wImPsY

my husbands tell me to rest and chill tf out

[worshipmedear]

Become mine, eternally.

Call me Wimpsy, she/her

I love handsome, well-written man.

Fandom: Genshin, Akuneko, HSR

English is not my native language and Im improving it. Feel free to ask me about my favourite characters. (DNI if you have ill intent or not so polite question)

Currently liking Dottore Zandik, I love his segments equally, after all they are just parts of him.

Burn the old self, set yourself free.

[baidao]

[baidao]

[baidao]

[pipisgoldmine]

Slow living with naku i guess?

[baidao]

[fatuismooches]

The twenty-five-year-old Segment was easier to fluster than you anticipated.

At first glance, he appeared serious and stern, the surgical mask that always seemed to remain on and the glint from his glasses sometimes obscuring his eyes only adding to the sense of unease. The way he cooped himself up in his lab, diagrams and notes of things he kept hidden from you, examination tables wiped clean of whatever transpired on them whenever you came in, and sharp tools set out of sight didn’t help either. It was clear he was more involved in his research, more than the older Segments, for example.

On the surface, you did not think of him as someone like Eighteen. The younger Segment was somber and angry and hurt. He was blunt while speaking, but would melt in your embrace when you showed him some attention. Twenty-Five, however, did not seem as outwardly emotional. He was also straight to the point, but he didn’t seem to be flustered around you, appearing to be more detached. 

Perhaps, after so many years had passed, he’d learned to regulate such feelings. It was only natural for you to be curious, since this was what Eighteen became after, or rather, what the last version of Zandik that you knew turned into after you fell asleep. But putting aside the details, what mattered was that you once again had a Segment to do some investigating on.

The investigating being how to get Twenty-Five to pull his surgical mask down and let you give him a proper kiss, of course. 

It looked like the Segment was a stickler for lab rules. You couldn’t come in unless he allowed you. According to him, it had to be wiped down and prepared for entry in compliance with his standards for your safety and comfort. And then, other personnel had to be dismissed so as not to lay their undeserving eyes on you. However, deep down, you were sure it was mostly a means to keep his experiments in the dark from you.

Regardless, that was only a very brief summary of the precautions he had in place not just for you, but for efficiency as well. And that was also why his mask always seemed to cover his nose and lips, leaving much of that lovely face to the imagination. Or perhaps it also had to do with his growing habit of hiding his face from the world.

“Are you sure I can’t get a little peek of what you’re hiding, Twenty-Five?” You’d always try to lurk behind him, waiting for a moment that he’d stop to rest and pull down his mask for fresh air, or more mischievously, a moment for him to slip up. But you could never catch him with his guard down.

“No,” he’d say, very simply.

“Not even for me? For your darling dearest?” You’d ask the next time you saw him.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Not even if I say please? Or if I want to see what it looks like when you smile or frown?” That was another attempt.

“That won’t be happening.”

“So, I can’t even stroke my lover’s cheek or kiss him properly?” You planted your cheek on his back in dissatisfaction, as he paused whenever he was writing on the board. Whenever you paid him a visit, he would always be scribbling on his wall of notes. There were no dangerous chemicals or bodies around to give you a fright. It was like he carefully prepared his work around your presence.

“Surely you have other things to do, or at least, more productive questions you can ask me?” Twenty-Five let out a sigh, his hand falling down to his side, before unclipping a diagram from the wall and pushing it into your hands. “Why don’t you look over this?” So instead of clinging to his back, you were pushed into a chair and given his notes to review. You let out a noise of disappointment but scanned over the papers with interest anyway.

If he’d given it to anyone else, they would have shuddered and called it blasphemous among sputtering things of that nature. However, the time you spent at the Akademiya with the original Zandik made certain ideas seem rather tame. Or maybe, he gave you those on purpose.

Regardless, it was clear he was waiting for you to speak, because although his attention was directed to the board in front of him, you could see Twenty-Five glancing at you from the corner of his eyes every so often. It was cute, so naturally you began asking all sorts of questions.

Although his expression remained the same, he adjusted his glasses and straightened his back, as if pleased at this new line of questioning. Perhaps he was even biting back a small smile underneath that surgical mask. He was quieter and more reserved than the other Segments, but when you got him started on his research, he became a more talkative man. Typical Zandik. Poor thing, having so many ideas and such, but with no one to listen. 

The Segment had come near you now, nodding and shaking his head as he discussed with you, his normally aloof tone now containing a spark in it. While you were taking in his words with great consideration, you were also very much entranced by his features. Two wide bangs, not long and thin like the older Segments, but still fluffy. His red eyes were still visible, and although the glare from the light sometimes blocked them, it was more amusing than intimidating, in your opinion. 

Twenty-Five was very pretty, and that just made you want to kiss him. So you did. 

Well, kind of. You weren’t sure if it truly qualified as a kiss. You only reached to press your lips against the thin fabric blocking you from his actual lips, but it was still enjoyable nonetheless, as you could feel a bit of his real softness anyway. You were pleased and grinned at your success, not very fazed, as if what you did was perfectly normal, while the Segment had gone quiet at your advances.

“Mhm, what were you saying?” You batted your eyes at him, and you couldn’t help but wonder if his mouth was slightly ajar, or if there was a blush on his cheeks. You weren’t sure whether to expect a reaction or not, but after a few moments, Twenty-Five only flicked his glasses up with his finger and cleared his throat before continuing his dialogue.

He was a bit harder to crack, wasn’t he?

—

That was what you thought, but soon enough, you noticed that Twenty-Five was seeking you out, which was unusual. Research consumed much of his time, so a lot of the time you spent with him was following him into his lab or making him take breaks for eating. It was different than the other Segments who’d, for example, sneak into your room with you or insist on you spending the night in theirs.

So when Twenty-Five had popped up near you, making your heart jump out of your chest as he just silently stood there and watched you, you found it quite interesting.

It wasn’t like he had any pressing matters to discuss with you, unlike Eighteen, who would make up one so it seemed like it wasn’t his own personal feelings getting in the way. But Twenty-Five knew the right questions to ask to make you do most of the talking, as he was much more of a listener when it came to mundane and non-research-related matters. He would simply walk with you, taking everything you were saying with great seriousness even if you were just being silly. And then that walk would end up with the two of you in front of the entrance to his lab, somehow.

You quickly caught on, no matter how subtle he tried to be.

Unfortunately, for how meticulously he seemed to have planned for you to end up in his trap, it looked like he was too awkward to put the final step into action. You could tell from the way he would quietly stare at you, as if contemplating something, playing with the rim of his glasses, a habit of his. Eighteen would frequently end up doing something stupid if he made the first move. Twenty-Five was only a few years older. Perhaps he was mature enough to know the consequences of such things and was painstakingly waiting for the best possible moment.

You weren’t sure which type of pathetic was more endearing. Regardless, you were used to taking romantic matters into your own hands due to this. So one day, you just… did.

You were sat in Twenty-Five’s lab, with his papers and whatnot scattered about. The Segment had gone from scribbling on the board, reading through books, doodling some visuals, and then finally settled near you all while you watched.

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” You narrowed your eyes at him, gesturing vaguely with a smile.

“No, not particularly. Did you?” As usual, calm, collected, and deflecting, but you liked it.

“I do. Come closer.” You reached your hand out, innocently enough, flexing your fingers to squeeze him, and of course, he listened. You placed your hand on the center of Twenty-Five’s chest experimentally, to which the Segment’s eyebrows twitched, but remained silent. 

And then, you finally went in for what you really wanted, tugging on the tie that peeked out from above his lab coat. He didn’t really stumble or move all that much, considering your strength was not enough to physically push him around, especially when he was paying close attention to your movements. But it was enough to signify your intentions and bring him closer to you, both your hands remaining firm on the tie.

“I want to kiss you again. Can I?” Of course, he was the one pursuing you this whole time, but it saved a lot of time if you just spun the story like this. Before he could answer, your hand was already caressing his cheek, brushing against the fabric of the mask. Twenty-Five swallowed.

“I have been giving it some thought,” he said, as if a kiss had been taking up a large portion of his thoughts. “Based on experience, I suppose if I don’t say yes now, you’ll ask me about it every time we meet.” 

“Yes, that’s right. So if you don’t mind…” Your finger curled on the top edge of the mask teasingly, before pulling it down to reveal what you’ve been daydreaming about. You leaned in until your lips connected with Twenty-Five’s.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you naturally smiled into the kiss, grasping the cloth on his back. His lips were delightfully soft, a shame they were nearly always hidden under his surgical mask. He still seemed a bit awkward about it, not in Eighteen’s flustered and combative way, but in a quiet yet eager one. It was evident in the way Twenty-Five kissed back, drinking in your soft giggles and sighs and patiently watching.

Well, at least in the beginning.

You had pulled back after a few moments with a satisfied hum and looked back at the Segment to see his face, and that’s when you noticed his eyes were hard to see, the lenses a different shade. More specifically, it seemed that Twenty-Five’s glasses had fogged up from… kissing? Perhaps it was from the warmth of the kiss in the cool lab?

It was obvious that the scholar was more than aware of it. In the beginning, he carefully observed you like you were under a microscope. Your expressions, body movements, all of it, tucking it away for further reference. He wasn’t like Eighteen, who would make himself a fool in front of you, less than impressive. No, he was more than capable of controlling himself.

That was until you kissed him for the first time. 

The moment your lips touched his, all of his calculating plans blanked in his head. You held him like he was dear, kissed him with more meaning than he could properly express, all while the most he could do was automatically kiss back so as not to look idiotic. It was clear you knew more about this than he did. An embarrassing notion. The unfamiliar sensation of heat rising to his cheeks, something he’d rarely ever felt, didn’t make things better.

He had learned to hide his feelings, to suppress his expressions, to cover up his bluntness, but was he truly all that different from Eighteen deep down?

“Excuse me.” He cleared his throat before producing a small cloth from his pocket to clean his glasses. Twenty-Five turned his back on you as he took off the glasses, and you immediately frowned and moved in front of him.

“Don’t do that,” you pouted before taking in his face without the eyewear. “Oh, you look cute without them on. I like it.” You nodded in approval as you leaned in as close as you could, and the Segment only let out a sigh and looked away to wipe away the fog in his glasses. He hoped his faint blush had disappeared by now. Next time, he’d make sure that wouldn’t happen again…

“You should let me see you without them more often. And the mask, of course. In bed, perhaps?” Although his hands were nearly always careful and methodical, almost in a machine-like way, the Segment nearly broke the lenses of his glasses at your words. “I mean, you rarely ever come visit me. I get lonely, you know?” You let out a sad sigh, clutching your chest as if your heart was aching. He truly didn’t know whether you were doing this on purpose or not.

The Segment ended up agreeing to your persistence anyway.

After you had left, Twenty-Five had attempted to get back to work. The tables were clean, the trays of tools to the side, he’d changed his gloves and mask, and the test subjects were ready to be brought in for dissection. And yet, when he took hold of the scalpel in his hand, his arms would not steady, shaking from where your fingers dragged along and teased him.

He’d just do something else for now.

—

Twenty-Five, or rather, the original Zandik when he was that age, had studied Eleazar in depth in hopes it would lead to a breakthrough with your own illness. And while he had learned how to suppress the symptoms of that illness, it did not provide many answers for your case. But the Segment still dabbled in it, considering the great knowledge he gained from studying it, and for the… patients that were brought in.

So that was why, with his medical knowledge, he often took care of you when you weren’t feeling well. You were probably the only person who sat on the examination tables and lived to see another day. Twenty-Five had all but confirmed it from the time his hand slipped over your eyes, blocking your vision from reading through the report he had left out, that was not for your perusal. The same gloved hands that took people apart with clinical detachment managed to put you back together with tender care.

But that wasn’t the point.

You lay down on the metal table, hands folded, as Twenty-Five moved the blinding light in front of you to the side. Your medical record was in his hands as he wrote down your complaints.

“Tired. Exhausted… Sleepy,” you yawn, blinking your eyes. It seemed like all your energy had been sapped from you.

“You’ve been saying that for a while,” Twenty-Five said as he filled out your history, and you let out a sound of agreement. He had been doing this for so long, he could probably do it with his eyes closed. And yet it was not something to be proud of. All these years, and yet no cure had made its way into his hands. But that was not to be dwelled on right now.

Gloved hands rested on your forehead, and your eyes shut at the lovely feeling. No fever, he noted. He examined your eyes, ears, mouth, heartbeat, and body like he usually did. He moved away to shuffle through the cabinets, where bottles of medicine and things of the like were stored.

Twenty-Five took one bottle and examined it. He had given it to you before, but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect. But there was no harm in trying it again.

He looked at another bottle. No, it was too early to administer these. It was still in the trial phase, and needed to be tested on others first.

And then the last bottle. It had been fully tested and developed, and was safe for you to use now. Quiet chuckles echoed from behind him.

“What are you laughing at now?” 

“I was just thinking, you really do seem like ‘The Doctor’ right now,” you softly giggled. “You’re in extra serious mode.” The Segment didn’t respond, only sighing. He prepared a glass of water for you and asked you to sit up.

“Open your mouth,” he requested, and you listened as he pushed the tablet onto your tongue, and you quickly swallowed with some water. “Good. You can stay here for a bit, and let me know how you feel.” He began to clean up the area as you nodded. 

Twenty-Five was always so serious, strict, and pent-up about his feelings, despite your efforts to get him to lighten up. But you supposed he couldn’t help it, especially when he saw you so weak. Still, you had to at least try. To show your love and care for him. 

“I think you forgot something.” Your words immediately drew his attention to you.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” He grasped your chin with his fingers and tilted your face, trying to find any sign of discomfort.

“Not unwell. A bit hurt, though.” Twenty-Five stared at you. “You forgot my ‘feel better soon’ kiss,” you said cheekily as you tapped your face. Some tension left the Segment’s shoulders as a somewhat relieved, somewhat exasperated noise escaped him. He should have known better, but…

Twenty-Five lowered his mask and placed a kiss on your forehead, and you smiled in appreciation, knowing he’d always take care of you.

[boundinparchment]

Portrait

Zandik's hands weren't what they used to be. You find a different way to comfort him. Established OldZandik/reader. Reader wears dresses. Inspired by a post on twitter from psychxbby about nail painting and old Zandik wanting to be useful again. On AO3 here.

It was almost done. Weeks of studies, months of pain.

His joints never cooperated anymore.

Trembling, he inhaled and exhaled slow as a single grain of sand through an hourglass before gliding the thin brush over the canvas. The brush jittered, as it always did, and he cursed in old Sumerian as he tried to scrap off the excess with his knife, leaving a scar on your dress.

The lighting that day had been perfect. Deep red satin shining in the afternoon. A perfect, shining gem coveted for its luster and cut.

His days were numbered. So many patients said they felt their body failing them. Feofan had confessed as such over the decades.

His hands had always been so steady, so capable. Surgery was nothing more than child’s play. Fine motor work that was second nature, honed and refined in long hours few ever bothered with. Painting was your forte, your second love, but you’d taught him with patience that almost outpaced his own.

How did someone barely in their third decade be so willing to wait? At that age, he was only patient when it mattered, but you?

You felt at ease in this world. He didn’t so much envy you as he did long to capture it, understand it, so he too could feel it, one day.

Zandik stepped back from the canvas, brow furrowed as he forced his bad eye to focus. Depth perception was difficult and his heart sank.

Nothing but a shadow. Colors stood too sharp against one another, his fingers having been too sore for longer blending periods. It was obvious he’d had more energy for your face, the finest part of the entire masterpiece. Ten years ago, this would have been so easy.

Useless.

Old.

Decrepit.

Why did you bother with him, he wondered. This was meant to be your birthday present, the way he saw you and what you meant to him.

Would you feel compelled to fix it? Straighten the lines, smooth the colors, make quick work of his shaky splatters?

He couldn’t hold a wrench anymore, nor were his eyes good for small mechanisms. With all of the major projects outsourced to the better and more capable parts of himself, this was all he had left. How else did one capture their world visually?

He sat down, palette knife in hand, contemplating just slashing the thing to pieces.

“Zandik?”

Your voice, a melody.

One he didn’t deserve, not right now. The sentiment must have shown or you would not have hesitated as you said, “I can come back.”

He held out a hand, dropping the knife and beckoning you. You took it upon reaching him, fingers finding the sore joints you always worked. So warm, like morning sun on dewed grass.

Your appraising silence was a strange comfort to the voice in his head.

“You are unhappy with it, I take it?” you asked, nestling onto his leg, skirts rustling as you pulled the palette knife from his other hand.

“I can’t do anything anymore,” Zandik whispered. “What good am I, when parts of me are so much more efficient, quicker witted, not prone to failure? What do you see in me?”

You pressed a hand to his cheek and he turned to look at you, still barely halfway through life and full of vigor. Eyes that spoke far beyond their years. Those were always his favorite part of you, so expressive, vibrant.

“I see a man determined,” you started. “Who sacrifices himself in hopes of breaking a wheel he may not be around to see shatter.”

You picked up a brush and without breaking your thought, mixed colors nearby.

“Who looks at the world and understands he still has much to learn, even now.”

Skilled hands filled in the space above your shoulder, painting hands, a jacket, red eyes.

“Who looks at me as if I am a marvel despite having experienced every cruelty this world has to offer. Who has let me chip away at the rational transactional walls that stood between us for many years and given me a treasure unimaginable.”

His eyes stung but through a fog, he saw a soft expression, watched as you turned your pose from a stoic mirror into a dynamic, private moment. Your pose originally involved looking off to the side, away from the viewer, but now you looked at the new figure.

Him.

Two styles, not quite clashing but not blending together, either. Faces the only parts in focus.

“I see a man who loves me, Zandik. And that has always been enough.”

He pulled you closer once you put the tools aside, burrowing his head against you. Other parts might say he grew sentimental in his old age despite ripping apart his soul. Perhaps he had. What else was there for the world to teach him?

It was a lesson he was grateful to have finally learned.

[luminarylorecat]

You are NOT the Father!!!

Warnings: Inaccurate medical jargon (again), slight misunderstanding and arguments, implied smut, possibly ooc Dottore Segments and Pantalone (well at least he smokes that's in character), should I tag it as a crackfic too lol?

Part 1 here in case you missed it!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

It had already been a few months since the baby arrived, and it had been smooth sailing for you.

Is what you'd say if you were lying.

Pushing out a whole-ass baby was not on your bucket list when you got together with Zandik. In fact, both of you were dedicated researchers in your own field.

Researching with Zandik, especially with so many versions of him, was certainly fun. Every segment has its own view, which you recognized as the original Zandik in that particular age.

They were also, just as sexually frustrated as the original him in that age.

This was bound to happen one day or another, though not unwelcome. You only wished someone had warned you about the amount of peace you'd lose by having a child.

"This book says the baby will start walking when it's 9-12 months, and start speaking around the same time," Segment 8 says, reading out from a child development book he'd taken an interest to recently.

Segment 8 had taken upon himself to 'monitor the condition of the newborn'. Although you were rather reserved towards the idea of letting an 8-year-old take care of a baby, you realized that maybe Segment 8 would benefit from being an older brother/a younger uncle towards the infant.

And seeing how interested he was in keeping you company while you were taking care of it, you were right. Segment 8 never did the tasks that the other adult segments did (feeding, changing, putting the baby to sleep); he simply lingered in the corner, waiting for his turn to be the one being pampered by you (he was your first baby after all).

"I see. Anything else, Little Doctor?" you ask, as you put the baby down in the bassinet for a nap.

Little Doctor, now internally overjoyed that you had decided to give your sparse attention to him, flipped the pages to tell you more facts on child development (Segment 45 got it for him, thinking that it would help Segment 8 understand that the baby needed more care than him).

"And it will be able to use tools around 13-18 months old. We can get crayons so it can draw what it sees."

"That's amazing! Would you please draw with the baby then?? It would love to see your aranara drawings too."

"Mhm. Sure." He nods, now taking a seat in the corner of the nursery.

You sigh as you run your fingers through your hair. Taking care of a baby was...challenging. The adult Segments always made sure to be present and 'take shifts' to help you out, but there's only so much they can do. The baby required your constant attention, which was something neither you nor Zandik could help.

"Maybe I should take a shower. Little doctor, could you keep an eye on the baby for a few minutes while I fetch an older segment? I'd like to wash up, so it's better that one of them is here to keep a watch over the baby."

The younger Segment nods as he carefully scooches his chair near the bassinet. You'd rather not leave him with the baby alone, not out of distrust but rather due to how young he was himself. Which makes you wonder.

Where in the world were the other Segments?

Meanwhile, on the other side of Il Dottore's laboratory.

"I object!" Segment 18 protests, slamming his hands down on the table.

"What makes you state that your sperm count is higher than mine? You're older than me! Everyone knows 18-30 is the best range for a man to be fertile. I can excuse Omega, but you, YOU!! I'm not taking any lip from you, 45."

Segment 45 sneered at the younger Segment's outrage, offended by his comment, "Okay, first of all, rude," he remarks, "Second of all, the tests speak for themself. I'm not the one who's wrong when you're the one who's blind. Perhaps you should've controlled your baklava intake before bringing up an objection."

"But he's fundamentally not wrong, though," continues Segment 25, "Omega and I have the highest sperm count as well as motility rate. If it comes down to any of us, it's probably him and me."

"That's not counting the day of conception itself?" 65, who had chosen to stay silent for most of the discussion, spoke up, "Both of you have proven that you have the highest factor in getting her pregnant. However, I was the one who engaged in intimacy during her fertile window. A woman's ability to receive sperm during that period is not to be underestimated. Especially a strong and healthy woman such as my wife."

"Well, we cannot deny that either," ponders Segment 45, "She was violently ill in her first trimester and towards the end of the final one. It may be you in a way."

Segment 25 raises a hand to object, the one who was most medically aligned compared to all the Segments present, "Actually, it would be too late instead. Sperm can stay alive in the uterus for up to 5 days. Though losing some of its potency, any man trying to conceive at that point is probably useless. The one who got to the womb first matters."

"Give up. You can never beat the amount of energy I have," Segment 18 smirks as he sits back down in his seat, too smug in his youth.

"Actually, we make sure to thoroughly 'wash out' before engaging in intimacy ourselves," Segment 45 said, ruffling in his overcoat slightly.

"What do you mean?" asks Segment 18, a tad nervous.

"I mean, I don't want another man's semen on my private parts. The thought makes me shudder," explained the older Segment.

"You-I-What-"

"18, don't tell me you've been.......going at it without giving it a thought..." Segment 25 made a face, disgusted at his own younger self.

Segment 18, enraged and perhaps slightly humiliated, went off, "I-DOES IT EVEN MATTER-"

"It's hygiene-"

"WE'RE THE SAME PERSON ANYWAY-" he argues.

"That does not mean I'm having my penis covered in your semen. You cause enough trouble for my wife as it is with your premature ejaculations."

"I LAST LONGER MIND YOU-"

Segment 25 rolls his eyes at Segment 18's display, "Sure. And you definitely do not use your own hand on the days you cannot access her."

Segment 18, now thoroughly humbled and chastised, dropped in his seat and slouched further in it.

Segment 35, or Omega, saw that the younger Segment was out of any justification, stood up to the board to present his research and arguements.

"Well, coming back to the point," he says, clearing his throat, "Sure, you may have engaged in intimacy with her during her most fertile window, but that does not mean it would take you a single try to conceive. The possibility does exist. However, they're quite low given your age."

"Who said I was giving it just a single try?" rebuts Segment 65.

The entire conference room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Out of all the Segments present, Segment 65 scientifically had the least chances of conception.

That is, unless he was going at it with you like rabbits in heat.

Pantalone, who'd chosen to remain silent during the whole ordeal, mostly out of neutrality, spoke up, visibly impressed by the oldest Segment, "My, I didn't know you had such vigor within you in your old age, Zandik? Pray tell, how do you even keep up with the missus?"

"You flatter me, old friend. I'd be lying if I said I did it all. Both my wife and I switch sides on who serves. Turns out she quite enjoys my company in more than one way," Segment 65 explains, humbly nodding.

Although he was the most mild-mannered Segment of Zandik, mostly due to his age, it was clear he was not to be taken lightly, and wouldn't back down without a fight.

"No wonder she's all tired after she's done with you. This bastard's the one who's making her do all the work!!" accused the youngest adult Segment in the room.

"I will certainly not take any criticism from you, young one," Segment 65 denounces, laying his criticism on thick this time, "Perhaps the reason you're the one doing all the 'work' is simply because you do not understand the importance of inviting the woman to have her own way and have her own rhythm instead of swinging your hips with no finesse."

Segment 18, now completely and utterly defeated, simply stared at the oldest Segment as he was left with his jaw on the floor and nothing but a humiliating silence emitting from it.

Segment 25 snickered at the sight of the younger Segment being put in his place, "Well, the possibility of the baby being yours just rose up by 1.24 per cent. Congratulations."

"However, I, 25, and 45 are still in the lead. Although we did not ejaculate inside of her as much as you two have-"

"That's because you like to see her swallow it instead, don't you," Segment 45 interrupts Omega, who was stating his offence.

"-shush I'm not done. The three of us are in the lead for the most likely paternity. Which means the real father of the baby is-"

Before Omega could declare the real father of the baby (according to him), a polite knock interrupts the conference room, all the attendees now turned towards the source.

"Zandik?" you call out as you pry the door to the conference room open and walk in, "Hey, ummm, I was wondering if one of you could watch the baby for me while I wash up. They're with Little Doctor right now, don't worry. My hair's getting greasy and-"

You halt as you notice not only every single Segment, but also The Regrator in flesh, attending what looked like a project proposal.

"Oh, greetings, Lord Harbinger," you address him, "I must apologize for my unkempt appearance. I wasn't aware we were receiving such an important guest today."

Pantalone stands up and offers a polite bow, "There's no need to apologize, Missus. It is I who is intruding today."

"I see, I'll take my leave then-"

Before you could excuse yourself from the premises, you accidentally took one look at the board behind Omega, and the title projected onto it. Reading them, you felt as if you'd been left out in the bitter, icy cold of the Snezhnayan Tundra.

'Probability of Paternity'

"What-" you utter, betrayal lacing your tone.

Segment 45 immediately gets up, heeding to the distress in your voice, "Love I-"

"What the fuck is going on here?" you ask, your voice quivering.

"Let us explain-" he continues.

You step away from Segment 45, choosing to corner yourself against the door instead, "You know if you wanted to go this far, you might as well slap me on the face-"

"It's not what you think-" Segment 25, who's gotten ahold of the situation, tries to de-escalate.

You simply shook your head, "Oh, it is exactly what I think. Better yet, why don't you just kill me and use me for one of your experiments-"

"Honey, that's not what we're-" Segment 65 explains before getting cut off.

"Why else would you think I cheated on you and had someone else's child?" you sob out.

For the second time during this whole seminar, the entire room is engulfed in total silence. All the attendees now paying you their utmost attention.

Well, except one.

Pantalone, who had attended the 'Paternity debate' out of sheer boredom, was enthralled by the way the events had unfolded so far. He knew the animosity Zandik's segments held towards each other, but was deeply captivated by the way they all seemed to share one thing, or person.

You.

And you interrupting the oh-so-comical seminar of determining the baby's 'real' father was truly the cherry on the cake. Or rather, the straw that broke the camel's back.

The camel being Pantalone's restraint from laughing at this entire charade.

While the Segments all stood looking at you, you instead chose to direct your irritated gaze towards the Ninth Harbinger, who was now cackling like a madman in his own seat, clutching his sides and wheezing not unlike a broken old kettle.

"Hahaha haha! Oh dear, I haven't had a laugh this good in decades. The last time I laughed this good was the time I saw Pulcinella with his tongue stuck to an icicle."

"Pantalone, not helping," Omega seethes through his teeth.

"Pardon me for my rude behavior right now, Missus," Pantalone, now calmed from his earlier outburst, takes off his glasses to wipe the lenses with a silk handkerchief.

"You simply misunderstand," he continues, "They're not discussing whether or not you've been faithful."

"Then what is it, Regrador? Because that's exactly what it looks like to me," you assert, clearly upset at his earlier outburst.

He puts on his polished glasses as he turns towards you with the most polite, diplomatic smile he could conjure at that moment, "Ah, I believe I may not be the person to explain that to you. Zandik, if you-or shall I say-all of you would do the honors?"

You turn towards all the Segments now instead. They all looked like they were caught doing something they had not, similarly to how Segment 18 looked whenever you caught him throwing away the youngest Segment's notes, so you were positive it was what you had assumed.

'Still,' you thought, 'I suppose I could give them a chance to explain themselves. Worst case, I'd simply go to the Tsaritsa to seek protection along with Little Doctor and the baby.'

"Go on."

"We were….determining the paternity of the child through means besides the DNA," Segment 18 speaks out first.

"Uh huh. And what compelled you to do so?" you question, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Segment 25 takes over, continuing, "……we were making sure whose baby it was."

"And? Whose baby is it, Zandik?" you push, regretting your decision to give them a chance to explain themselves.

"One of us five's," Segment 45 states plainly.

"That's it, I'm leaving-"

"But we don't know which of us five yet," Omega calls out behind you, stopping you in your tracks.

You pause, hand already on the door handle, and slowly turn around, a befuddled expression painting your face.

"Huh?"

"Here, take a look," Segment 18 steps forward, pushing a tall pile of papers towards you.

You step closer to the conference table as you take a look at the paper on top with the title 'Probability of Paternity ~ Segment 18'. As you flip through the papers, you see papers written by the other four segments as well. The contents being graphs based on Sperm motility, time of conception, ovulation time frame, and so on.

Segment 18 takes it upon himself to start briefing you on the contents, "25, 35, and 45 have the highest possibility. I am the one next, then 65, due to 'techniques' and age. But 65 just defended his case right now and sits above me apparently-"

"Correction: his fertility is still lower than yours. It is a matter of correct timing-" Segment 45 interrupts.

Omega breaks him off on that, "Which is where I and 45 come in. We were both with you as well as Segment 65, but looking at the statistics, it should be me-"

"Get off your high horse for once," Segment 18 butts in, "What makes you say your sperm quality's better than mine?"

To which Segment 25 makes a face as he chimes in, "We must take hygiene into consideration as well. Unlike Segment 18 here-"

"So…" you ponder, making them all put away their differences for a moment, "…you all were holding an investigation here to…determine which one of you is the real father?"

"Yes," they all reply in unison.

"But……the DNA matches all of you. All of you are the real father. So, shouldn't there be no argument for that?" You try to reason with them.

"Well, that's quite silly, isn't it?" Segment 45 smiles at your statement, finding it quite illogical.

"If DNA was the only thing that tied us to the child as a paternal figure, you could call Segment 8, who's clearly a child and a minor incapable of handling a baby, the child's father purely based on DNA," he explains.

"Well, I don't think like that obviously, he's a brother, or a young uncle to the baby at best-" you went off.

"Let me put this bluntly for you. We're determining which one of us impregnated you first." Omega interrupts your process of thought, laying the facts bare for you.

For the third time today, the room was encompassed in dead silence before uncontrollable laughter broks it.

Although this time, it wasn't Pantalone.

You laughed so violently that you almost doubled over and fell on the floor. A Segment (you have no recollection who) caught you before you could kiss the floor and steered you to a chair. Though you were saved from sniffing the dust, you weren't spared from doubling down so hard that you slammed your head on the table (almost there was a stack of papers to cushion you from the pain of cold metal digging into your forehead).

Pantalone was soon to follow you, laughing to the point that his long-term smoker lungs wheezed in between.

The Segments simply stood there, looking between you and Pantalone, wondering what exactly it was that you two had found so amusing that you'd lose your wits.

Well, at least you weren't mad at them anymore.

After what had felt like an eternity, Pantalone is the one to calm down first. Well, as calm as he could be with the lingering effects of the best laugh he's had in his life so far.

"Oh dear, looks like I need a smoke or two after this. This has been the most worthwhile venture ever," he speaks out, wheezing slightly as he does so.

"Absolutely no smoking in my premises!" Omega denies, "Or that of my wife's!"

"Pass me one, too! Never in my living days had I ever thought the fathers of my child would actually argue amongst themselves!" You say to Pantalone, fighting down your own giggles as you ignore the Segment.

"No smoking for you either! Ever! I already deal with one chain-smoker who thinks my medical services are effortless. I don't need another one on my hands." Segment 25 shuts you down.

Before you could utter another cheeky remark that was sure to get on all the Zandik's nerves, the communication terminal buzzed, beeping twice before you heard the perturbed voice of the youngest Zandik in your ear.

"Hey, the baby is whining. I don't know what to do. Are you coming back soon, or should I call the standby nanny instead?" He asks, poor thing, being the only one left with an infant.

"Oh, Little Doctor! I'm so sorry for leaving you alone for so long. I was just caught up here with something. I'll be right back with Zandik, don't worry," you comfort, assuring that you'll be back soon.

"Okay. I'll keep an eye on them," he sighs and cuts the line.

You get up from the chair, smoothing out your dress, blood rushing to your ears as you remember what went down in front of two (or more like Segments of one and another) Harbingers. You looked up at all the Segments with a teasing smile.

"Well, so who's coming along with me? Or are we still going to fight amongst ourselves over who's the real father instead of focusing on the bigger picture?" You playfully chide them all.

"I shall accompany you this time," Segment 65 steps forward, awkwardly rubbing the beak of his mask, "It has been a while since I've held my child."

You nod to him as you turn to Pantalone, "Okay, please excuse my leave, Lord Harbinger. I apologize for my outburst earlier as well-"

He waves his hand at you, dismissing your worries, "Please, Pantalone will do, Missus. I wish you and your family good health. Next time we meet, let us discuss this little 'meeting' over a cup of tea as friends, shall we?"

"Of course, much obliged."

Segment 65 steps between you, wrapping his hand around your lower back to escort you out, "Let us take our leave now, Dear."

You smile up at him, then at the others as you wave at them all, promising to see them soon.

"Silly men," you murmur under your breath, "Just like him years ago. You say you're all different, but deep down, you're all made of the same soul."

"What was that, Dearest?" Segment 65 asks, closing the door behind him.

"Nothing," you smile cheerfully, wrapping your arms around his, "Let's hurry, our little hatchling is waiting for us."

Behind the door, the remaining Segments watch it as it closes on itself, leaving them and their company suspended in an unpleasant silence.

"So...was this all useless?" Segment 18 breaks the quiet.

Segment 25 simply fell back in his seat, sighing as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Well, clearly we need to wait a little longer, at least until the child is able to be partially independent so as to not require constant surveillance," he says in his tiresome voice.

"That'd take months, if not years," states Segment 45.

Segment 25 raises a brow, "You have a better idea?"

"I see it as more time, we could contribute more factors to the authenticity of our claims, and present them once we agree on a time," says Omega.

"Didn't you just hear what Wifey had to say dipshit," Segment 18 swears, "she didn't want us fighting over paternity, did she?"

"Ah, ah, there's where you're wrong," he smirks, "her exact words were, and I quote, 'are we still going to fight amongst ourselves over who's the real father instead of focusing on the bigger picture.' Clearly, the bigger picture here is to focus on making the child partially independent."

"You read that so wrong," Segment 45 disagrees, making a face.

Omega simply shrugs, turning around to wipe down the blackboard, "See it as you will, but I never leave my research incomplete."

He turns around and smirks at the others.

"Besides, I'd love to see the look on all of 'my' faces when I declare the child as mine scientifically."

Segment 25 scoffs, "Good luck with that."

"Not before I will, you old tosser," says Segment 18.

"You mean you'd love the look on 'your' face when I declare the child as mine?" snickers Segment 45.

Pantalone wonders if Sandrone's tea parties are even this entertaining.

'Actually,' he smirks to himself, sneakily taking out a cigar, 'they never will be, and never shall be. They lack a 'Zandik' after all.'

Too bad his cigar was slapped out of his hands by Segment 18 before he could light it up.

a/n: HAAAAAAAAAHHHH I FINALLY FINISHED IT ♡〜٩( ˃▿˂ )۶〜♡!!!! Sorry about taking so long with the update teehee I was like deathly sick (I had pneumonia) also I burned my thumb on hot caramel so I couldn't type without screaming in pain for a while (ꈍω⁠ꈍ)

Anyway, I was wondering what gender to give the baby, but I am not good with like parental/child fics lmao so I just left the baby as "da baby" so just insert whatever you want lmao (๑>؂•̀๑)

Taglist: @alephless @mooncheri @mrs-luuk88 @turningmad @akaeyamain @0sweetpink0 @ciaratomioka1432 @sheiokha96 hope y'all enjoy ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ

@luminarylorecat Do not repost, translate, adapt, feed into AI, or claim this work. Reblogs and links are appreciated; copying and reuploading are not.

[luminarylorecat]

Who's the Father??

Warnings: A lot of talk about childbirth, labor, and possibly inaccurate medical terms. Mentions of storing and freezing the placenta. Segments using swear words and being involved with the delivery (except 8, he's a minor). Segment 35 (Omega), being a little possessive and self-centered as always. No smut, but mentioned and implied nsfw.

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Sitting in the labor room, you held the red scarlet-eyed baby in your arms, stroking the infant's tuft of blue hair every now and then. Segment 8, or "Little Doctor" as you like to call him, leaned over the side to look at the newborn, an innocent sort of curiosity brimming in his very own pair of red eyes.

Your baby was born healthy, looking just like a mix of both you and Zandik. He'd helped deliver it himself, muttering about how he trusted no one but him to take the task upon himself.

Well, technically, it was just Segment 25 who helped with the main task; the others volunteered themselves with other stuff, such as weighing the baby, stitching your tears up, cleaning the blood, storing your placenta and umbilical cord for research purposes, etc.

All the segments insisted on helping out, even Little Doctor, who unfortunately had to sit outside for most of the labor but was eventually allowed in to see the baby and check on you. Everyone's main goal was to ensure the mother and newborn were both safe and healthy.

Now that everything was successfully executed, you and the newborn were both taking a small, well-earned nap. All the adult segments turned to look at one another with suspicion.

Who the fuck was the baby's real father?

They all had slept with you, came inside of you, so the possibility that one of them was the father was 20%.

Except they were all Zandiks.

They all had the same DNA, the same blood. They might as well all be identical twins, if identical twins were all the segment of a man who died a century ago.

"Well? What were we all even expecting? That the baby would be born, and we could take a DNA test to verify the paternity? We all share the same blood dipshits. Ever thought of that?" Segment 18 spat out, looking at the other older segments after they'd all stepped out.

Segment 25 merely took off his mask and gloves, opting to let the other Segments deal with the guy instead.

"We were hoping to keep the peace until the baby was born to keep our Lady's pregnancy smooth. You know she gets troubled when we all get into unnecessary fights." Segment 65 explained, stepping closer to your door to make sure it was locked in case their argument woke you up. "A miscarriage would've been tragic. Besides, we all had our own goals to accomplish during this period. I doubt Omega is going to let you have a share of the placenta."

Omega, or Segment 35, who snuck off to the side to keep your placenta in a freezer, shot them all a dirty look. "How rude! Preserving the placenta has it's benefits-"

"We never said it didn't. But must you be so greedy as to keep it for yourself?" Segment 45 cuts off.

"-because I am the most research-oriented out of all of us, one who shall produce the most fulfilling results. In case of a genetic disease or a tumor, it will prove to be very useful." He preened

"You talk as if you're the real father." scoffs Segment 18.

"Well, of course I am. Who else but I could produce such brilliant progeny."

The comment riled up Segment 18, who walked up to Omega's face, his sharp teeth bare, "So sure of yourself, aren't you, old man? You sure your sperm can even swim that far? Your cock get that hard? Well, getting erect would be no problem for such a beauty; however, I bet her fallopian tubes shriveled the moment you got in you son of a-"

"Alright, alright. There's no need to stir up a ruckus right here," said Segment 25, wiping his hands dry on a towel, clearly the most tired of them all.

Unlike the other Segments, he had to be on-call and close to you that day, and hence had stayed by you till the moment you had pushed the baby out. "She's still inside, sleeping, taking a well-earned nap before one of us has to wake her from her blissful slumber in two hours to take her vitals again. Not to mention, we will need to attend to my newborn as well. For now, we could all take a moment, Segment 8 will alert us should anything happen-"

"What do you mean, 'my newborn'?" Segment 45 butts in, "You didn't even try to debate whether the child is yours or not."

"Well, of course, because it is mine. Only fools fight over what's not theirs-"

"Get a load of this asshole-"

"Can we all take this somewhere else, the baby might wake up-"

"Dottore!" a voice booms from down the hall, along with the sound of multiple footsteps.

All Segments turned around to see The Regrator, Pantalone, along with a few Fatui agents carrying many boxes and bags with them.

"I believe congratulations are in order? How is the missus and the baby?" asked Pantalone.

"Who let this guy know about her labor? I thought we were to keep this information from the other Harbingers," sneered Segment 25.

"And you certainly did, I assure you. No one other than me knows about this little joy of yours. I only happened to find out about this because the 8-year-old segment seemed quite anxious about not being let into the operating room. Seeing as you did not hesitate to let him watch the dissection of the original Zandik, my only conclusion about not allowing him in the operating room was that your wife was giving birth. That, and the fact I hadn't seen her for quite some time. Seemed easy to deduce." The Regrator stated, shrugging and rustling his fur coat.

"And what if it was a surgery like, say, an appendectomy? What use are the gifts then?" Segment 18 pointed out.

"Then I believe that you must get started on producing a progeny, no? Anyway, I've brought a few tokens of goodwill. I hope you'll accept them from a friend."

"Leave them out here. She's sleeping, and we'd rather not disturb her or the baby." Segment 65 said, pointing towards a table for the gifts to be kept. "We'll let her know of them as soon as she's able to concern herself with things other than herself and the baby. I hope you understand she's not in the condition to receive guests at the moment."

"That's alright." The Regrator signed his agents to keep the presents on the table and take their leave.

"Speaking of not disturbing the baby, though, what were all of you arguing about? Well, it's not rare to see each of you in disagreement with the other. Rather, it happens pretty often to be rare. But an opportunity that brings all of you together to have such a conflict......."

"We were discussing who the real father of the baby is," said Segment 18.

Pantalone nodded in understanding.

"I'd hardly call that a discussion. But does it truly matter? All of you are the same person, and hence, similar at your core. I'm sure the child would benefit from having multiple parental figures. I wouldn't call it a major issue."

"It is." Said all the Zandiks there in unison.

"Dear Feofan, it seems you still don't understand us all, even when you are a dear friend of ours. We all may be derived of the same Zandik, but as Dottore, we're all different," Omega explained, "Our values, our approach to research, our research, and our view of this world, they all differ due to the number of memories we carry. Determining the true father is determining whose legacy will be carried on. It isn't as simple as 'raising a child'."

".......so it has to do with your ego," Pantalone cheeked.

"How rude, I have genuine affection towards my wife and my child," said Omega.

"There he goes again," Segment 45 groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Oh my god, it's MY baby you twat," argued Segment 18.

"Well, you're certainly not raising my child with that mouth of yours," said Segment 65 calmly.

"Gents, gents," Pantalone raised his hands, trying to mitigate and calm down all the Dottores before it would escalate, lest they end up dissecting another one of them again.

"I have a solution. How about you solve this the way you know best? You're all intelligent and highly educated individuals; surely you can come to a conclusion amongst yourselves."

All the Zandiks looked at each other, as if they had never considered that idea.

"Determining the father of the baby through research. We can't do a DNA test, but....." mused Segment 45.

"Surely, only DNA can't be the only factor to determine the paternity," suggested Segment 18.

"If we can't find a way to find a match with blood, tissue, or DNA, we could always narrow down the possibility of one of us being the father by calculating the fertility factor of our sperm, the time between conception and delivery, and the general condition of the mother and the baby during pregnancy," Segment 35 muttered.

Pantalone sighed, seemingly relieved that he had managed to prevent another Zandik from being dissected today.

"I must, however, object to executing this plan right now," said Segment 25, "her postpartum period is to last for at the very least 2 months, and we have a newborn to care for as well."

"Naturally," all Segments agreed and nodded.

"Then," smirked Omega, "we shall have a time limit of 2 months to conduct our research. Whosoever manages to bring concrete proof along with the timeline and convinces everyone that the baby is theirs shall get to claim the progeny and raise them. Do we all agree?"

"Yes," said all the Segments.

"Then shall I volunteer as a referee? You know, as a neutral party, to keep things nice and fair?" asked Pantalone.

"Of course, friend. You're more than welcome to invite yourself to my research discussions. You are, after all, the one funding all of our experiments," said Omega gleefully.

Pantalone watched with interest as all of the Segments dismissed themselves, some going to rest after what he assumed was a long day of being in the delivery room, others sprinting to their assigned labs to get a head start on their research, while the rest stayed to be available for you.

'Ah,' Pantalone thought to himself, stepping outside and pulling out a cigarette, 'this whole ordeal shall be quite entertaining.'

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ

Part 2??? (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

a/n: hello hello everynyan |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ I wrote this at 3 am in a fever dream lol. Fun fact: kids of identical twins are genetic half-siblings. SO if you have an identical twin and have a baby, the baby is also half of your twin lol. It gave me the idea about what if multiple people shared the same DNA and boom that's how I wrote this fic in 2 hours when I have like 12 other drafts that have been collecting dust ehe (ᵕ—ᗜ—) I might make a few edits here and there so pls excuse any grammatical errors lol I don't know english well ≽^•⩊•^≼ anyway enjoy ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

@luminarylorecat Do not repost, translate, adapt, feed into AI, or claim this work. Reblogs and links are appreciated; copying and reuploading are not.

[luminarylorecat]

Who's the Father??

Warnings: A lot of talk about childbirth, labor, and possibly inaccurate medical terms. Mentions of storing and freezing the placenta. Segments using swear words and being involved with the delivery (except 8, he's a minor). Segment 35 (Omega), being a little possessive and self-centered as always. No smut, but mentioned and implied nsfw.

ــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Sitting in the labor room, you held the red scarlet-eyed baby in your arms, stroking the infant's tuft of blue hair every now and then. Segment 8, or "Little Doctor" as you like to call him, leaned over the side to look at the newborn, an innocent sort of curiosity brimming in his very own pair of red eyes.

Your baby was born healthy, looking just like a mix of both you and Zandik. He'd helped deliver it himself, muttering about how he trusted no one but him to take the task upon himself.

Well, technically, it was just Segment 25 who helped with the main task; the others volunteered themselves with other stuff, such as weighing the baby, stitching your tears up, cleaning the blood, storing your placenta and umbilical cord for research purposes, etc.

All the segments insisted on helping out, even Little Doctor, who unfortunately had to sit outside for most of the labor but was eventually allowed in to see the baby and check on you. Everyone's main goal was to ensure the mother and newborn were both safe and healthy.

Now that everything was successfully executed, you and the newborn were both taking a small, well-earned nap. All the adult segments turned to look at one another with suspicion.

Who the fuck was the baby's real father?

They all had slept with you, came inside of you, so the possibility that one of them was the father was 20%.

Except they were all Zandiks.

They all had the same DNA, the same blood. They might as well all be identical twins, if identical twins were all the segment of a man who died a century ago.

"Well? What were we all even expecting? That the baby would be born, and we could take a DNA test to verify the paternity? We all share the same blood dipshits. Ever thought of that?" Segment 18 spat out, looking at the other older segments after they'd all stepped out.

Segment 25 merely took off his mask and gloves, opting to let the other Segments deal with the guy instead.

"We were hoping to keep the peace until the baby was born to keep our Lady's pregnancy smooth. You know she gets troubled when we all get into unnecessary fights." Segment 65 explained, stepping closer to your door to make sure it was locked in case their argument woke you up. "A miscarriage would've been tragic. Besides, we all had our own goals to accomplish during this period. I doubt Omega is going to let you have a share of the placenta."

Omega, or Segment 35, who snuck off to the side to keep your placenta in a freezer, shot them all a dirty look. "How rude! Preserving the placenta has it's benefits-"

"We never said it didn't. But must you be so greedy as to keep it for yourself?" Segment 45 cuts off.

"-because I am the most research-oriented out of all of us, one who shall produce the most fulfilling results. In case of a genetic disease or a tumor, it will prove to be very useful." He preened

"You talk as if you're the real father." scoffs Segment 18.

"Well, of course I am. Who else but I could produce such brilliant progeny."

The comment riled up Segment 18, who walked up to Omega's face, his sharp teeth bare, "So sure of yourself, aren't you, old man? You sure your sperm can even swim that far? Your cock get that hard? Well, getting erect would be no problem for such a beauty; however, I bet her fallopian tubes shriveled the moment you got in you son of a-"

"Alright, alright. There's no need to stir up a ruckus right here," said Segment 25, wiping his hands dry on a towel, clearly the most tired of them all.

Unlike the other Segments, he had to be on-call and close to you that day, and hence had stayed by you till the moment you had pushed the baby out. "She's still inside, sleeping, taking a well-earned nap before one of us has to wake her from her blissful slumber in two hours to take her vitals again. Not to mention, we will need to attend to my newborn as well. For now, we could all take a moment, Segment 8 will alert us should anything happen-"

"What do you mean, 'my newborn'?" Segment 45 butts in, "You didn't even try to debate whether the child is yours or not."

"Well, of course, because it is mine. Only fools fight over what's not theirs-"

"Get a load of this asshole-"

"Can we all take this somewhere else, the baby might wake up-"

"Dottore!" a voice booms from down the hall, along with the sound of multiple footsteps.

All Segments turned around to see The Regrator, Pantalone, along with a few Fatui agents carrying many boxes and bags with them.

"I believe congratulations are in order? How is the missus and the baby?" asked Pantalone.

"Who let this guy know about her labor? I thought we were to keep this information from the other Harbingers," sneered Segment 25.

"And you certainly did, I assure you. No one other than me knows about this little joy of yours. I only happened to find out about this because the 8-year-old segment seemed quite anxious about not being let into the operating room. Seeing as you did not hesitate to let him watch the dissection of the original Zandik, my only conclusion about not allowing him in the operating room was that your wife was giving birth. That, and the fact I hadn't seen her for quite some time. Seemed easy to deduce." The Regrator stated, shrugging and rustling his fur coat.

"And what if it was a surgery like, say, an appendectomy? What use are the gifts then?" Segment 18 pointed out.

"Then I believe that you must get started on producing a progeny, no? Anyway, I've brought a few tokens of goodwill. I hope you'll accept them from a friend."

"Leave them out here. She's sleeping, and we'd rather not disturb her or the baby." Segment 65 said, pointing towards a table for the gifts to be kept. "We'll let her know of them as soon as she's able to concern herself with things other than herself and the baby. I hope you understand she's not in the condition to receive guests at the moment."

"That's alright." The Regrator signed his agents to keep the presents on the table and take their leave.

"Speaking of not disturbing the baby, though, what were all of you arguing about? Well, it's not rare to see each of you in disagreement with the other. Rather, it happens pretty often to be rare. But an opportunity that brings all of you together to have such a conflict......."

"We were discussing who the real father of the baby is," said Segment 18.

Pantalone nodded in understanding.

"I'd hardly call that a discussion. But does it truly matter? All of you are the same person, and hence, similar at your core. I'm sure the child would benefit from having multiple parental figures. I wouldn't call it a major issue."

"It is." Said all the Zandiks there in unison.

"Dear Feofan, it seems you still don't understand us all, even when you are a dear friend of ours. We all may be derived of the same Zandik, but as Dottore, we're all different," Omega explained, "Our values, our approach to research, our research, and our view of this world, they all differ due to the number of memories we carry. Determining the true father is determining whose legacy will be carried on. It isn't as simple as 'raising a child'."

".......so it has to do with your ego," Pantalone cheeked.

"How rude, I have genuine affection towards my wife and my child," said Omega.

"There he goes again," Segment 45 groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Oh my god, it's MY baby you twat," argued Segment 18.

"Well, you're certainly not raising my child with that mouth of yours," said Segment 65 calmly.

"Gents, gents," Pantalone raised his hands, trying to mitigate and calm down all the Dottores before it would escalate, lest they end up dissecting another one of them again.

"I have a solution. How about you solve this the way you know best? You're all intelligent and highly educated individuals; surely you can come to a conclusion amongst yourselves."

All the Zandiks looked at each other, as if they had never considered that idea.

"Determining the father of the baby through research. We can't do a DNA test, but....." mused Segment 45.

"Surely, only DNA can't be the only factor to determine the paternity," suggested Segment 18.

"If we can't find a way to find a match with blood, tissue, or DNA, we could always narrow down the possibility of one of us being the father by calculating the fertility factor of our sperm, the time between conception and delivery, and the general condition of the mother and the baby during pregnancy," Segment 35 muttered.

Pantalone sighed, seemingly relieved that he had managed to prevent another Zandik from being dissected today.

"I must, however, object to executing this plan right now," said Segment 25, "her postpartum period is to last for at the very least 2 months, and we have a newborn to care for as well."

"Naturally," all Segments agreed and nodded.

"Then," smirked Omega, "we shall have a time limit of 2 months to conduct our research. Whosoever manages to bring concrete proof along with the timeline and convinces everyone that the baby is theirs shall get to claim the progeny and raise them. Do we all agree?"

"Yes," said all the Segments.

"Then shall I volunteer as a referee? You know, as a neutral party, to keep things nice and fair?" asked Pantalone.

"Of course, friend. You're more than welcome to invite yourself to my research discussions. You are, after all, the one funding all of our experiments," said Omega gleefully.

Pantalone watched with interest as all of the Segments dismissed themselves, some going to rest after what he assumed was a long day of being in the delivery room, others sprinting to their assigned labs to get a head start on their research, while the rest stayed to be available for you.

'Ah,' Pantalone thought to himself, stepping outside and pulling out a cigarette, 'this whole ordeal shall be quite entertaining.'

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ

Part 2??? (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

a/n: hello hello everynyan |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ I wrote this at 3 am in a fever dream lol. Fun fact: kids of identical twins are genetic half-siblings. SO if you have an identical twin and have a baby, the baby is also half of your twin lol. It gave me the idea about what if multiple people shared the same DNA and boom that's how I wrote this fic in 2 hours when I have like 12 other drafts that have been collecting dust ehe (ᵕ—ᗜ—) I might make a few edits here and there so pls excuse any grammatical errors lol I don't know english well ≽^•⩊•^≼ anyway enjoy ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

@luminarylorecat Do not repost, translate, adapt, feed into AI, or claim this work. Reblogs and links are appreciated; copying and reuploading are not.

[fatuismooches]

Heyy! I've been reading your fics for a long time and I gotta say they are so amazing and immersive. But I had a question in mind that I wanted to ask.

Since Zandik joined the fatui and created his segments before reader woke up from their coma, did he ever consider, during that time of waiting, of creating segments of reader?

Segments from the time before they fell ill? And since segments don't age or change, these segments of reader would forever be stuck in a healthy state. Like their days together in the academia.

Did he ever think about it? Did he ever try to? Why didn't he follow through with it? Did he hesitate? Was he scared? Afraid that things would go wrong? Were there technical difficulties he couldn't bypass? Was he ashamed and angry with himself for wanting to resort to this method? Or for thinking of this method?

Instead of staying loyal to the original reader who lays unresponsive in their bed?

Or would he not consider doing this as a betrayal towards the original reader at all?

(idk if you already have spoken on this. So I'm sorry for this ask if you did. Please 🥺 put in the link of that post.)

-𓆉anon

I don't think Dottore would make segments of reader, because he would eventually understand it is cruel. He might have had a fleeting thought about it, because naturally as a scientist he frequently thinks of many possibilities and such, but it would go as quickly as it came. Even if you did ask about it, he would shut it down because he loves you and won't let you torture yourself.

He has witnessed the turmoil of his own segments, how they bicker and such, and although you would probably be less prone to fighting amongst yourselves, making segments of you would still have problems. His own segments are very conscious of their inability to change, some even hate it. Condemning any version of you to be unable to change is heartless, even for him. And then there's the whole loss of identity aspect... would you feel start to feel conflicted about who you are? Would you eventually feel inferior to your younger self? Regardless of his intentions, you would probably feel a bit insecure if he fawned over the you that was strong, able to help, etc over the current you. And that is the last thing he'd want to do. Ultimately, the person he loves is you, not just a slice of you, the entirety of you. It's the same logic as why he also has no desire to do it anyway, because what he longs for is not a version of you he crafted, but you yourself. Rather than spending time on the past, he focuses on the current you, the one he wants to make happy and cure.

[fatuismooches]

The eighteen-year-old Segment was a familiar experience.

He was made after the image of the first Zandik you had ever met. The you that was just a scholar studying in the Akademiya and the Zandik that was scorned by all those around him. Despite those times being from so long ago, the memories still remained vivid and close to your heart. That was the Zandik you had first fallen in love with, the one who narrowed his eyes with distrust and spat harsh words in the beginning from being ostracized, but slowly managed to let down all of his walls that revealed a vulnerable and hurt man. So, it was only natural that your heart skipped every so often around Eighteen.

It also didn’t help when he seemed to yearn for your attention and yet try to push you away at the same time. Sometimes Eighteen would appear from behind, with a snide comment directed to whatever other Segment was currently occupying your time. Sometimes he would appear from your side and remark that you could be doing more with him rather than wander around. And sometimes he would be right in front of you when you’d turn the corner and bump into him, telling you to watch where you’re going as he nervously flexed his fingers.

“You seem to pop up wherever I go,” you said one day when you visited his lab. It wasn’t an accusation, more like an amusing observation, but Eighteen seemed to think you were implying something with the way his shoulders raised defensively. 

“It’s more like you appear wherever I’m going. Perhaps you’ve been following me around, just like you did this time.” He fumbled with papers as he shot back, although it was obvious he wasn’t paying attention to them, or more like he couldn’t.

“Hmm, you’re not entirely wrong. I came to you because I missed your company.” While his tone might rile someone else up or cause some sort of negative reaction, you remained as calm and collected as you usually did. He faltered momentarily in the face of your honesty.

“Well,” he sniffed, trying to brush you off, “I am going to be quite busy here, so I won’t be able to entertain you.” A few moments of silence passed.

“Alright, if you want me to go, then I will. I won’t distract you.” You conceded and began to make your way out of the room.

“Wait.” The Segment had put down everything he was tinkering with and stared at you, mouth slightly agape, as if he wasn’t expecting you to listen to him. Eighteen glanced around the area for something to stall you with, to delay your departure. Ah, some documents that needed to be delivered to another Segment. He could just ask you to pass them on and then manage to strike up something research-related, and then you could linger-

But that is when he remembered that you wouldn’t come back anyway, and what’s more, your time for the rest of the day would probably be consumed by that other version of him. He wasn’t very fond of you leaving him to go to someone else.

“Yes?” You cocked your head to the side, awaiting his response. He felt heat crawl up his neck.

“Nothing,” he said dumbly. You let out a hum in response and turned around again, slowly strolling toward the exit, taking the time to look at the ceiling and examine the bits of machinery and reports here and there. It was almost like you were doing this on purpose.

“If there’s nothing else, then I’ll see you-” You were nearly at the door before something collided into you from behind, knocking the words out of your mouth. It only took a few seconds to notice that Eighteen had latched himself onto your back, arms wrapped around your sides.

“H-Hey?” At most, you were expecting the Segment to create an excuse to get you to stay, not tackle you from behind, but you weren’t complaining. “Eighteen?” The call of his name made his breath hitch as he loosened his grip on you a bit.

“I…” The words got stuck in his throat, the short curls of his blue hair tickling your cheek. There wasn’t really a convincing way to bluff his way out of this when he’d practically thrown himself onto you. “I was going to ask you to…” Just being around you was making him lightheaded.

It was then that you wiggled out of his grip to turn around, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking at him with the kindest gaze anyone had ever given him.

“I’ll stay,” you said simply, before sauntering back to your place again at the top of his desk, patting your thigh like it was a motion for him to come closer. Of course, he had his ways, but he was more obedient to you than he’d ever admit.

Eighteen hovered in front of you, arms hanging lanky by his side as if he had forgotten how to use them after embracing you, before you grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist. He swallowed, acting as if the heat that was burning him up was nothing. Your thumb rubbed circles along his jaw before cupping his chin and pulling him in.

The Segment whimpered as your lips connected, and one hand moved to grip the back of your shirt while the other fiercely sank into your softness. Your hand reached to caress his cheek, and the other massaged his scalp, and his knees almost gave out at the sensation.

There are very few things in this world that Eighteen would describe as lovely, if any, but you unquestionably were. And he would probably be indulging in your loveliness until he was out of breath… which would probably be soon, but you’re good at telling him to take breaks, right?

—

Although all of the Segments had their own disputes and feelings about each other, it had become obvious that Eighteen was a bit more… vocal about his displeasure. Perhaps it stemmed from being one of the youngest of the Segments, maybe from the frequent and ever-present feeling of being overlooked and rejected, or maybe something else. And every so often, you had to witness such situations.

In this case, while the thirty-five-year-old Segment found it interesting to read through the Akademiya’s editorials and other publications from time to time, the eighteen-year-old would scoff and roll his eyes whenever the topic was brought up. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The young Segment was stuck reliving the pain of attending and being excluded for his ideas, the trauma of being blamed for the death of someone he didn’t cause. It was no wonder he had stronger feelings about the school while the older ones had mellowed out. 

“Do you really need to spend so much time reading those things? Surely it can’t be that interesting. Nothing from people who allow themselves to be chained to the rules can,” Eighteen huffed as he eyed the paper the older Segment was reading. Thirty-Five seemed unbothered.

“I won’t deny that. However, generalizing would be a mistake. There are a few pieces that manage to hold some substance, although they are exceedingly rare.” The Segment agreed, and yet somewhat did not at the same time. Eighteen clicked his tongue, and that was when he turned to you for support.

“[Name], don’t you agree? You’ve experienced the hypocrisy of the Akademiya firsthand, have you not?” There was something in the younger Segment’s eyes that seemed like he was searching for your approval.

“Me? Well, I-” It was then that you paused, and something quite sad dawned on you. You had been able to change, but he could not. Thirty-Five then glanced at your downcast expression.

“Eighteen, do refrain from asking them intrusive questions.” The older Segment let out a sigh.

“Can’t I be curious about their opinion?” Because you were the only person who would take him seriously and answer him with something thoughtful.

“Not at their expense.” Eighteen chewed his lip at the older Segment’s words before taking a glimpse at your face and seeing your glumness. His mouth opened - to say what, he didn’t even know - before closing it. An awkward silence fell, and he quietly left.

You soon found where he had run off to soon after, and he looked like he was expecting you.

“Did I offend you?” He couldn’t help being blunt. It was just in his nature to ask difficult questions and seek difficult answers. You let out a small laugh. Before, he didn’t seem to care in the moment, but it seemed that, after some reflection, he truly did care about your feelings.

“No… No, you didn’t. I know you just wanted a direct answer from a direct question. I just needed some time to think about it.” Eighteen’s stiff posture relaxed a bit after receiving your reassurance.

“But anyway… Eighteen, I’ve… moved on from those times. From what they did to me at least. It still upsets me, but it was so long ago. I don’t want to waste my energy on it.” You remember all the stares and chatter that popped up when you decided to stay with The Outcast, from your peers and professors and the Sages, effectively making the others push you away. But it wasn’t something you would ever regret. You would choose Zandik again and again, no matter what others told you. However, the Segment didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

“They threw you out of the Akademiya without any attempts at accommodations. They would hardly spare you a glance or listen to when you asked for extensions or tried to explain your condition.” He progressively raised his voice as he recounted your struggles. “And those people, they looked at you like-” He bit his tongue as if uttering it would send him into a deeper fury. “Those doctors too, they just brushed you aside and-”

It was then you truly realized that Eighteen wasn’t just scarred from his own rejection. At how cruelly he was received by everyone around him. He was upset about how they treated you too. At how his only beloved had to suffer so terribly. 

You grabbed Eighteen’s hand, and that seemed to bring him back to you. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure how you could go about this. You could teach him how to love, but it was a different story helping him to shed such deep-seated insecurity and nonacceptance.

“I know. I remember all of that, and I don’t like it either, just as I hate what both of us had to go through.” One of your hands brushed his palm, while the other stroked the top. “But… the Akademiya can’t hurt me again. And… they can’t hurt you. We aren’t there anymore. I know I can’t change your mind, but… we’re here now. Things are different, and I have you with me. And I’m very happy with you right now, in this moment. At the very least, know that.” 

You felt as if that was a flimsy answer, but you didn’t know what else to say. Because in truth, it was only natural he could never forget those experiences, especially at such a tender age. 

“… I guess if that’s really what you think, then I’m inclined to take your opinion into consideration.” There were a few beats of silence before Eighteen quietly replied. You could only wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He slowly reciprocated and held you, and he felt something flutter in his chest when you pressed a small kiss to his skin.

You were so warm. He would not compare it to an all-consuming fire that chased things away from it and made hearts race in fear. You were just… warm.

But you knew that although you said all of that, your poor boy could never move on from the pain of rejection embedded into his very core. 

—

There was a quiet corner of the lab that Eight seemed to like to hang around in besides being in his room, and he soon introduced you to it. The attachment was beginning to grow deep, as he began to show you more of his notebooks and various texts the others had given him - mainly from Forty-Five and the original Zandik. 

“So, this is where you’ve been.” A voice suddenly echoed nearby, the click of Eighteen’s boots sounding as well. The older Segment appeared in front of you, and when he noticed the young boy on your lap, his expression changed.

“Hi, Eighteen. I’m surprised you’ve found us all the way out here. Did you need something?” Eight glanced at him but kept his head down in his books.

“I..” His usual brashness seemed to temporarily dissipate at the sight. The child sat in your lap, with one hand keeping him securely positioned and the other playing with his soft hair, adorning him with soft kisses on his cheek from time to time as he pointed to things and explained them. But after a few moments, his attitude came back. 

“I came for you. Because we have things to do.” You raised your eyebrows, still keeping your gentle smile on your face.

“Like…?” The Segment floundered for an answer.

“Reports. Research. I need your opinion.” He crossed his arms as if you should have already known.

“I’m happy to help you with all of that. But right now, I’m with Eight.” You patted the child’s head to emphasize. “I’m sure I could come visit you when we’re done, though.” He didn’t move from that spot as you turned your attention back to the kid. You praised his younger self and nodded along with his ideas, and Eighteen gritted his teeth. He couldn’t stand to watch something so childish and nonsensical. 

“And Forty-Five is calling for you, Eight.” Eighteen suddenly interrupted once more, drawing your attention to him once again.

“I didn’t hear anything in the hive-mind.” Eight put his book down and quietly replied.

“Well, maybe you weren’t paying attention.” His response was immediate and scowling. You frowned and shot the older Segment a look, but he ignored your gaze. A few seconds later, the child grabbed his notebooks and was heading off.

“Bye, [Name].” Eight lingered near you as you smoothed down his hair from all the ruffling you did before departing.

“Bye-bye, my dear.” You waved him goodbye, and now only you and Eighteen were left in the room. “Alright then, I guess we should-”

“Why do you tolerate him?!” The force of his words had you taken aback, but you had a feeling where this was going.

“Why… Why would I not-”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or what he’s doing. He shouldn’t speak about it as if he-”

“Eight has some good ideas-”

“Those are naive fantasies from someone who doesn’t understand how the world works. They are implausible. We have actual work to do, and we shouldn’t be wasting time listening to him. Not me, not you.” He had balled his fists up so tightly, you were sure it was painful.

People may not have wanted to listen to his ideas as a kid, but that little boy still had the ability to dream all the childish ideas he wanted. But for Eighteen, people still did not want to listen to his ideas, and he had gradually lost that ability to think freely as a child would. That was why he could not stand to be around Eight, who was the beginning of the ideas that others scorned him for, but still persisted to dream about them anyway.

“… But even if they are just childish fantasies, don’t they deserve to be appreciated and nurtured anyway? Perhaps so they could even grow into something more?” You took small steps toward him, his back turned to you as he shook. “And there were so many things that others said couldn’t be done, but you accomplished them anyway, didn’t you?” You placed your hand on his back, and the shaking stopped momentarily as you pressed your face against him.

“I love every part of you. The parts of you that make me smile and laugh. And the parts that others may have hated or feared about you… I love those just as much, and they deserve to be loved and seen.” Your arms reached to snake around Eighteen’s sides as he seemed to calm down, or at least stop shaking. “You don’t need to hide away those parts of yourself, because I want to learn about them all the same. So please don’t say that.” 

You could see that he wasn’t going to respond to you. So instead, you continued to hold Eighteen from behind as he blinked back tears and reached to place his hand over yours.

[rattetytat]

[fatuismooches]

𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦?

A collection of cute moments spent with the Segments and the original Zandik.

♡ the eight-year-old segment

♡ the eighteen-year-old segment

♡ the twenty-five-year-old segment

♡ the thirty-five-year-old segment

♡ the forty-five-year-old segment

♡ the sixty-five-year-old segment

♡ the original zandik

[heavyns]

il dottore would be the type to see you get passed around his segments. omega!dottore specifically watches as your mind breaks from the nth round, observing just how much you can take and how to break your limits.

7 unsettling pairs of eyes surround you. some look with disgust at how fucked out you've become. human desire was such a menial thing and is something they swore off. but no amount of sneers can hide their hardened cocks. they're all still– at the very core– zandik after all. and you were the darling of his eyes.

[arinxxx]

I just saw a post of @auratux on Dottore's segments... and yea I had to write this drabble(?)

idk what kind of warnings I should put here, so help me out I guess! maybe sexual tension?

assistant reader x dottore segments

Another assistant reader if you wanna read!

(A note: Someone legit sent me a messaga and said "ai slop" lmao, i am a teaching student, studying english. And i have been writing for like 10 years now, it helps you to improve definitely. Ai paranoia is real😭😭)

The kitchen smelled warm. Melted cheese, baked dough, oregano.

You leaned against the counter while the youngest segment stood on a chair beside the oven, watching through the glass with narrowed eyes like he was conducting a scientific experiment instead of baking pizza.

“Do you think it’s cooked yet?” you asked.

The 8 year-old huffed softly, then crouched down closer to the oven door. His little brows furrowed in concentration. After a moment he nodded once, serious as ever.

“I think it did,” he said quietly. “Smells delicious.”

Your smile came before you could stop it.

“Well then, Doctor,” you teased gently, “let’s eat.”

You slipped on the oven mitts and pulled the pizza out carefully while he watched with obvious satisfaction. Together, you cut it into uneven slices and carried everything to the table.

It felt oddly domestic.

Just you and him sitting there, finally ready to enjoy your hard-earned pizza.

And then—

“Oh, for the love of—”

“You started it, which means you asked for it.”

The familiar voices grew louder down the hall.

Sigh

The 18 year-old and the 25 year-old entered mid argument, both looking equally irritated. Neither even noticed the pizza at first.

“You are unbelievably insufferable,” 25 snapped.

“And you’re old and bitter,” 18 shot back immediately.

Then they both stopped. Their eyes landed on the table.

On you.

And of course on the youngest segment sitting proudly across you with flour still dusted across his sleeves.

25 scoffed.

“So this is what the two of you spent the afternoon doing?” His eyes dragged over the pizza critically. “How adorable. I leave for a few hours and suddenly the lab turns into a daycare cooking class.”

The youngest frowned immediately.

Before you could say anything, 18 leaned against the doorway with a grin.

“At least they can create something useful,” he said lazily. “Which is not something I can say for you.”

25 shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.

18 only smirked wider before dropping into the chair beside you like he absolutely belonged there.

25 clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned like he was about to leave.

“Maybe taste some before judging it,” you said casually while reaching for another slice. “I made it. Wouldn’t you like something I made?”

That stopped him, which was something predictable.

His expression twisted like he wanted to refuse on principle alone, but after a long moment he sighed dramatically and sat down on your other side.

“You’re insufferable too,” he muttered.

“And yet here you are.”

The youngest looked deeply offended by all of you.

For a while, things settled surprisingly peacefully.

The four of you ate while small conversations drifted around the table. Research updates. Complaints. Petty arguments. Bickerings, as usual.

Mostly complaints...

18 was currently ranting with full enthusiasm.

“I’m serious, Omega keeps stealing you,” he grumbled around a bite of pizza. “Every time I finally find you, suddenly he needs ‘assistance.’ And you just go with him.”

You took another bite calmly.

“Well,” you said with a shrug, “I enjoy obeying him. He’s kind of crazy hot, you know?”

The youngest immediately looked disgusted.

Actually disgusted.

He stared at his pizza like he regretted existing in this conversation at all.

18 nearly choked.

“You say things like that on purpose,” he accused, ears turning red.

You laughed softly.

Then your eyes caught the bit of oil at the corner of his mouth.

Without thinking much of it, you reached over with your thumb and wiped it away. He froze instantly beneath your touch.

And when you licked the oil from your thumb-

His entire face turned scarlet.

You burst into laughter.

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “I thought we passed that stage already. But you really are just a teenage boy full of hormones, huh?”

25 leaned back in his chair, openly amused now.

“Pathetic,” he murmured.

“Screw you.”

The youngest looked like he wanted to disappear permanently.

Then he pointed suddenly.

“You have oil on your mouth too, Y/N”

“Oh?” You blinked. “Can you pass me a tissue?”

You turned toward 25.

“If you want it so badly,” he drawled, “Get it yourself. Maybe if you lean far enough I’ll finally get to see what you’re hiding under that skirt.”

You stared at him, you couldn't decide whether to admire or despise this randomly appearing frankness, because that kind of thing wasn't his style.

“You do realize your 8 year-old self is sitting right here?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

The youngest groaned in pure disappointment.

Muttering under your breath, you leaned over him to grab the tissues anyway. You could practically feel both older segments watching you shamelessly.

And then the sharp tap of a walking stick echoed down the hall.

Everyone looked up.

The oldest segment entered the room wearing his usual expression of permanent irritation. His gaze swept across the table slowly before landing on the pizza.

His face somehow looked even more judgmental.

“You people waste astonishing amounts of time,” he said gruffly. “Sitting around stuffing yourselves with grease while actual work remains unfinished.”

You held up a slice toward him.

“You’re criticizing it before trying it too?”

“I don’t need to taste burnt bread to know it lacks sophistication.”

You smiled knowingly.

“I made it though.”

Then you added sweetly, “Wouldn’t you like something I made?”

25 snorted quietly because now someone else was falling into this trap, and for him, it was very entertaining to see what had been done to him being done to someone else.

The old man looked deeply unimpressed.

But after several long seconds, he finally took the slice from your hand with a dissatisfied grunt.

And despite all his complaints he finished the entire thing.

By the time dinner ended, a voice echoed sharply from deeper within the lab.

“Assistant.” This was 35 years old.

You immediately sat up straighter.

“Yes?”

“Come to my office. Immediatley.”

Your smile turned almost automatic.

“Okay.”

18 groaned loudly while you stood from the table.

“You’re proving my point.”

And you chose to ignore him completely.

After brushing your teeth quickly, you returned to the dining room to fix your makeup using the reflection in a darkened glass cabinet. The exaggerated noises you made while reapplying your lip gloss earned increasingly irritated looks from all three segments.

Which only encouraged you further.

Finally satisfied, you turned back toward the table.

The youngest was first.

You leaned down and kissed his cheek gently. He frowned immediately afterward, pretending he disliked it even while leaning subtly into your hand.

Then you moved to 18.

He was sitting there with his arms crossed and the most dramatic sulking expression imaginable.

“Aww,” you cooed softly.

He rolled his eyes.

You slipped your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back enough to make him stare up at you before leaning down and kissing him properly.

He melted instantly.

When you pulled away, his face was burning red all over again.

25 looked unbearably smug watching it happen.

So naturally you climbed into his lap next.

“You’re annoying,” he murmured, though his hands settled on your waist immediately.

“And you like me anyway.”

“Not really.”

You kissed him quickly before he could turn it into something longer by biting at your lip with a grin.

Then you stepped over toward the oldest segment.

His expression barely changed as you bent down and pressed a gentle kiss against his temple.

Still-

His hand rested briefly against your wrist before you pulled away.

You smiled at all of them afterward.

“Bye bye, guys,” you sang lightly while backing toward the door. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“You’re unbearable,” 85 called after you.

“Don't come back alive,” 25 years old muttered.

18 looked personally betrayed already.

And the youngest just reached for another slice of pizza with the exhausted expression of someone far too young to be dealing with any of this.

The lab door slid shut behind you moments later.

And somewhere deeper inside the halls 35 was waiting for you.