kindness in her eyes. But something about her had disarmed him completely, even if he didn’t understand it at the time.
He returned. Again and again. Always with Pan. Always with a new excuse. A new reason to hover by the lizards or to ask about the care requirements for cats, despite having no intention of owning one. Y/N had played along with a knowing smile. She was patient, never pushy, but always warm, and that warmth had slowly cracked through the armor he wore so tightly.
It had taken months for him to ask her on a date. Longer still before he let her see the version of himself that wasn't a protector, a warrior, a mentor, or a remnant of some intergalactic conflict. With Y/N, he was just... Piccolo. A Namekian with more feelings than he knew how to handle and a deeply embarrassing fondness for cute things he would deny under interrogation.
Now, three years later, their days were slow and rich with comfort. Mornings often began with meditation on the deck while Y/N sipped tea beside him, her presence quiet and grounding. Sometimes she would read aloud to him from her favorite books, or she’d describe her dreams from the night before while he listened with one eye closed, half-lulled back into a light sleep by the sound of her voice. They kept a small vegetable garden, partly because Y/N liked to cook, and partly because Piccolo found a strange satisfaction in watching things grow under his care.
The house reflected the merging of their lives, simple and clean, but with unexpected details. A stack of well-loved sci-fi novels on the coffee table. A hand-stitched quilt over the back of the couch. A tiny green frog plush hidden discreetly on a high shelf, one of the first gifts Y/N had ever given him. He thought she didn’t know he kept it. She knew.
Sometimes they sparred. Lightly, playfully. Y/N was no fighter, but Piccolo made it feel like a dance, coaching her with endless patience and the occasional sharp quip. He didn’t often smile with his mouth, but Y/N had come to recognize the way his eyes softened, the almost invisible quirk at the edge of his lips when he was enjoying himself. She called it his “not-a-smile,” which he pretended to hate. She wasn’t fooled.
They were happy in a way that didn’t need grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was in the way Piccolo always made sure her tea never ran cold. How Y/N gently patched the small tears in his cape when he pretended not to notice. In how they moved through the world not as two halves of a whole, but as two complete beings who had, somehow, found rest in each other.
And in that stillness, in that quiet life they'd built together, Piccolo had found something he never thought he would want: a home.
But as Piccolo currently sat in the quiet of their house, long legs folded beneath him, cape draped around his shoulders like a mantle of shadow, his thoughts stirred in a way the peaceful environment could not soothe.
He had one complaint.
It wasn’t about their life together. Y/N was everything to him. She brought light into corners of his soul he hadn’t realized were dark. She never asked him to be anything other than who he was. She didn’t flinch at his silences, nor did she take offense when his affection came in quiet glances or small, unseen acts of care. She simply understood him. And for a long time, that understanding had been enough.
But as Piccolo sat now on the edge of their shared sofa, arms loosely folded and his long legs drawn up in a contemplative pose, a small shadow pressed at the edge of his otherwise peaceful mind. The house was silent. Y/N had stepped out for groceries, leaving behind the faint scent of lavender from her favorite candle and the warmth of her half-finished tea. Normally, that would’ve been enough to keep him calm. Anchored. But today, the silence only gave space to a thought he’d worked hard to keep buried.
It wasn’t about Y/N, never her. She was the center of everything soft in his life, the person who had shown him patience, who never looked at his otherness like it was a burden. She never asked for more than what he could give, never made him feel inadequate or subpar. But maybe that was part of the problem. Because lately, he felt… lacking.
Namekians were asexual, not in the human sense, not even in a way that made room for discussion. His species didn’t reproduce like mammals did on Earth. There were no genetic legacies passed through flesh, no conception between two loving partners. He had no organs for such a thing. He wasn’t built for it. His people were made differently, clans of warriors and mystics who birthed their kin through will and biology foreign to this world. It had never mattered before.
He had no physical need the way humans did, no biological drive or anatomy that mirrored Y/N’s. And in the beginning, that hadn’t mattered. They had found their rhythm, their language of closeness. He used his hands, his mouth, his entire body to learn what made her sigh, made her legs shake, made her whisper his name like it was sacred. She never complained, never asked for what he couldn’t give. But…
Piccolo stared down at his palms, fingers curling slightly. It wasn’t enough anymore.
He wanted to be inside her. That simple, that impossibly complex. It wasn’t just about sex, it was about wanting to connect with her in the way he knew other Earth couples did, the way he imagined she might secretly long for but never voiced. The thought made him feel hollow in places he couldn’t even name. And worse, he couldn’t tell her. How could he? How could he explain a frustration rooted in the biology he was born with? He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
But he did.
It twisted in his chest every time he saw her pause by the baby clothing section at the store, her fingers brushing the sleeve of some tiny outfit she had no reason to buy. He noticed how her eyes lingered on families in restaurants, how her smile turned wistful when Pan threw herself into her arms. Y/N loved children; he knew that. She would be a good mother. She deserved to be one.
And he could never give her that.
The jealousy he felt was sharp and sour, directed at no one, at everyone. At human men, at Saiyans who could multiply and grow families like fields of wildflowers. At his people for being built so differently, so impossibly distant from the world she came from. And it made him angry. Not at her. Never at her. But at the way this one thing gnawed at the seams of the peace they'd so carefully built.
He buried his face in one hand, rubbing at the spot between his eyes.
He didn't know what to do with this need, this ache to give her what he couldn’t, children, yes, but also himself, fully, without limits. Not through approximation or patience or clever hands, but in the raw, human way. In the way he could never quite satisfy, no matter how devoted he was to her pleasure.
So he kept it to himself. Like always. Tucked it deep under layers of calm, logic, and silence.
Because if he told her… and she said it didn’t matter… he wasn’t sure that would make the ache go away. And Piccolo did what he always did when his emotions threatened to spill over.
He folded them deep inside his chest, where they wouldn’t trouble her, where they couldn’t be seen.
Where they could only hurt him instead.
The door opened with a soft hiss of the capsule house’s seal releasing, and Y/N stepped inside, arms loaded with grocery bags and cheeks pink from the breeze outside.
“I'm home!” she called cheerfully, her voice cutting gently through the weight in Piccolo’s chest like sunlight parting the clouds.
He looked up quickly, adjusting his posture without thinking, schooling his expression into something calmer, neutral. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d been scowling until the corners of her eyes crinkled with concern.
She set the bags down on the counter and brushed her hands off on her jeans. “Everything alright?” she asked, not coming closer yet, just watching him. Gauging.
Piccolo hesitated. “Fine,” he said, and it sounded too quick. Too tight.
She didn't press. She rarely did when he got like this, quiet and withdrawn, swimming in some internal storm he wouldn’t name. She knew him well enough to wait for the edges of it to pass on their own. Still, she shifted gears with practiced ease, giving him something to land on instead.
“So,” she said as she began putting away the groceries, “I was thinking of meeting up with Bulma soon. Coffee, maybe. She invited me out, but…” She reached into a bag, pulling out a can of tea leaves. “She’s about to take the company sub out again. She says the last Dragon Ball is off the coast somewhere, just rolling around in an ocean trench waiting for her.”
Piccolo’s head lifted at that, a slow curiosity blooming in his gaze.
Y/N caught it and smiled faintly. “Yeah. She’s still at it. Says she’ll use the wishes for something useful this time. But we both know last time she asked for longer lashes and a better butt, so…” She gave a playful shrug. “I’m not holding my breath. Maybe she’ll ask for Vegeta to be home more often,“ She snickers to herself as she places the tea in the cabinet.
Piccolo let out a small sound, half scoff, half breath through his nose. He remembered his last expedition vividly. He’d helped her, mostly out of obligation; she had the radar and resources, and he needed a power boost ahead of a brutal fight he knew he couldn’t win on his own. Shenron had granted his wish for strength without question. It had been efficient. Practical. Logical.
Bulma, on the other hand… She hadn’t even blinked when she made her wishes. It was so her. Shameless. Brazen. She didn’t apologize for wanting what she wanted.
Piccolo’s gaze drifted, mind ticking.
That last Dragon Ball. One left.
He didn’t need all seven. Bulma had six. If he helped her again, made it seem like a favor, like old times, she’d welcome his involvement. And three wishes… three.
What if…
No. It was a ridiculous idea. Selfish. Indulgent. Too human.
And yet… Why not?
Bulma had used the Eternal Dragon to enhance herself physically for vanity. Would it really be so wrong if he used one wish for something that could help his relationship… maybe even their future?
He wouldn’t tell Y/N, of course. Not yet. And Bulma didn’t need to know the details either. He could invent some excuse. Something technical. He was good at being vague.
Y/N’s voice brought him back.
“You’re really quiet today,” she said gently. “More than usual, I mean.”
Piccolo blinked, then stood up, walking over to help her with the last of the bags. “Just thinking,” he said, tone steady now, distant but not cold. “About something I might help Bulma with.”
She tilted her head. “Oh?”
He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “That last Dragon Ball. She shouldn’t go searching alone.”
Then she hummed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s sweet of you.”
He looked at her then, really looked. At the way she smiled so easily, not knowing the storm beneath his skin. At the way her body moved gently around the space they shared, utterly at home. His heart twisted.
Yes. He’d help Bulma. He’d find that last Dragon Ball. And maybe, just maybe, he’d wish for something he never thought he was allowed to want.