This user claims to contain multitude

65 doesn’t make a big deal out of not getting a kiss before you hit the sack. in fact, he’s definitely the least disruptive in how he responds to your inaction — which isn’t to say he’s not petty, but he won’t make the problem known to everyone in the lab.

no, his thought process is surprisingly mature for one of ill dottore’s segments. if you forget to see him off with a smooch, he’ll visit you in the morning with a tray of delicious, mouth-watering breakfast food. still-hot pancakes under butter actively melting onto the stack, a bowl of fresh fruit, something meaty to satiate any sodium cravings, a nice, cold glass of juice and some vitamin capsules.

as the segment with the most care for your human needs, he sneaks into your chambers carefully and quietly, making sure not to disrupt your precious sleep (which isn’t to say he’s doesn’t wake you up, because the enticing smell of breakfast pulls you out of unconsciousness with comical speed).

“apologies for rousing you, my beloved. i thought you’d do well to have a hearty breakfast this morning.” he chuckles quietly, brushing back your bedhead with one gloved hand. you grumble, rubbing the sleep out of your puffy eyes.

“didja make all of this?” you reach for the drink as you sit up straight while 65 sets the feet of the tray on each side of you, breakfast on your lap. he shakes his head, soft gaze never leaving your face.

“my contributions lie solely within the fruit and the vitamins. i had 8 cook the pancakes.” you choose to interpret the latter statement as the child segment offering to help with your breakfast himself, that he wasn’t forced to slave away whisking the thick batter with his poor little arms. you hum, sighing happily when the cold liquid soothes your dry throat.

“i’ll make sure to thank him well, in that case-“ a hand appears over your pancakes, shielding them from a stabbing by fork.

“…huh.”

65 clicks his tongue.

“what of my thank?” you look at him, befuddled.

“…and yesterday’s good night kiss?”

a metaphorical lightbulb shines bright over your head.

“OH.”

immediately, you lean up as much as you physically can with the tray still in your lap and leave a gentle kiss on the side of his beak, smiling. “i’m sorry, i was so tired it completely slipped my mind!” you muse with an airy laugh. “i’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, i promise.” it would happen again.

his hand stays hovering on top of the pancakes.

he turns his head, facing you properly.

“not good enough.”

with a blink, you lean to the right and press a kiss on the other side of his beak.

“no.”

you halt, in thought. pondering. you set the glass of juice down on your nightstand as to have the least amount of obstacles in your way of this mission, grab his face to angle it downwards so it’s in proximity of your lips, and you give him a peck on the forehead.

no sound comes from the segment. you’re not even sure he’s breathing, actually.

you hear a quiet, baritone “not good enough” from under the mask.

slightly fed up but mostly just hungry and impatient, your hands dart behind his head and fiddle with the belt clasps attached to that damn plague doctor mask and loosen them enough to yank the whole thing down, peppering his face with kisses — the apple of his left cheek, his hooked nose, above his right eyebrow, on his right cheek, and finally, a loud, obnoxious MMMWAH! on his awaiting lips.

you stare at each other for a second. you, with a twitch in your right eye. him, with an indecipherable expression.

a second second.

“another o-“

"Say that again.."

Time might as well have stopped flowing forward with how still everything seemed in the silence that stretched. You grew steadily more anxious that you'd somehow insulted his entire bloodline.

The words were foreign on your tongue and the pronunciation most likely off. You'd never heard anyone from Sumeru speaking their native tongue and such had nothing but intuition to go off of.

"I.. loving you?"

Dottore laughed.

But it was a genuine one. Perched on his lap, your body fitting perfectly against his, you could feel his abs tense with every chuckle.

The tips of his ears, barely visible through unruly hair, were flushed. A calloused hand reached to pinch your cheek.

"Your grammar is all wrong."

Before you could protest, huff, defend yourself and the effort it had required to memorise in the first place, he tucked your head under his chin, voice lowered to a whisper.

One Piece: Admiral Aokiji 💙🧊❄️

bear with me here, because this actually ties into something else I've been thinking about: between the Knight, Leia, and Henrik, Silver is basically the last remaining heir to all the land the Silver Owls stole, yes? but what with all the global territory disputes and treaties and general drama, it'd probably just be a huge mess that would get tied up in red tape for centuries if he, you know, tried to just give it back. however, for times like this, there is the traditional solution...

what I'm saying is, 99% of Briar Valley's political issues could be instantly solved if Silver marries Maleficia.