AAAAAAAAAAAAA

⛆ He takes you in his arms, rubbing your back until your sniffles quiet. He’s ready to lend an ear if you want to talk, but if you just needed his presence to calm down he’ll make you comfy on the ottoman in his office, the rhythmic sound of pen on paper calming to the nerves.

☔︎︎ He will also make you tea, something calming with hints of rosemary or anything else you like, and will play one of his many records to fill the room with the soft instrumental — really just anything he can do to stop that look of pain on your face that he would never admit hurts him more than anything.

MAMMON

⛆ When he gets a text from you, a dry, short “come” that could mean practically anything, he wastes no time in immediately bursting through your door like he was announcing his presence to a ballroom full of people.

☔︎︎ “I swear if you turned y’self into a rat again—!”

⛆ His face drops when he sees you curled up in your bed, tears flowing down your cheeks. He instantly moves to you — sitting beside you to hold your tear-covered face and wipe them away. His heart shatters as you curl into his chest when he hugs you, and he immediately starts whispering reassurances as his grip on you tightens.

☔︎︎ “If anyone else ever makes ya cry again, you tell me! The Great Mammon will take care of them,” he boasts, trying to sound proud but you quickly catch on to how his voice wavers like he’s about to cry too. He can’t help it! his worst nightmare is seeing you upset; he'd rather go bankrupt 10x over.

LEVIATHAN

⛆ It’s late when he hears rushed knocking at his door — and he goes to ask for the password as always, figuring it’s Lucifer telling him to get some sleep before until he hears sniffling.

☔︎︎ Then a sob — specifically the sound of you sobbing. He immediately shuts off his game and gets up, opening the door only to be hugged by you. He freezes up, a thousand thoughts running through his head like m/c is crying, why is m/c crying? what do I do? what do I say?! ⛆ He offers to get one of his brothers for you, unsure why you chose to come to him for comfort. When he hears your protest muffled against his sweater he can’t help but blush, mustering up all his courage to wrap his arms around you instead of just standing there awkwardly.

☔︎︎ He’ll offer to play games or watch something with you to take your mind off it, and will even get you comfortable in his tub bed so you can just watch him game to calm down to the sounds of clicking and water swishing as Henry 2.0 blowed bubbles at you in his tank.

SATAN

⛆ When you come into his room an entire stack of books gets knocked down by the door. He curses, rushing to make sure none landed on your foot or anything when he notices the tears in your eyes.

☔︎︎ He asks a hundred questions at once, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe your tears and now really panicking that his disorganized mess of a room had hurt you. When he realizes you were already crying he calms a little, offering to read to you until you calm down, get bored, or fall asleep. Either way, he just wants to see those tears stop.

⛆ He understands how hard it can be to come down from harsh emotions alone, so he doesn’t hesitate to lead you through the masses of stacked books to get you comfy on his bed. He will rub at your back for hours if you want, his gentle voice soothing.

“You tell me who did this to you and they’re gone.”

ASMODEUS

☔︎︎ He doesn’t hear you come into his bathroom at first, too distracted singing along to the music he was blasting as he applied different expensive products to his face. When he finally notices you he gasps and rushes over, holding your face and clicking his tongue at how red your eyes were.

⛆ He’s rushing around the room like a chicken without a head, doing so many things at once that you’re distracted for a moment with how confused you are. Only when you hear the rush of water into the tub do you realize what he’s doing — tossing miscellaneous products into the water that you notice are all your favourite scent.

☔︎︎ While that’s running he’ll sit you down at his vanity, applying a balm over your eyes to help with swelling — cooing the time in a way that should feel derogatory but you know is sweet. “You know, crying makes your eyelashes longer.” He bats his own just to see you laugh before pressing kisses to your eyelids.

BEELZEBUB

⛆ He’s in the kitchen on one of his many midnight fridge raids when he hears your footsteps and turns to see the tears on your cheeks reflected in the dim light. He stops mid bite, setting the snack down to hold his arms out to you.

☔︎︎ Hugging him is like hugging a bear — a warm, comforting embrace that you could never take for granted. He grabs the snack off the counter and offers it to you, letting go momentarily to make you a warm, welcoming cup of hot cocoa or anything else to help you relax.

⛆ If all you want is him he’s happy to just stay there holding you for as long as you need, or if you’re up for it will take you for a walk in the garden, the sound of wind and his footsteps next to yours grounding you as you look up at the sky together.

BELPHEGOR

☔︎︎ To be honest, he isn’t completely sure what to do at first. He isn’t the best with other’s emotions, and he silently panics when he sees you sad and isn’t sure what to do — only knowing that he hates seeing you in pain and needs to stop it.

⛆ His first response is, of course, to cuddle with you, holding you close as you sob against him. His tail wraps around you, fluffy end curling up to wipe away the stray tears and purposefully tickling you just to see you laugh. ☔︎︎ He takes you to the planetarium, laying with you as he points to stars and crakes his time explaining each and every one you ask about — his low voice nearly lulling you to sleep and making you forget all about what was troubling you.

You almost broke a few times, whether it was from almost grabbing him by the face and shoving him away when he decided to stand in front of the tv until you acknowledged him, or from the guilt of walking past his room to see him asleep with your matching chocolate lizard keychain in his arms instead of you.

But he could annoy, bother, interrupt, and guilt trip you all he wanted; you were’t budging. It didn’t matter how many apologies he gave or how long his eyes burned holes into you from across the dinner table, you would drag this out until he never even thinks of going to a casino again.

Though that was starting to get difficult the more restless he got, and so after packing a few necessities and sneaking out of the HOL like a spy mission, you showed up at Purgatory Hall’s door with a look of pure desperation.

Thankfully the angels were as welcoming as ever, and Solomon loved to help you get on the demon’s nerves because in no time you were settled in with no guilt-tripping demon to bother you.

No passive aggressive sad faces with whip cream on your pancakes in the morning, no slipping his beach-wear magazines under your door so you wake up to a pile of magazines with him shirtless and glistening in the sun on the cover. You were finally free to ride out your petty train in peace!

For about 5 minutes, that is.

You forgot about your DDD, which quickly let you know was a big mistake as it nearly vibrated itself off the coffee table from all the texts you were receiving. You didn’t even have to check to know it was Mammon losing his mind upon coming home to find you nowhere to be seen.

Luke gave you an odd look from the seat beside you, so you quickly snapped up the device, pressing his icon and hitting block with an embarrassed sigh. No big deal, you could've seen that coming from a mile away.

Unaffected, you went back to watching whatever show Luke had put on for maybe about 10 seconds before the sound started up again, somehow even louder this time as if in protest.

With a groan you picked your DDD back up to see him texting you on every other platform he could possibly think of, leading you to roll your eyes in annoyance and block him on those, too. He could post mysterious status updates like upset because of a certain someone, they know who they are on Devilgram all he wants, you weren’t taking the bait.

You thought that was that, but he didn’t stop there. First it was emailing you from the RAD computers when you stopped answering your phone. Then it was a smartwatch from an “anonymous admirer” appearing on your doorstep that conveniently had only his number on it.

When that didn’t work he still! didn’t give up, just went bigger—somehow getting into RAD’s system to broadcast an apology video onto the smartboard mid-lesson—leaving you to hang your head in embarrassment for the rest of the day.

No response? Not a problem for him, he simply went bigger. Those billboards he was on for his modelling gigs? Yeah, one of them now had him with a candy heart with your name on it in his mouth. How did he even get that approved?!

Spray painting I’M SORRY, COME HOME onto the side of Purgatory Hall when begging at the door didn’t work, somehow overriding the smart fridge Solomon installed to mess with Simeon and FaceTime-ing you from the screen on it.

“Mc I know you can hear this. I see you getting that parfait! Hey— are those noodles? Aw come on you know those are my favourite! Wait don’t walk away— M/c! wait! Hey!!”

At least you didn’t have to deal with that one yourself: Simeon somehow managed to get the entire thing shut down within the hour. His hopelessness with technology could be useful on occasion, apparently.

You swear he even put a spell on the microwave because it beeped what you were sure was “I’m sorry” at you in morse code for 4 hours straight yesterday.

So yeah, turns out Mammon was a little more dedicated than you thought. It was only when you finally thought he’d given up that he showed you just how desperate he could be.

“Caw!”

You turned to the window of the guest bedroom the angels had so kindly let you stay in, a decision you were sure they were now regretting after this week’s events. There’s no way.

Alas, there was one of his crows, perched on the window with a small scroll in its mouth.

You wanted to shut the window straight on its face, but you couldn’t do that to poor Grimm. It’s not like it’s his fault his master is an idiot.

After scratching Grimm’s head you gently took the scroll from his talons and unravelled it. It was old and weathered looking, like he had pulled it straight out of the underground tomb for dramatic effect.

‘Here ye Here ye,’ read the first sentence. Oh boy.

‘To my dear m/c, my treasure, my sheep, my light in the darkness,’ if you didn’t already want to rip your eyes out, you did now!

‘Woe is me, because I did not awake to your beautiful face this merry day. If I had but one wish, it would be to take back the hurt I have caused you, and have you in my greedy, undeserving arms once again. Please come home, for your one and only misses you dearly.’

Sincerely, your first man.

Right. He was your first pact—a decision you were seriously second-guessing. What were you going to do with this idiot? Not give in, that’s for sure. You thanked Grimm and rolled the scroll back up before turning and tossing it straight into the trash.

Caw?! Grimm exclaimed, and you scratched his head apologetically.

”Sorry buddy, I have to stand my ground. Forgiving him so easily will just tell him that I’ll always forgive him when he upsets me,” you explained. Did it make you feel a little crazy talking to a crow? Sure, but after conversing with shrunken down, blob forms of sin known as little d’s, nothing could phase you anymore.

After Grimm flew off you continued on with your day like nothing happened. It was a Thursday night with Friday off, meaning you wouldn’t have to skillfully avoid Mammon in the halls of RAD until Monday; three days from now.

The sense of peace and very tiny bit of sadness that was defintely not because you missed him were short-lived though, as you awoke that next morning to the feeling of something.. .jumping on your chest?

You slowly peeked your eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the harsh morning light that was shining through your open window—had you forgotten to close that last night?

Your eyes drifted back down until something feathery and black came into your vision and you screamed so loud it could’ve been heard from the Celestial Realm. Grimm, who had been hopping around until you woke up let out a startled caw as well and leaped back into the air.

You always closed your window at night in case a random demon decided to come in and eat you in your sleep, but you never expected the real danger to be a crow. Though it’s not like you could be mad at Grimm—it’s not his fault he picked up after Mammon’s idiocy.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking again just to make sure this was really happening, and frowned with guilt at seeing Grimm now distanced to the corner of your room, feathers ruffled.

You got up, petting Grimm’s head in apology for bloody-murder screaming in his face. The poor thing’s hearing had likely already been bursted by Mammon years ago, but still.

You untied the string and unrolled the scroll, coughing as an air of dust came off it. Seriously, where was he getting these things? The dark depths of his wallet?

My beloved M/c,

You cannot imagine my despair when I awoke to not a single response from you. You’re breaking my heart here, ya know? Don’t mind the smudged ink. That’s just my tears. What more can I do to make you forgive me? Let an angry mob throw tomatoes at me? Fist-fight Cerberus? Name your price and I’ll do it, just come home. I love you.

Sincerely, Mammon.

You furrowed your brows. This was getting difficult. Was he really that upset? You looked to Grimm for guidance, but his beady eyes just blinked at you in confusion. You shook your head. Just a few more days to really stick the message in his head, then you would give in.

He was seriously making that difficult. Every day without fail he sent you a letter, the third one being the very next day while you were brushing your teeth. This lead Luke to sneakily try to peak at it from beside you, standing on his tippy-toes.

You only had the chance to read around one line that said something akin to ‘my midnight beauty’ before Luke grabbed it and threw it in the toilet, wasting no time in flushing it. So much for that.

That day there was even a second, with Grimm instead hollering out of the large stained glass window in the dining room, leaving the others to give you an odd look.

“Mammon again?” Solomon inquired.

You didn’t even bother answering, just nodded in defeat as you pressed your forehead to the table. He took the letter, reading it and snickering before tossing it into the fire place. At least you had a support system?

That night, just as you thought you would finally get some peace, there was another peck on your window.

You rubbed your hands down your face, groaning. This was never going to end.

You walked over and shut your blinds, but it was useless. Grimm continued to peck like it was his lifes purpose until it was impossible to ignore, no matter how hard you pressed your pillow to your ears.

You dragged your curtains open, the sound of metal dragging sending shivers up your spine. You unlocked the window and tugged it open, once again tempted to slam it in the crow’s face before you remember it was Mammon you were annoyed with, not Grimm. Don’t shoot the messenger, or whatever.

You unroll it, expecting yet another long paragraph in a messy attempt at formality.

M/c.

Come home.

You tilted your head. That’s pretty vague. You searched to see if maybe there was something on the other side, but all you were met with was a strange looking sigil that you took too long to realize was starting to glow.

Your eyes widened and you went to drop it, but it was too late. In less than a second all you could see was blinding white light, dulling your senses until you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

When they opened again, you had to squint until the blob infront of you came into focus. You could only look at him for a split second before you were being encompassed in a hug so tight it could’ve crushed your ribs.

A stronger person would’ve pushed him away, but it was hard to not be weak for him. You relaxed and hugged him back, running a hand through his hair patiently until he was ready to let go.

“M/c…..” he whined your name, somehow pulling you even closer until there wasn’t a single breath of air between the two of you. “I missed you.”

You shake your head. “No really?”

He pulls his head from where its tucked against your neck to pout at you. “A week. I didn’t hear from you for a whole week! and this is how you treat me?” He huffs, and you can’t help but giggle. “Tsk, who says I wanted to see you anyway… .”

You raise an eyebrow. You don’t even need to list out the dozens of evidence for him, he’s well aware of his actions this past week. Just the way he was clinging to you like he was worried you would vanish again was a clear tell.

Now that you could see his face, he was a mess. His eyes and nose had that hue to them that they always got after he cried, and you almost didn’t realize you were now in his room with how messy it was.

Sure you were upset with him, but this whole thing had been kind of a joke. You didn’t know it affected him this badly, you were only gone for a week! What, did he have no object permanence?

You cupped his face, pulling him into a soft kiss that he immediately melted into. He moved his hand to rest on the back of your neck, deepening the kiss until you had to shove him away just to breathe.

Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, slapping a hand over his lips when he immediately tried to dive back in. “You swear you’ll listen to what I ask you from now on?”

He nodded so quick it could’ve cause whiplash. “I promise.”

You scratched his scalp and he hummed contentedly. “Don’t leave again. I love you.”

You smiled. “I won’t, I promise.”

His fangs teasingly nipped your shoulder and you jumped, swatting him. “Hey-! I love you too, idiot.”

“And I really am sorry,” he added, pulling away so you could see the sincerity in his eyes when he said it.

You huff, thinking back to the spray-paint you were surprised Barbatos hadn’t already killed him for, the fridge, the letters, etc. “Never would’ve guessed.”

"Definitely," Satan sighed, remembering the look on your face when that cashier told you their ice machine wasn’t working so they were only serving hot drinks. You didn’t even order any food, just up and left with a look of utter despair.

Now, the Devildom was always hot—that was no surprise—but it did have its cool months. This time of the year though? Yeah, it really reminded you that you’re essentially in hell, and probably right up against the earth’s flaming hot core.

The demons could handle it fine, they had adapted to the heat years ago. Because of that they never had ac, and failed to take into account how that would be for their very human exchange student. So yeah, irritable was an understatement.

“It feels like nothing we do will cheer poor m/c up,” Asmo pouted, remembering his own incident just last night.

When he had walked past your room to spot you grumbling while searching through pyjamas, he immediately asked what was wrong. When you frowned and said something about only having clean pyjama pants, Asmo had happily dragged you into his room to borrow some of his.

He didn't understand why that was a problem at the time, and was too giddy to share some of his with you that he didn't bother asking. He just let you search through his closet that was something out of Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse until you found a nice silk pyjama set of shorts and a shirt.

Then that smile was right back on your face and all was well, until he hugged you goodnight. He forgot demons have a naturally high body temperature—and there you were back at square one; hot. Your nose scrunched, wiggling out of his arms and giving him a half-hearted goodnight as you fled back to your room.

"Okay, so no hugging M/c.”

That earned a symphony of whines and complaints from the alleged strong, powerful rulers of the Devildom. Even Belphie huffed at that, realizing it most definitely meant no cuddling with the extra heat of all of 5 of his blankets, either.

As they continued to discuss how to help your mood, they spotted Lucifer walking into the common room with you next to him—chatting about whatever.

Levi cringed, sweat beading at his brow. "Oh no."

"They're gonna kill him,” Asmo whispered. Lucifer was annoying enough to someone in a good mood.

"M/c, I noticed you haven't been completing your lessons on time.” The brothers were now hiding behind the couch, watching the words that would likely seal their brother’s fate.

“Are you stressed? You could always start the kettle and have a nice hot cup of tea, or perhaps kindle the fireplace?" Lucifer asked, trying to offer several things that he knew could be calming when stressed but not calming enough to save him from your reaction.

You proceeded to give him a look so nasty that the others flinched.

"Stressed? You're the one whose stressed. How about you go kindle those grey hairs, grandpa."

Mammon and Levi gasped in unison. Belphie and Satan snorted. Asmo was recording and Beel had to push his jaw closed.

Your eyes set on them and they jumped, immediately ducking their heads back behind the couch like they hadn't been watching the whole thing like it was reality tv.

"Got something to say, peanut gallery?"

They shook their heads.

And so you left the room, leaving them all to sigh with relief as if a target just got lifted from their backs.

Lucifer seemed unbothered, but the way he subtly shifted his hair didn't go unnoticed. "Do they seem unsually… peevish to you?"

They sighed in agreement.

Levi rubbed his eyes. "We've gotta do something."

"Like what?” Asmo raised an eyebrow.

"We could get an ac? Remember the one when we visited the human world?" Satan suggested.

Lucifer shook his head. "They don't make them here. We would have to get one from the human world, which might take a few days to deliver and install.”

"Okay, so all we need to do is dodge m/c's wrath for a couple days? That ain't too bad!" Mammon grinned. "I say we all just avoid them until we can get it installed. Can’t make em’ mad that way!”

"You couldn't go a day without talking to m/c, let alone a week.” Lucifer pointed out.

"Hey neither could you! How bout you come up with something then?

“Guys.” Beel started.

“We could buy heaps of icecream?”

“No, then Beel would just eat it!” “Guys,” he tried again.

“I say we all just move out until the ac gets here.”

“Thats the stupidest idea I’ve ever—“

“Guys.”

“What?!” They all turned to him, all with a glare so similar to yours you’d think the heat was getting to them, too.

“Where did Belphie go?” He asked, and they all looked to see their youngest brother was definitely gone from where he had been draped across the couch.

Cue the sound of a deafening, house-shaking roar coming from below them.

They all gave each other matching confused faces before bolting out of the room and towards the underground tomb where the unmistakable sound of Cerberus being disturbed was.

After scrambling down multiple flights of stairs, they finally made it to the source of the sound to see Cerberus was thankfully not using their brother as a chew toy but instead seemed to have been appeased by a giant rubber ball.

As he was chewing on that in the corner of the tomb, their eyes landed on a pile of blankets in the centre of the room where you and Belphie were curled up, unbothered.

Mammon gawked. “What the hell?!”

Belphie peeked an eye open, shrugging. ”It’s cold down here.”

He shifted, looking at you curled up beside him and slowly sliding his pillow toward you like he was trying to feed a skittish stray.

"...Cold side,” he muttered.

You smiled, taking it gratefully.

“Ay! No fair, why do you get to be with them?” Mammon complained before leaping onto the pile of blankets and pillows, tugging you against him and sticking his tongue out at Belphie.

”I wanna join!” Asmo beamed, shoving between you and Belphie to get his long-awaited hug.

”Me too,” Levi blushed, moving to lay against your leg with his tail coming out to curl around it.

So one by one they picked their spot around you until you were completely surrounded and trapped in a pile of clingy, scorching hot demons.

And just like that you were sweating again.

🍽️ Oh boy, this man. He would be so happy to swap bodies with you, his hands immediately finding his favourite parts of you. Sorry to the ladies, but he would definitely fondle your breasts right in front of you— essentially getting off on it. A quick smack to the head will snap him out of it, partially.

🍽️ If you guys do have to fight in each other’s bodies, he’ll beg for you to try to imitate his fighting style. His hands are very important to him and his job, so he doesn’t want them getting damaged. He himself will do his best to keep your body from harm, but his movement is limited.

🍽️ If the body swap caused you two to switch clothes, he would fawn on how nice you (technically your body) looks with his clothes on. If your clothes on his body are overly feminine or just not his style, he will try to make you change your clothes or steer clear of Zoro. He would never let Sanji live it down.

🍽️ One thing you realized after switching back was how stiff your body was. Or how flexible Sanji was. He could move his body with such ease, especially below his waist. Maybe it had something to do with him being genetically modified. If you got used to it and complain about being so stiff now, he’ll happily give you a massage.

Luffy

🍖 Luffy would find it really cool to be in your body! He would comment about everything, your height and body type, how everything feels different. He’s nothing like Sanji, he doesn’t exploit it in a sexual manner. He’s just curious.

🍖 Fighting in each other’s bodies is harder for Luffy, he’s good at combat, but he’s used to using his devil fruit. Without it, he’s more likely to get hit since he’ll forget and make an opening for the enemy in his confusion. You, on the other hand, are trying to get used to his devil fruit powers.

🍖 Luffy doesn’t care what his body is wearing in your possession, as long as he has his straw hat. He’ll just smile and say that he looks goofy in your clothes. If you’re a more modest person, you will have to wrestle Luffy into keeping his vest shut and not exposing your chest to the world. He’ll respect that boundary because he wants to live to be king of the pirates.

🍖 The thing that shocked you about Luffy’s body was his appetite. You knew how much of a foodie he was, but you assumed that was just his personality. The entire time you were in his body, you were practically starving. Maybe Luffy had just conditioned his body into eating obscene amounts of food.

Zoro

🎍 Zoro would be shocked initially when you swapped bodies, but would get used to it very quickly. He doesn’t feel your body up or explore anything. He’s just accepts it and move on. On the outside, at least. He’s freaking out on the inside and trying not to act like a creep.

🎍 Fighting with his body isn’t that different. He’s a muscular dude, so he doesn’t need his swords for combat You can land hits on others pretty easily with little damage to yourself. Zoro is also okay using three sword style with your body. And even if you’re a girl, your chest wouldn’t get in the way. Because, canonically, his is probably bigger than yours.

🎍 He’ll probably make a comment or two about how your body looks in his clothes, a compliment if you squint. But if you’re wearing something that’s even an inkling of embarrassment to him?? He will MAKE you change. Even if it’s in the middle of a fight, he refuses to let his body be seen like that.

🎍 You notice how sore his body is. It’s probably from how much he trains. You wonder how he doesn’t complain all the time. You’ll feel phantom aches for a few days after you switch back. When you switch back, your teeth will hurt from holding a sword. You complain to him about it and he’ll complain back about that ridiculous outfit you made his body wear.

You tapped your fingertips along the table's edge in a rhythm you were only half aware of. If you were anywhere else, you might have been able to stave off the fear, but the room you were in—so bare that it could have been built yesterday—offered you no such reprieve. Instead, you were forced to flit between the empty door window and your own reflection in the metal surface below. Neither option appealed to you; the hallway was boring and you knew yourself too well to trust your blank expression, so what else did you have beyond your own frantic mind?

Nothing.

You had nothing. You sat alone in the headquarters of a mega-corporation, and you had nothing.

Except for the faint spark of hope that came with an explosion of noise out in the hall.

"Do you have any sevens?"

"This is Uno."

"Ugh." Bing flopped against the floor, torso bent awkwardly to both get his back against the floor and keep his legs crossed. "I'm bored."

Google watched with an unaffected air. This had, after all, been going on for two hours, and there was little sign of it stopping. You were in the lab, working on something that they weren't allowed to see, which gave them plenty of time to 'research human stuff'. You had instructed as such before kicking them out of the basement, but it was a struggle when you were the only human they could interact with.

Curiosity over what you were doing didn't help them settle, either. It was ostensibly a bug fix that required your full attention, but Google suspected that you simply couldn't focus around them. Whatever form of relationship the three of you were developing was new to all of you, and you had an unfortunate habit of throwing yourself into work to rid yourself of tricky emotions.

Google's eyes flicked up to meet Bing's.

"Is your inability to be patient an accident or programmed into you?" he asked. He leaned towards intentional. Confusing, but still intentional.

Bing pushed himself back up, huffing, "Like you're any better."

A blank stare was all he got in response, which wasn't rare enough to be an insult anymore.

"You can pretend to be cold as much as you like, doesn't mean you are. You're just quietly impatient."

The next few seconds were spent in a stand-off, as if electrical signals replaced words to carry their argument. The first side said the second was an idiot, the second side said the first was a hypocrite, the first obnoxious, the second oblivious, the first, the second, until Bing got bored again.

Google took that as a win, but the conversation passed when Bing got to his feet and peaked at the lab door.

"When d'ya think they're gonna be done?"

"They commonly work for six hours at a time."

Despite pointing it out, Google wasn't certain that it was true—at least, not today. He didn't mention that they had been working longer hours recently, again on projects they weren't to know about. Human emotions weren't his forté, but even he knew this wasn't a good sign. Thinking about you working yourself to death in the lab stirred an uncomfortable feeling in his gut, as though someone had gripped his wiring and pulled. Not knowing what you were working on was worse.

Regardless, he pushed his logic, stating, "As such, they will likely take a break in 46 minutes."

How they had managed to go more than 5 hours together was already a miracle. They had fallen into détente since their conversation a week ago, so it was a shared understanding that they were both getting to the end of their ropes. It was a small house once you got used to it.

A grin spread across Bing's face once he was at the doorway.

"Let's make it 46 seconds then, whad'ya think?"

Without waiting for Google's input, he slid into the hallway, eager to disturb you from whatever work was pulling you away. Google considered stopping him, but that would likely cause an argument. Really, didn't you want them to get along, and, surely, wasn't five hours long enough, and, obviously, wouldn't it be better for them to be with you?

To cover himself, he muttered some 'no's and 'stop's before following Bing to the basement stairs. You couldn't say that he didn't try—he just didn't try that hard. Instead, Google was walking at Bing's heels down the stairs to the basement. Plots for plausible deniability faded from his mind when the door to the lab was shouldered open.

At this point, you were completely isolated from the living world, swept up in lines of lime green lettering and the occasional missed punctuation. What sat before you now was a random string of letters that equated to nothing more than a key-smash. The code was as garbled as your brain, but, although the word vomit sickened you, you didn't have it in you to clean it up. You only made it worse when you slammed your head into the laptop, whatever was printed on the screen beaming itself into your mind before you could look up.

Sometimes you thought about what other career paths might have had in store for you. Would medical school have made you so distraught? Would a literature degree have choked you at the sight of an email? Would investing in bitcoin have possibly given you a concussion?

"Hey, babe?"

You screamed. Of course you screamed, because a 200 pound machine managed to sneak up on you, and that spoke more to your own survival skills than the stealth of the android at your shoulder.

Once you caught sight of the two standing behind you, your brain turned off the sirens. Your heart would take a little more convincing, but you weren't about to throw your laptop at them.

"Bing, don't scare me like that," you muttered as you laid a hand across your chest. Never mind the concussion, a heart attack was on your radar if you weren't careful.

"Sorry," he said, grinning in that way that told you he wasn't.

Google stepped next to him and leveled you with a look. "You were not responding."

"Yeah, I was working," you explained. It was rare for you to be so unaware of your surroundings, but it was taking all of your energy just to face the screen.

You were just about to spin your chair back around when you caught up to what was happening.

"Am working—you're not supposed to be in here."

"You haven't come up for air in a while, we were starting to get worried."

You glanced at Google to see if he supported this blatant expression of emotion, but you were met with a surprise. Nodding. Just one, up and down. Not huffing, not rolling his eyes, not balking at Bing's openness. Plain agreement.

Was this a problem? You didn't think your working hours were cause for alarm, you had been doing this for years, but…

You sighed.

"I have a break coming up in—" You checked the clock, "—49 minutes."

Google corrected, "44 minutes."

Clicking your fingers, you pointed at him. Now wasn't the time to argue over semantics, and he was probably right anyway. You didn't have a great record for keeping track of breaks, and a guy with an internal clock down to the half-millisecond was always a better reference point.

"44 minutes. I'll finish up here and then make something to eat, or something."

With that, you finally turned back to your laptop and immediately regretted it at the sight of your code spaghetti. There was a real word or two in there, which only made the pit in your stomach deepen. Even your subconscious was reminding you that you needed to work because this was important, this was your job, this was the thing keeping you out of prison.

You caught sight of two faces on either of your shoulders in the reflection, the angel and demon both telling you to do the same thing—or, rather, your mind was reacting the same way to both of them, and that was to stall your hands above your keyboard.

The men behind you read through the lines on your screen, but Google was the first to speak.

"Why were we prevented from seeing this code?" he asked, though his tone was as incurious as ever.

"Uh, no reason."

You willed your hands to start typing. The cursor continued to blink at the end of the line.

"You have been doing this for four days."

Had you? You'd barely even noticed. Time seemed to slip away in the basement. All the light was artificial, so the sun and moon trading places hardly registered to you.

But you couldn't say that. They were worried enough to come down to the basement, after all, so there was no reason to get them more stirred up about your health.

Instead, you muttered a quiet, "Yeah, you're right."

"This has happened only after the conversation about our relationship."

Then, even quieter, "Weird."

Silence flooded the room. The chirps and beeps from various machines seemed to fade, and you desperately wanted the clicking of keys to take up the empty space, but no. Nothing was on your side right now, if you even knew what side you were on.

Luckily, someone else did.

Bing leaned on the back of your chair, pushing you down slightly, as he asked, "How long's left on the contracts?"

He spoke so casually. You might have wondered if it were a front, a facade, a lie, but Bing didn't do lies. He knew what was wrong, and he knew what to ask, so he asked it. You envied his confidence.

A second passed before you said, "Yours has 12 days."

"And Google's?"

You didn't like saying it out loud—hell, you could barely stand thinking about it—but you couldn't put it off any longer. This was it.

"The extension ran out this morning," you explained, voice coming from another person's throat. "They could come any second now, and I- I know you said you had a plan, but I can't just sit here and do nothing."

What had Google said were the chances of them being taken? You had latched onto them at the time, but now you were coming up blank. They were low. You remembered that much because they had calmed you down. They were good numbers.

But Google wasn't the best at accounting for outside factors, namely human emotions, namely spite. You had avoided fulfilling the terms of the contract up until this point, and you were pretty sure the mega-corporations who held your soul weren't happy with you.

Switching his attention to your laptop's screen, Google asked, "What are you doing?"

Stressing yourself out, mostly, but he wouldn't take that answer.

"Finding stuff to fine-tune," was your response, and he nodded along as you traced the cursor over neon green letters. "They want you two to be perfect, so if you're not… y'know, maybe they'll give me more time to improve. Or something."

You brought a hand to your face and dug into your cheek. The bone that pushed back was grounding, but you were too far in it to pull yourself out that easily.

Deeply, you sighed. "But I don't know how long until they decide to take you anyway."

The image of those secret-service-wannabes, all dark suits and earpieces, taking Google from your home leapt helpfully to your mind's eye. The look in his eye when he left, and the look when he got back? You didn't want any of you to go through that again.

You were inches away from pushing your eyeball into the socket when your hand was gripped by cold fingers. Bing smiled down at you, bright and cheery and excited and you couldn't let him go to a warehouse.

He elbowed Google, who only just managed to restrain himself, and said, "Great minds think alike, eh?"

You huffed out a, "What?"

"Our plan," Google interrupted, "was and is to intentionally fail code and practical tests in order to be sent back to you for re-examination."

Once he finished, he shot Bing a blank look, which had long since translated to a threat against his new skateboard. It was returned by a teasing smirk and a tip of sunglasses. However, when both androids realized you were still quiet, they started to brace themselves for a scolding. Something small scale, a 'you should have told me, I would stop worrying' kind of thing that would probably end with a light slap on the arm, at worst.

What they were not expecting was for you to be absolutely livid.

You shot to your feet, shouted, "What the hell are you talking about!?" and tossed the chair to the side.

"Do you want me to repeat—"

"You are geniuses by fucking design, and you thought you could just- what, trick them by doing the same thing over and over?!" You gripped at your scalp desperately. "As if they'd never notice, and- and let you go, and- are you stupid?"

Bing was shocked into silence, his mouth hanging open like a skee-ball scoring hole, but Google's indignancy came out as, "My experience at the warehouse indicated their engineers were incapable."

"You're right!" You slammed your hand down on the table. "They are!"

It took a glance at your vibrant red palm to recognize how emotional you were getting. Yes, their plan was all kinds of idiotic, but they didn't need you yelling at them to understand, so you took a long, if not shaky, breath.

You felt bad for moving when Bing reached out to touch your arm, but you needed to come up with a better solution to your problem.

With a measured tone, you asked Google, "What makes you think that they can't do their jobs right?"

"I was returned to you at the first sign of a bug in my code."

"That's it?"

He waited, as if a bear trap would snap around his leg when you finished, but nothing happened.

Simply, he said, "Yes."

"And what happened to them?"

Bing cut in, "They got fired."

He drew out the last word in a way to make you laugh—and you did laugh.

With gritted teeth and a near-bloodless grip on the table, you laughed.

"So what do you think happens to the engineer who keeps causing those bugs?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but no one had to interrupt him for it to slip closed this time. The realization of what this meant hit both androids at the same time, and it dug as deep as their circuitry would allow before it hit something vital.

They could fail the tests, sure, but they wouldn't be sent back to you.

Wheels squeaked over the floor as you dragged your chair back, and you threw yourself down as soon as it landed in place.

"There's a difference between being broken and being imperfect," you explained. "If I can promise more, they might give me another extension."

It was wishful thinking, but what else did you have? Anything else would have required prior planning, and short-term plans were your specialty. Even the ones working their ways through your brain at break-neck speeds were for the here and now. It was how you got into this mess, of course, but you needed to find something to do.

You had to.

As you worked, Google watched over your shoulder, the ever-dutiful assistant to your mad-scientist persona. Bing, meanwhile, slid off to the side of the room. Helping was what he had been built for. What was a fully-sentient android good for if he needed a go-ahead before doing anything?

Maybe a schedule would work? If he and Google were basically hired by their respective companies to do shows and then return home at the end of the day? Bing was an optimist at heart and persuasive to boot. If it came down to it, he was sure he could get someone to agree to a contract.

But he also knew about the risks.

Staring at you and Google, he was all too aware that being stuck in a warehouse was within the realm of possibility. Things went wrong, people didn't stick to their word, and suddenly the coldness and paranoia that permeated the air around Google stuck to him, too.

He didn't know if his plan was worth the risk. He didn't want to go through all of that, and, though he would admit it only to himself, the thought of it happening to Google again sent a crackle of tension through his circuits.

Clicking through the considerable chunk of new code, you muttered some brands of tech to yourself and reached for a pad of paper to jot them down. Soon enough, you'd ripped the piece off and handed it to Google, who was in the midst of cataloguing it all directly from your verbal list. When his eyes cleared, he folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket.

"I'll see if I can get you compatible with other brand devices," you said to Bing once he'd waltzed to your side. "Door locks and plugs. Try the store on Vine Street, but let me know if you don't find anything."

Ordering online would have been better for your nerves, but you were in a time crunch; you didn't have the benefit of 24 hours, or even 24 minutes. The timer had already hit zero, you were just waiting for it to explode.

Google nodded, quick enough that you knew he was glad to have something to do, and started to walk to the stairs. Bing seemed content to stay next to you until you gestured after the other android.

"Think you can go with him?"

His eyebrows furrowed behind the tinted glasses.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, you'll be in public, and I…" you sighed, stress rattling through you like a freight train, "…you'll be safer together. I don't want anything to happen to you two."

Google stalled by the door, and you tensed up in anticipation of a fight. It wasn't a reflection of your faith in him or how responsible you thought he was—in fact, it was more for your sanity that they had safety in numbers—but you expected some resistance.

However, he said and did nothing. He just waited.

You didn't know if you appreciated the effort or regretted your outburst more. It had been less than ten minutes and you were constructing an apology, so you were leaning toward the latter.

Trapped in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed Bing grabbing your hand again, but the tight pressure from him squeezing brought you to attention.

"Don't worry," he said, "we'll be okay."

You returned his smile with a little less energy, but he was happy enough to scamper toward Google and the basement's exit.

"Good luck!" you called after them.

"See ya later, babe!" was accompanied by, "We'll return shortly." The click of the door punctuated their goodbyes.

You took a moment to yourself once the silence settled back in. You already missed them, but you couldn't tell whether it was fear or a certain cheesiness that spawned this longing in your chest. Pride at Google getting better with contractions was definitely part of the second, though, and it pushed a grin over your mouth as you turned back to your laptop.

The next fifteen minutes passed roughly. Unlike in your bouts of passion, you were keenly aware of every keystroke and backspace that went into code, and every misstep was made more torturous by the very fact that you would have to keep going after fixing it.

You just wanted to be done with it, but a knock at the front door kept you from bridging the gap. Although there was only a small amount of work left, you didn't want to leave your boys outside for too long, so you pushed out from the table and wandered from the lab.

Footsteps were matched by the cracking of bones as you leaned a hand against your spine. Your natural posture at your desk was comfortable in the moment, but you always faced the consequences when you got up.

You reaped what you sowed, as the saying went.

When you opened the front door, the blood drained from your face. Four people stood on your porch, all wearing suits and sunglasses and dizzyingly familiar frowns, and you reflexively slammed the door shut in their faces.

Your brain switched to survival. Keys were in the lab, you sprinted to the basement door, heard the turn of the handle behind you, threw yourself down the stairs so harshly that you might have broken something. It didn't matter right now. You shouldered your way through to your desk and scrambled for a pen and paper. Scribbling down a messy 'A + M ret staff', you briefly processed that the lines were still indented with the electronics list, but you tossed it out of your brain just as fast. You heaved a breath as you shoved the note under your laptop seconds before the lab door slammed to the wall.

Pieces of equipment, soldering irons and spare parts, fell to the ground at the impact, but there was a small part of you that thought they were just there to chat. It was possible; you had been the first to run, after all, so maybe they had just reacted—

Your skull cracked against the floor, and you saw stars. Had you still the presence of mind, you might have called it assault, but it probably didn't matter too much to the people handcuffing your hands behind your back. Instead, you were only aware of the relief that neither Google or Bing were at home.

You were being watched, you knew that much. Since you had been deposited into this borderline-interrogation room, you hadn't seen a moment of true isolation, and it was driving you mad. The calm and collected exterior that you were trying so hard to maintain was a stark contrast to the panic racing through your mind. You didn't know where you were, you didn't know where your boys were, and you didn't know if anyone else did.

If you didn't find out soon, you were going to tear yourself apart—and the desolate room wasn't doing much to distract you. It was obvious this place wasn't new; it was clean, but there had been other people held captive before you, if the vague scuff marks against the wall were anything to go by. They traced the room, a hiking path for your eyes that led you to the door.

It creaked open.

You knew the woman, but the man who followed was a stranger. However, because the former was the same lady who had taken Google and delivered him back to you, you guessed that he worked for Microsoft.

Which was just fantastic.

"Good afternoon," the woman said with the perfected air of a corporate lackey. Your frown deepened when your full government name was rattled off in the same way, but it didn't seem to affect either of them as they slipped into the chairs on the other side of the table.

"My name is Eliza Tucker," she said. Then, gesturing to the man, "This is Vincent Coleman."

"You can just call me Vince."

You stared down at his offered hand. A nicer person would have shaken it just to spare him the awkwardness.

The five seconds of silence was indeed very awkward before he got the hint and withdrew it, coughing.

Tucker continued on, "We are here to discuss your contract pertaining to the androids that you were commissioned to build and code."

"I know what I'm here for," you said; you didn't need her to reiterate what you had been hired to do, even if they were only covering their bases legally.

"Good," she said, "we can get right to it."

From a briefcase, she pulled a file and began flipping through the sheets of paper. There weren't many, and from your position, you could make out your headshot, personal details, and a big stamp spelling out 'CONTACT'. You wouldn't have put it past them for the rest of the information to be private, but you weren't a criminal. The most they could use against you was the thing they had you in for, unless they thought a couple of year-old speeding fines could be used against you in court.

You wanted this over with quickly, and you didn't care what they were going to pull, so you crossed your arms and stated, "I can't give them over to you."

Tucker met your glare with a blank look. "What do you mean, you can't? The contract stipulates that—"

"Yeah, I know what it says, but I can't do it. Morally, ethically, whatever. You can't take them and shove them in a warehouse until you're ready to show them off."

"You didn't seem to have any qualms about it last time."

You distinctly remembered being on the edge of punching her when you had first met, and the same impulse was stirring in your stomach the longer you had to look at her.

"Hey, hey, we're here to negotiate," the guy cut in. Your attention dragged itself over to Vincent, who wore an unconvincingly calm smile. "Not to get into unnecessary arguments, right?"

For his efforts, he received a frown from the woman beside him, but she settled back into her seat regardless. It struck you in that moment how familiar these two were—not in the literal sense, this was your first time meeting the man from Microsoft, but you recognized how they acted. The two were at complete odds with one another, but there they were, working together.

A wave of fear struck you right in the chest.

"Where are they?" you asked.

Vincent offered you another smile, shakier this time. "We were hoping you could tell us that."

You were between two minds. On one hand, the companies that were after your boys didn't know where they were. On the other hand, neither did you. Although they were sure to be safe if they had made it back home, you couldn't be certain nobody else had found them. All it left you with was an ugly mesh of guilt and hope.

A disbelieving noise from Tucker drew you back to her. "Their own robots and they don't know where they are," she spat.

"I don't have a tracker on them. The only thing stopping them from going wherever they want is the risk of running into your staff."

"They're not people, they don't want anything."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you said, "I didn't know you'd been living with them for the last year."

"The robots—"

"Google and Bing aren't—"

"You named them?"

"Would both of you shut up!?" Tucker yelled after Vincent's interruption. "You've had more than enough time to work out the issues with Alphabet's android—more than you should have, in fact—so we're here to collect on what was ordered."

You shifted to look at Vincent. He shrugged.

"You don't have long left on Microsoft's contract, either."

As if you needed the reminder.

"I'm just making sure we don't get into the same situation. Withholding products doesn't look great on your track record."

Subconsciously, you carded a hand through your hair. Consciously, you tried not to flip the table and make a break for it. The door was probably locked, anyway.

"Look, things have changed. Google and Bing—" You bared your teeth at Tucker when she went to interject, "—have both developed a consciousness that can't be sold off at auction. They have personalities and preferences, and they have different ways of seeing things, and they have humanity.

"Bing's so curious about how the world works, you should see the life in his eyes when he makes people smile—and Google's a stubborn bastard, but it's because he has a sense of right and wrong stronger than anyone I've ever met. You can't- you can't just brush that aside for your glorified laundry machine!"

Shallow panting underlined the silence after your monologue. Perhaps it was dumb to show your hand like that, but you had to get it through their thick skulls what they were actually doing. A corporate drone was one thing, a willfully ignorant jackass was another.

Gradually, Vincent's eyes widened at the same rate as Tucker's narrowed. They were both realizing different things, and you wondered which way they were leaning.

The more cynical of the two spoke up first, growling out, "What is wrong with you?"

Vincent snapped to look at her. "What?"

"They fell in love with their robots."

"Androids," you corrected automatically.

She ignored you, instead turning to her partner to repeat, "They fell in love with their robots."

When he didn't react, Tucker slapped him on the arm and picked up your file, a silent indication that you were done here. Or, rather, they were; the door slammed closed behind the two, but you still had to sit in this empty room with a thousand thoughts running through your mind. Chief was the question of whether that went well or not.

While much of the fence was free of guards, this was the only section that didn't have any security cams either. Google and Bing stood in the blind-spot of two cameras that rotated just barely short of their spot. It was imperative that they weren't caught too early, especially when they were working on minimal information about the actual building.

The taxi ride over was rough. It wasn't uncomfortable or awkward only because neither of the androids could muster such awareness; their thoughts were focused around a plan to find you and get you away from wherever the retrieval staff had taken you to. Google had figured they were heading for the closest corporation. In this case, it was Alphabet Incorporated, the headquarters standing tall and proud in front of them.

He was silent as he tried to figure out the logistics of climbing a twenty-foot stretch of wire without consequences. The hardest part was going to be getting down, but they didn't have much of a choice beyond finding another route in, and the time was ticking down, and they still had to get inside and find out where you were and then get you out, and…

Bing was twisting off the tip of his finger beside him.

"Self-mutilation will not intimidate the fence," Google said.

"I know that."

He wasn't sure he did until a brilliant blue glowed from the joint. Upon coming close to the fence, the wire peeled away as if it were nothing more than old flower petals. An arch was painted, big enough for both of them to fit through, and it popped out onto the grass once Bing reached the floor again.

Why you installed a blowtorch into a domestic android was a question for later.

"What?" Bing chuckled. "You never snuck onto a basketball court before?"

"No."

"Square."

With that, Bing slipped through the gate, Google on his heels.

The docking area provided the simplest access to the building. A hoard of trucks parked outside made for great cover as the two darted out of sight from security. People were patrolling, cameras were searching, but nothing caught them. Instead, the next obstacle to overcome was a locked door, no doubt alarmed but with a sensor attached to the wall next to it.

Before Bing could consider opening his wiring even more, Google pressed a hand against the screen. A shimmering light illuminated his digits, proceeded by two, quick buzzes and the door sliding open.

"Showoff."

Google walked ahead, but Bing still saw the satisfaction in his posture.

Now was time for the hard part. Alphabet, the company that owned Google, was staffed by too many people to avoid being seeing altogether. They wasn't anything they could do about their recognizable faces or the logos on their clothing, but they made it possible to sneak by if they kept their heads down.

And if Bing stopped nervously rambling.

"If they're trynna get something out of 'em, they won't be front 'n center, so it's somewhere alone. Out of the way, prob'ly behind a ton of locked doors. We can steal a keycard or do your hacker-hand thing or do both so we're able to get outta two places—"

Google could do something about that one, though; he grabbed Bing by the shirt, wrenched him back and said, "Be quiet, you are going to attract attention with your nonsensical, unhelpful, pathetic muttering."

He could see the gears turning in Bing's eyes, some stupid retort that wasted more time, but he didn't get to say anything.

Two scientists rounded the corner, and all four immediately tensed. Three curses and one censoring beep kicked off the fight.

The staff surged forward first, each digging in their pockets—it wouldn't be a dangerous weapon, but the uncertainty put Google on guard as he scanned the area. Bing kicked a rolling table from the side of the hallway into their path before yanking a sign off the wall to use as a shield. He dove at them, prepared to knock their hands into the open, but he came up short.

First law: they couldn't harm humans.

Bing brought the sign up to block one of the scientists' punches.

Second law: they had to listen to their orders.

Grunts and huffs and yelps—but no words.

Third law: they could protect themselves as long as they didn't hurt anyone.

The other made a jab at Google's stomach when he stepped into the fray. Undeterred, he grabbed their fist and wrapped it around their back, planning to push them into a wall and restrain them. Whatever was in their pocket wouldn't matter if they couldn't reach it in time.

However, they did reach it.

And they jammed the taser into his side.

75,000 volts of electricity rocketed through Google's body, leaving fried circuitry and components in their wake. Scorched earth. Smoke flooded from the gaps in metal plating and floated to the ceiling. The crash to the ground created an explosion of noise that drew all attention in a fifty-mile radius.

His name came out as a hushed gasp from Bing, but he covered his mouth immediately. Both scientists converged on the downed titan, which gave him the perfect opportunity to escape unnoticed.

However, he only took it when Google shot him a familiar glare, and he could have sworn he heard the words in his head—what was he doing, just standing there, if he wanted to be useful, if he wanted to help you, he needed to be free—that pushed him to turn and run.

When Google was tossed through the door, your first thought was barely a thought at all; it was more a rush of relief that flushed out fear from your system. However, when your second thought rolled around, that fear was back in full-force.

"Google!" you yelled as he curled in on himself, then dropped to his knees, then sprawled out on the floor like a broken toy.

Something like a cough wracked his body when he landed, but his entire body twitched in place violently. He was spasming so quickly that you barely saw him move between the jolts. You didn't know what this was, but you knew it was bad, and he wasn't getting up.

You rushed to kneel next to him and propped him up against the wall.

"Google, can you hear me?" You pushed his head up, desperately searching for the swirling of his eyes, but there was nothing. "H-hey, come on, we're not doing this again. You went long enough without speaking, you can't- don't- don't go quiet on me."

You couldn't do anything for him here. The room was empty. You were utterly useless in front of Google's body. Shell. Husk. Corpse.

At another jolt, you tore yourself away and jumped to the door.

"Hey, is anyone there?!"

Whoever had shoved him in with you couldn't have gone far.

"Hello?!"

Someone would have been walking through the hallway, a staff member or a janitor or one of the secret-service idiots.

One glance at Google told you that you didn't have the time to wait around and hope someone saw you.

"Just hold on tight, I'll…" you trailed off, focusing on your brewing plan.

You tried the handle just once, but before you had even processed that it was locked, you were grabbing the closest metal chair and swinging it down on the door. It broke open and you shot out under flashing warning lights. You dove into a couple of rooms in a frenzy, ducked in and out until you found some sort of lab, and then snatched the first toolbox you found. With your free hand, you stole a box of random parts. Things clattered around inside, but you didn't have time to check what it contained. No, you needed to get back to Google.

Dropping the box by his too-lax arm, you positioned yourself in front of his chest. An interrogation room wasn't the best environment for surgery like this, but you didn't have the privilege of your lab, nor the time to get there. He twitched once, twice, three times violently, but he calmed down long enough for you to peel away the breastplate panel.

Smoke plumed like a festival fire.

What you saw when you waved it away was a lot of fried wiring and flickering lights. Most everything had short-circuited, which meant a lot of replacements were due. Worst first, though, so you focused all your attention on not getting shocked as you pulled out busted wires.

Energy moved, your mouth was free to start its absent muttering.

"Wh-when you can speak again," you said with a melted wire in hand, "you have to, y'know, actually speak. We're not going back to how it used to be, okay?"

You fumbled a comparator but managed to keep it from clattering to the ground.

"You can be as opinionated as you want to be, you can complain about my schedule and my Roomba and humans, I don't care, just…"

Don't stay silent.

The next ten minutes were spent with your hands digging through Google's guts. Your nerves had steadied out halfway through, but you were nowhere near done yet. Many of the original parts were tossed in a pile of waste, and the scrap that you had found in the other room was sub-par at best. Of what you had taken out, only 70% could be fixed with what you had at your disposal.

You were reattaching a plate when a voice spoke from the doorway.

"Hey, did you break- where did you get that?"

Vincent had found you, apparently, right where he had left you. Really, he was the better of the two, but you didn't have the focus to spare on explaining yourself properly.

"A room," you muttered.

"You can't just steal—"

You whipped around to face him, furious and holding a red-hot soldering iron. "Do you really want to argue right now!?" you yelled. "I'm trying to save someone's life, and you want me to stop because I didn't ask for permission!? Either you stop bothering me or you come and help!"

You went back to your work without waiting for a response. The lack of one told you that he chose the first option, which was just as well. He would have been more of a distraction than a help.

"I don't know how you do it, Google," you mumbled under the noise of flying sparks. "Even when you're angry, you don't fly off the handle. Not that I've seen you that angry anyway."

The more you replaced, the less Google glitched. They were still running through his system, but they were becoming rarer and softer. By the time that you held the last of the wires that needed replacing by a pair of tweezers, there was a five-minute interval between jolts. This one was incredibly shallow, but you figured that it was just the impact of all the replacements.

"Your hand is shaking."

You huffed at Google's comment. "Yeah, well, it's kind of a high-stakes situation."

One half of the wire was melted, but you still tilted it to the side to check if the current had gone all the way to the end—you paused, eyes drifting to Google's face.

You promptly collapsed against him, wrist caught in his hand to keep the wire steady.

"You can't do that ever again," you mumbled into the circuits.

"I did not choose to be electrocuted."

You didn't respond; for the moment, you were content to listen to the whirring fans spinning consistently in a cave of not-flashing lights. He was alive. He was alive. There were so many potential outcomes, each worse than the last, but he was alive.

Distantly, you processed the pressure of an arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you finally let out a breath.

Minutes passed in that position, but you knew you had to move. You still had more work to do, and your hand was starting to ache from holding up the tweezers.

You jostled yourself back to the present as you leaned out, saying, "Right, hold still for a little longer."

He did so until you were done, at which point he managed to sit up straighter. This was the first time you had seen him so hunched, and you were glad to get back to the norm.

Brushing off your knees, you stood and held out a hand to help him up, too.

"Was Bing with you?" you asked, tugging him to his feet.

"We were separated when staff accosted us and—"

Another glitch wracked Google's body. You immediately jumped to support him as he doubled over.

"I-I thought I fixed- fuck, I'm so sorry."

One second passed, then another, and then he forced out a blunt, "It… does not hurt."

You didn't believe him. You had seen his smoking insides, of course you didn't believe him, and you showed it on your face as clear as day.

"I can bear it," he said, like that was any better. The first words of his next sentence were swallowed by another jolt of his system—the only things to get passed it were, "Unimportant now."

You didn't want to argue with him. Whether he was going to admit that he was hurting or not, it didn't change the fact of the matter.

"When we're back to the lab, I'll get you fixed up, alright?"

You had actual equipment there, tools designed with them in mind. First, though, you needed to get out of the building, so you took a step forward and felt the strain of shouldering a metal box. Stubbornly, you ignored it and pushed through the pain right until you got to the door.

You would have hoisted Google into the hallway had he not pulled himself away from you. He positioned himself to subtly lean against the door frame.

"Leave me here," he demanded. Or, rather, he said it, like it were an idea so casual that you had no reason to disagree with it.

You huffed. "I'm not abandoning you."

"It is in your best interest. You will get out quicker. You can come back."

All three reasons made sense, but you knew what he was doing, and two could play at that game.

"No. No, I'm not going without you."

"I am damaged," Google said slowly. "I can't function correctly, and they don't want me like this. You said so yourself—they want us to be perfect. If you take me with you, I will slow you down."

For a moment, you assumed that he was mad at you. It wouldn't be the first time that Google had used your words against you, and this could have been no different. A little jab because he was in pain suited him fine—but he wasn't being spiteful. He wasn't being petty. He genuinely believed the words that he repeated again.

"I am damaged."

What could you say? None of your objections had been taken on board so far, and you were running out of time. Flashing lights and wailing alarms were a dreadful soundtrack and a dismal reminder of the situation. Getting out of this room was the first obstacle of many.

You cast one look at Google and left.

He watched you run, ducking into other labs. There was little chance Bing would be in any of the nearby rooms, and each failed search took you further and further from him.

It was cruel to hold it against you. Google had told you to leave twice. There was no reason for you to stay behind when even he was telling you to go. It was for the best, he knew that, and between Bing and himself, he knew he could withstand the warehouse better.

Still, the electrocution seemed a kindness in comparison to the ache in his chest.

His steps toward a chair were intersected by another rapid pair in the hallway. They were getting closer, but he wouldn't dare hope it was you. You were a lot of things, but you weren't an idiot.

Pushing an industrial hand cart, you smashed into the doorway and sent a chunk of plaster skidding across the floor.

"You're right," you panted, and you brought the frame to his feet. "You're not perfect, Google. Glitching like that doesn't help you clean dishes or mop floors or whatever other chores you were originally designed for. Technically, you are damaged."

He could still feel the sharp spikes of rabid electricity in his hand. At best, he was damaged. At worst, he was dangerous. And yet you held out your own fingers close to his, and he took your hand as if nothing were wrong.

You squeezed tighter as you continued, "But things change. You're a person, whether you like it or not. Back when I showed you those movies, when you learned to speak, when you started deafening yourself so you wouldn't have to listen to me. That's human, baby!"

Laughter danced with the warning sirens.

"Lucky for you, humans don't have to be perfect. You can be damaged all you want. I'll try to help you feel better, but you're not worth any less either way."

"My material value is greatly diminished by my damage."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

With your free hand, you slapped the metal dolly and winced because you slapped a metal dolly.

Despite your wince, you grinned. "Now, hop up. We've got places to be."

Now, Google maintained that you weren't an idiot. You were reckless and bull-headed and impulsive and all manner of idiotic things, but, unfortunately for him, he loved you. Right now, getting strapped to a dolly was the price he had to pay to love you.

Bing's sneakers pounded over linoleum. He raced through one hallway, took the first left turn, and then threw himself down the next. He had been lost for the last thirty minutes as he tried to figure out both where he was going and where he should have been going. Both questions were clouded by his panic over losing you and Google. The only thing his mind could still process was running, and so he did.

Right into a familiar face.

But it was neither of the ones he wanted to see.

He assumed this was Eliza Tucker, the Alphabet employee everyone was calling out for when they spotted him. There was supposed to be someone else from Microsoft with her, but he had apparently gone MIA, leaving only her and whoever she was trying to call on her phone.

Bing slapped it out of her hand before she could open her mouth. An apology slipped beneath his tongue, but he didn't have the time for manners.

And, frankly, she deserved it.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," he said in as calm a voice as he could muster.

She glared back but didn't move for the discarded device. Instead, she spat, "You've already caused enough."

"Yeah, yeah, I know we have. So why not just let us go?"

"Too much effort and money has been sunk into this project for us to just let you go. Do you have an idea what this will do to the industry? Things like androids could revolutionize everything, and you want to throw it away, for what?"

He didn't give a damn about 'the industry'. Intangible stuff like that simply wasn't on his radar, and the corporations could collapse spectacularly for all he cared.

Tucker seemed to realize that she wasn't getting through to him, saying, "You're just a robot, I don't need to argue with you."

"You don't," he acknowledged. His processors were working overtime to give him a way out of this. Humans were his specialty, but he needed something different for this. The formality from Google that he had seen but never used.

He tried to keep his accent from slipping into the explanation. "I know what I think, and you know what you think. I'm not gon- going to change your mind 'cause it doesn't matter—but- but you saw what happened with Google. If we can't feel anything because we're just robots, imagine what kind'a damage we could do if we actually wanted to."

Guilt over trying to scare her was matched by relief that she was actually listening. A flicker appeared in her eye, wariness or doubt or something beneficial that made him take the risk of crouching down for her phone.

"You get a net zero or a net negative outta this." He stretched again to his full height. "But it's your choice."

With that, he held out the device. Other choices, different ways to do this, flashed through his mind. He could have snapped it in two, he could have held it hostage, he could have broken into it, called her boss, and used a voice modulator to call of the staff completely.

He did none of those things because, if there were one thing he had learned from being with you, it was the importance of choice.

Tucker dialed a number and held the phone to her ear. She maintained eye contact with him all the while, daring him to move, but he stayed still and waited.

"Ma'am? Yeah, it's me. We've had issues with the android project."

Had Bing needed to breath, he would have passed out by now. His fans were going haywire and his instincts were begging him to run, but no. No, he had to stay so that he could go back to you and Google with good news.

"We have to terminate the contract. I-I know, I know, but- look, it's gonna be more expensive to keep going."

And there it was! The stakes falling, Bing pumped a fist into the air and pushed the phone call to the back of his mind. He had done it! He had negotiated with a human and come out with exactly what he wanted! He was going to make out with you so hard that he'd fry a circuit!

As if the universe was rewarding him for such a good deed, two figures raced past the hallway—neither you nor Google noticed him, one too distracted by steering and the other by retaining his dignity, so Bing was forced to sprint after you. Electricity thrumming in his body made it an easy objective.

He skidded around the corner, painting a curve on the floor and causing a high-pitched squeal that made you look over your shoulder. What sliver of fear your face held melted instantly.

"Babe!"

"Bing?!"

You almost crashed to the ground from the force of his tackle, but his arms wrapped around your midsection to keep you upright. He was running hot from wherever he had been before, and you couldn't help leaning into it.

When Google attempted to shift the dolly away, Bing clotheslined him by the neck and locked him in place within the hug. One of your arms snaked around each of them—you were glad for the support that stopped you from collapsing in relief.

"Are you alright?" you asked, slightly muffled by the fabric of Bing's tank.

"Yep. You?"

"Perfect."

Both of your boys were here. You weren't alone, you weren't at home, you weren't even entirely safe, but you were together. It had been less than a day spent apart, but you didn't want to spend another hour like it. The moment of reprieve that this hug offered was a paradise.

Google reached his limit after ten seconds, saying blankly, "Let go of me."

Bing unhooked his arm but the grin stretched across his mouth let you know he wasn't getting off that easily.

Exhausted, you stretched out your arms and asked, "Ready to leave?"

"Yes," was Google's immediate answer, and you didn't blame him.

Surprisingly, however, it wasn't unanimous; Bing called out a quick, "Not yet!" and held out his hands pleadingly. "I had a little chat with one of those secret service dudes, and I don't wanna brag or anything, but I think I solved our problem."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Yep."

"And no threats this time?"

His smile seemed to grow wider but no more genuine.

"Don't worry 'bout it."

A concerned frown pulled at your lips, but any questions were cut off by Tucker rounding the corner with Vince in tow. The former approached with a look of pure disdain—which could have only meant good things for everyone else—but the man from Microsoft seemed more pensive.

They stopped in front of your trio with a sigh and your full name once again. You really wished she'd stop lording that over you.

"I have just spoken to the higher-ups," she said through ground teeth, "and it has been agreed that the risks of continuing this project outweigh the benefits. As a result, pending legal confirmation, you are released from your contract with Alphabet Incorporated."

Your heart jumped to celebrate, but your mind took the reigns for a second to say, "What about Google?"

"We cannot store the android. It's too risky. It's up to you what you do with it."

"And Bing?"

At this, Vince stepped up.

"Nothing's set in stone yet, but I don't think Microsoft will be coming after you either. If the first company to commission an android pulls out after getting it, they'll probably try to shut it down before anything goes wrong for them."

He shrugged and slipped his hands into pockets.

"Plus, you know, after what happened today…"

You weren't certain what part he was referring to specifically, but you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If it convinced him not to continue the contract, you were happy. Bing wrapping his fingers around yours like someone told they were having a child hinted that he was the same, and the light buffering in Google's eyes meant he was filing the information away somewhere important.

Tucker tapped through her phone before holding it out to you. The screen showed a contract, layers upon layers of legal jargon piling up to create a Frankenstein's monster. She scrolled to the bottom, where a dotted line demanded your name, and let you take the phone.

The second that it was out of her hands, Google plucked it from yours and started the arduous task all humans hated that was reading the terms and conditions. He jerked and jolted a few times as he parsed through the information, but it was done quicker and more eagerly than you could ever hope to yourself.

He gave you a shallow nod as he handed the phone back, and you didn't hesitate to scribble your signature across the designated section. You deflated instantaneously, an untied balloon or a brick pulled from a dam. Your legs felt like jelly and your pulse was only now catching up to the resolution. Such a combination made you light-headed, but you were conscious enough to tug your boys back in for a hug.

After spending so long on giant projects, it was nice to work on something small—and you meant that literally. The smart-pet was nowhere near the size of an android, but it still housed a lot of the same components. The recognition software, processing units, and sound-bites were the same. The dog couldn't talk, of course, but you mixed in the same noises to replicate the barks of a little pup.

Bing had resisted for all of ten minutes before he was loading up his own barks. He'd used them religiously for the first two days after you entered that phase of production, but a comment from Google that he was 'all bark and no bite' made the noises less common. You were proud of him for working on idioms, but less proud of yourself for letting the barks' meanings take up space in your brain.

You shook your head roughly. Mozilla had been hounding you for a prototype pet, and you were on the brink of calling it finished. Just a little more and it would be done. Yes, it was due in an hour, but you had never been good at deadlines.

"You should make it spin before it lays down," Bing offered. He was leaning on your chair, tipping it back in his attempt to watch over your shoulder. "And give it a collar and a little patch around its eye!"

"Am I the one making robots or are you?"

"Ya didn't give me the parts to do it alone."

Google had taken three steps into the lab before saying, "Don't be cra-crass."

He made his way to your desk with a mug in hand, which he placed a generous distance from the blueprints and metal filings scattered around the surface. You offered him a smile that was returned by a small nod.

Two months had passed since the contracts were trashed—two months of stress-free time with your boys. It wasn't a major departure from your normal life, but clearing the looming threat of being separated left you on cloud nine. Everything was easier, lighter, more enjoyable.

Nobody had escaped completely free of consequences, though. On your part, you put a hard boundary between you and any robotics that neared a hint of sentience. No more androids for you, which curtailed your reputation in the industry by a wide margin. However, you were content to work on projects that didn't risk gaining sentience, although they were of less importance.

Bing was subtle. Despite being so sensitive to people's emotions, he had a hard time expressing his own, especially when they were negative. He'd offer to accompany you on grocery runs so that he could 'flex his muscles to an adoring crowd', and jokes about the coffee machine being a bad companion were thrown over a desperate fear of being alone.

So, when the local kids complained about their school not taking skateboarding seriously, you jumped at the opportunity. A few emails with the PTA later, Bing was the proud coach of a middle-school skateboarding team. He taught them tips and tricks and terrifying moves that scared you and every parent who watched from the sidelines, but heart-palpitations were worth it to see the 4'2" line of high-fives when the clock struck seven.

Google's hold-over was a lot more obvious. No matter how hard you tried, the glitches were here to stay. He continuously reminded you that they didn't hurt and were more of an annoyance on his part, like a pop-up he had to keep closing, but there were some days when the guilt got the best of you. The very instance regret passed over your face, he was grabbing you and setting traps for you to fall into.

"Do you think I am damaged?" he would ask.

"No!" you would say.

"Do you think it was a poor price to pay for freedom?"

"No."

"Do you think I am worth anything less than before?"

"No…"

And then he would look at you, and you would look at him, and he would smile smugly, and you would groan, and neither of you believed anything he said but he made sure you didn't think badly about yourself for it.

On every other day, it was just something he had to live with. It warranted a few more check-ups and repeated sentences, but he was right when he said it was a good exchange for getting them back safe and sound.

Hands digging beneath your arms brought you out of your memories. Bing hoisted you to your feet while Google packed the smart-pet into a cushioned case. The container snapped shut after he added the instructions, and he carried it behind Bing, who was, in turn, carrying you like a cat.

You huffed. You should have made them weaker.

When the lab door was shut behind you, Google placed the package by the front door carefully. He was always so mindful of your work despite his cold exterior, or maybe he just wanted the cutesy thing out of the house.

Meanwhile, you were thrown unceremoniously onto the couch. Any thoughts towards complaining were redirected when Bing crashed down beside you, took your face in his hands, and pulled your mouth to his. The kiss was short and sweet, almost something you would see from Buggs Bunny, but he only separated so quickly to stare at your surprised face. Sneak attacks like this were common, and you were half-sure he was so fond of them because he liked seeing you flustered.

You shifted to the center of the couch, giving Google space to sit down when he entered the living room. How the legs were supporting all three of you was beyond you, but you could address that when they actually broke. For now, you were happy to listen to the androids debate what movie to watch. In one corner was Die Hard—which would undoubtedly spur another argument as to whether it was a Christmas film or not—with Titanic in the other, because Google had developed an affinity for critiquing the weird social rules and acting.

You were secretly vying for a new hematophobic horror movie that had recently come out, but you could save that for later in the night. Bing's arm around your shoulders and Google's hand slipped in yours made you think that you had all the time in the world.

And, this time, you actually did.

[WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I SWEAR I AM DONE WITH THIS SERIES NOW, YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME, PLEASE! In all seriousness though, I am pretty sure that this wraps up what was originally just a two-parter. This fic is also somewhat of a response to the request for a Google hurt/comfort thing, so I hope this satisfies you, dear anon! This also goes out to the person who commented on the last chapter asking for more, as well as everyone who has ever read or liked or reblogged this series. Thank you all so much, and I hope you've enjoyed!

"I won't!" And as it turns out that one line became a lie, not that you had intended it to. At the time you it, it was true; in fact, you fully intended to be back within forty minutes maximum. You quickly rushed along the semi-busy streets towards a tiny bookshop squeezed between a tailor and a bakery. 

You were looking for something specific, a limited edition of a Sora: Warrior of the Sea comic, that you knew Law had been looking for. You pushed open the door to the shop, and the bell rang out as you stepped in and looked around. The shopkeeper gave you a greeting as you made your way around the store. For as small as it was, it was packed to the gills. And then finally your eyes quickly landed on Sora, Warrior of the Sea display, and you quickly made your way over.  

The elderly shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter. "Oh? You're interested?" 

"Oh yes, I'm looking for one in particular..." You replied trailing off as your eyes scanned the display, until they landed on an empty spot with a handwritten tag of the comic you were looking for. Your heart sank at the sight, and you let out a disappointed sigh, "Oh I guess you must have sold it already." 

The shopkeeper smiled lightly, "Sorry about that, just sold that limited edition yesterday." 

Your boyfriend owned enough Sora merchandise to start a small museum; it was honestly adorable. You had your own thing you loved and collected, and so did he; it was one of the first things you two had bonded over after you had joined the crew. There was also the fact that Law had a knack for being able to find items for your collection, and you wanted to be able to return the favor.  

The disappointed must have been showing on your face because the shopkeeper spoke back up, "I believe Old Man Takeda bought it, said it looked cool, but I bet he would sell it to you." 

Hope returned instantly as you attention was now focused on the old man, "Really?" 

"Mm." He nodded. "He's usually down by the eastern district." You thanked him and headed off, okay, so it was going to take a bit longer than you thought, but to see Law smile would make it all worth it. 

Old Man Takeda did indeed have the comic but unfortunately, he wasn't interested in selling it. But instead offered a different proposal, "I'd trade for it." 

Your eyes lit up. "Great! What would you like?" 

"Can you get me some Golden Blossom tea?" 

You blinked. "That's it?" 

The old man nodded. "That's it."  

You practically skipped away, thinking how easy it would be to find the tea at the market. But of course, the one vendor in the whole market was one box away from selling out, "I've got one box left." Relief filled your body and then the woman smiled apologetically. "But it is reserved." And with that your relief died instantly. 

"For who?" 

"Little Hana." 

So, you did what any person would do, you tracked down Hana. She was a sweet little girl with pigtails and a request of her own, "I'll give up the tea, if you get me a festival charm." 

A charm should be easy to get, a simple request really. The charm maker smiled when you arrived and as you explained what you needed, she crushed your hopes. "I can make that, but I need moon-silk thread." 

And somehow that lead into another request and another and another. And then three hours later, you were helping a fisherman deliver a package and you couldn't quite remember how this was connected to the moon-silk thread, only that it did, somehow.  

The fisherman thanked you and gave you package to give to a merchant. The merchant accepted the package and handed over a voucher. The voucher was given to grumpy old man who gave you flowers. These flowers were then given to a young man who gave you a bracelet. And then that bracelet went to a barkeep who gave you a bottle of wine. And then that wine was given to a woman who then gave you the thread you needed.  

You rushed back and handed over the thread, and the charm maker passed you the charm with a smile on her face. You then went back to the little girl and gave her the charm, and she gave you a note to give to the vendor selling the tea. You went back to the vendor, handed over the note and bought the tea. And at long last the tea would get you the comic, once you made it back to the eastern district.

Back at the Polar Tang around the same time you were talking to Little Hana about her request, Bepo was wondering where you were, "Have you seen them?" 

Law didn't look up from his medical book. "No, (Y/N)-ya said they had something to do." 

Bepo tilted his head while fidgeting with his paws, "Sorry, but they said they would be back shortly and it's been over an hour."

"They're an adult." Law turned a page. "I'm sure everything is fine., if there was an issue they would call." But then about two hours after you'd left, Law was no longer reading; no, his fingers were tapping against his desk as he read the same page for the tenth time, while his thoughts drifted to you. You'd said quick errand; quick errands generally didn't last half a day. 

Law gave up and head towards your quarters, maybe you had left something in there to tell him where you went. He looked around but all he found sitting out on your desk was your den den mushi. If there was an issue you wouldn't have been able to call. "Damn it..." Law mutter to himself as he walked back down the halls of the sub.

"Maybe they found something interesting?" Bepo suggested after Law had found him.

Law looked around, "Maybe, but let's take a look around town., just in case." 

The eastern district had no sign of you, neither did the harbor, nor the market, and there was no sign in the town square. Law's expression was growing darker and more anxious as no one could find you. You had to be somewhere on the island. You were okay, you had to be. And if Law had to tear apart the whole island to find you, so it be it.

"Captain?" 

"Keep looking." That was all he said and within an hour every available Heart Pirate was searching. 

You meanwhile finally held the comic in your hands, victory, sweet, glorious victory. You couldn't stop smiling as you headed back to the ship and then you noticed the sun on the horizon. It was much lower than it should have been. You froze; you had completely lost track of time. "Oh no." Your carefully slid the comic in your satchel and took off running to the docks. 

Once the Polar Tang was in sight, you could see all the crew gather around. Bepo looked seconds away from crying, Penguin looked exhausted and Shachi pointed at you once he saw you. "There's (Y/N)!" 

You stopped slightly confused by the reaction, sure you were late, but it wasn't like you were missing or something, "Hi?" 

A collective sigh swept through the group, and several of you crew mates step aside letting Law get to you. Your stomach dropped, at the look on his face. He wasn't angry and honestly you wished he was that may have been better. Instead, Law looked panicked and worried, "Where were you?" Laws eyes drifted all over your body checking for signs of an injures.

You opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Okay." You laughed nervously rubbing the back of you head sheepishly, "So funny story... there was a comic." Law raised a brow at this, "For you." No reaction besides his eyes locking onto yours, so you forged ahead. "And then there was tea and a little girl and thread and honestly the order got confusing around the middle... but I got it at the end of it all."

You held out the comic proudly, the limited edition Sora issue. For the first time since you'd arrived, Law looked away from you, and his gaze dropped to want was in your hands. The comic sat in your outstretched hands and Law took it carefully. Law look down at it and his thumb brushed the edge of the cover. "You spent all day trying to get this?" His voice was quieter now. 

You gave him a smile, "I thought you would like this. You are always finding things that I like, so I wanted to be able to do the same for you." 

Finally, Law sighed with a small smile on his face with a pink hue covering his cheeks, "Next time, tell someone where you're going. " 

You nodded quickly. "I will." 

"And take your den den mushi." 

"I will." 

"And if an errand starts involving tea, thread, fishermen, or anything else that turns it into an island-wide scavenger hunt..." 

"I call you?" 

"You come back," Law corrected, as he examined the comic again, carefully turning it over in his hands. "This wasn't worth getting lost over." 

"I wasn't lost." His eyes narrowed and you let out a small and nervous laugh, "I knew where I was most of the time." Behind him, Penguin snorted and Shachi elbowed him, but it was too late. Law glanced back, and the entire crew suddenly became fascinated by the submarine, the dock, and about anything else that wasn't you two.

Then Bepo hurried forward and wrapped his arms around you. "We were really worried!" 

Guilt settled in your chest as you returned the hug. "I'm sorry, Bepo. I didn't mean to scare anyone." 

"You had the entire crew searching for you," Penguin pipped up after a moment. 

"The entire crew?" You asked pulling back from Bepo.

"Every available member," Shachi confirmed, earning sharp look from his captain.  

Your gaze returned to Law, beneath his usual scowl, exhaustion lingered around his eyes. He had really thought something had happened to you. You stepped closer. "I'm sorry, Law, really. I should've told someone when the request list kept getting longer, I just was so focused I didn't think about it." For a moment, he said nothing. Then his free hand closed around your wrist and pulled you against him. The movement was abrupt enough to make you stumble, but his arm settled firmly around your waist, holding you there as if he needed to confirm you were real. You rested your forehead against his shoulder. "Were you worried about me?" 

"No." 

"Captain, you read the same page for almost an hour," Bepo said. 

Law's grip tightened slightly. "Bepo." 

"Sorry!" 

You muffled a laugh against Law's coat. "That's so cute." 

He gave a glare without much bite behind it, "Keep talking and I'll throw you into the ocean."  

You looked back at him with mock offense, "You wouldn't dare." 

Law looked down at the rare issue still cradled carefully in his other hand, well away from the edge of the dock. "No," he admitted. "I wouldn't."  His expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was quick enough that the crew might have missed it, if they had not all been blatantly watching this interaction go down. "Thank you for getting me the comic; I love you." He whispered into your ear, so the rest couldn't hear.

The smile that spread across your face made his cheeks turn even redder, as you whispered back, "You're welcome and I love you too." 

He pulled back from you and turned his attention to the crew, "Now get on the submarine, the log pose has reset." You followed him aboard; his hand now wrapped around yours. As the crew prepared to depart, you noticed Law glance at the comic three separate times, the smallest smile tugging at his lips each time. 

The quick errand had taken much longer than forty minutes, caused an island-wide search for you and, and nearly gave your boyfriend a heart attack, but when you later found the comic displayed in a spot of honor in Law's room, you decided it had been worth all the running around and trouble you had accidently caused. 

But next time, though, you were taking a den den mushi with you or maybe just Law.

you yelp in surprise as shoto lets out a soft oof when your body crashes onto his. you wince at the impact, one leg haphazardly over his, the other still awkwardly rooted to the floor. despite your position, he settles into his spot, using two strong arms to haul the rest of you up and to his chest.

he hardly seems bothered by the collision, letting his head fall back onto the cushion. but you still can’t help but ask worriedly, “are you okay? did that hurt—?”

“you’re pretty.”

a beat passes as you bite back a smile, turning your head up slowly. shoto’s already looking down at you, with flushed cheeks and messy bangs that flutter over his glassy eyes.

giggling, you shift on top of him, getting comfortable. your fingers come up to swipe his hair out of the way, his pale forehead now proudly displaying. a handsome sight. 

he doesn’t blink at your movements, just simply stares at you in quiet awe.

you whisper, “baby, i think you’re drunk.”

“and i think you’re really pretty.”

his words come out blunt, slightly slurred. and your smile finally breaks across your face. you watch his eyebrows raise minutely, still in awe.

“do you get that feeling as well?” he asks, voice deep.

you tilt your head. “what feeling?”

shoto blinks. then he sighs, almost in frustration. “when you smile, my heart starts beating very fast. it concerns me sometimes. i think i should see a doctor.” he says this straightforwardly, very shoto. and is also completely oblivious to how endearing he sounds.

you perch your chin on his chest, looking at him with amused eyes. 

“you’re being so cute right now, sho.”

“am i?”

nodding, your cheeks start aching from how hard you’ve been smiling. shoto tightens his arms around you, and you sink into his warm hold.

after a moment, you affirm him. “i get that feeling too.”

“you do?”

“mhm.”

shoto cocks his head to the side, serious as ever. “then i should give both our doctors a call tomorrow, no?”

this makes you laugh. teasing him, “i think it just means we love each other, no?”

shoto’s eyes then widen, odd astonishment written clearly on his face. it baffles you.

“you love me?” he asks quietly—in wonder.

your heart just about bursts. partly due to fondness, partly due to disbelief. “well, yes. i am your fiance,” you say affectionately, wiggling your hand up to flash the shiny ring on your left ring finger.

shoto takes your hand, brings it close to his face. he examines the ring, turning your fingers this way and that. after careful scrutiny, he pulls back, looking at you with fascination while exhaling slowly. 

“i’m a lucky man,” he breathes out. so innocent in his reverence.

warmth swells in your chest. and another round of giggles escapes your lips, just as the smell of mint and sake hits your nose.

water, you abruptly think. should probably get him some water. that headache’s going to be mean tomorrow morning.

without warning, you squirm out of his arms and sit up. he follows, though clumsily.

“where are you going?” shoto asks, and you’re taken aback by the sudden alertness in his tone. you try to ease him onto the couch again, but he relents—stubborn.

“getting you some water,” you softly say, trying to be reassuring—trying to smooth out the sudden furrow in his eyebrows with your thumb. “i’ll be right back—”

“don’t leave me.”

you pause, eyes widening.

shouto’s eyes are glistening now, more than just an intoxicated sheen. and your heart drops at the subtle panic in his voice, your other hand coming up to cradle his cheek.

“no… no, i’m not leaving you. i just think you need some water right now—”

“can i come with you?” he asks lowly—shyly.

you shake your head, a little perplexed. “no my love, stay here on the couch. i’ll be quick—”

“please, don’t leave me,” he quickly says again, slurring. 

your face twists, mouth soundlessly opening and closing as your mind tries to grapple with the sudden shift in mood.

he’s never usually like this. then again, he’s never usually drunk. but there’s an underlying tone in his voice, a desperation that seeps through—a little too raw. a little too real.

shoto chases after his own words before you can fully process them. “i love you. i know i have trouble expressing it. and i don’t say it enough, but i do. i really do…”

his hands grasp onto yours. an iron-grip hold. words tumble out of his mouth, his usual calmness far from seen, his usual quietness far from heard. you would've found it intriguing, if not for the utter dejection and anxiety on his face.

“you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he says with furrowed eyebrows. “you see me for who i am. i love you. and i can’t imagine—”

alarm bells start going off in your head.

“hey…” you try to shush him. but his clutch tightens impossibly so, gleaming eyes never leaving yours.

“you showed me what love could be. what it should be. and i don’t want to ever lose you. i don’t want to mess this up—”

“shoto—”

he quickly cuts you off, breathing heavily. “perhaps i can change your mind? what can i do?”

the hopeless look in his eyes absolutely crushes you.

with a heavy heart, you stroke his hair, smoothing down the red and white tufts. it’s your first time seeing him like this, and it aches you to think that he would ever think you’d leave. even if this conversation was unfolding while he was drunk.

“sho, you don’t have to do anything—”

“but—”

“i’m not leaving,” you say firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. “i won’t ever leave. no matter what, okay?”

shoto blinks. then blinks again. his voice is quiet—tentative when he asks, “you mean it?”

“yes,” you say delicately, steeling your resolve when he searches your face.

moments pass. excruciatingly long moments. until finally, his shoulders relax, if just barely. you find yours untensing as well, as he tugs you onto his lap. you give in, because you can never find it in yourself not to when it comes to him. 

landing sideways with a thump, his arms immediately encircle your waist, head nestling into the crook of your neck. you rub his back, trying to slow his breathing, feeling his erratic heartbeat through your palm.

“you’re not leaving?” he mutters into your skin.

“never.”

shoto sighs. thankfully, in what seems to be in relief. “you mean it? truthfully?”

you whisper, “yes.”

seconds tick by. your single, but assuring, words linger in the air.

then, softly, you hear:

“...you love me?”

you look up, blinking back tears, arms tightening around his head as you cradle him close. the quiver in your lip just won’t stop, and you hope to the stars that your voice won’t come out shaky.

“yes.”

after swallowing the ball in your throat, you gently lift his head, meeting his vulnerable gray and turquoise eyes. 

“forever and always.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆｡˚ ⋆

after some time, shoto eventually calms down, the both of you not moving from your spot on the couch. a long debate ensues, the end result with him trailing behind you at 2am, gripping tightly onto one of your hands. your other hand solitarily moves around the kitchen: grabbing a cup, filling it with water, then bringing it up to his lips. 

shoto sips, slowly. looking at you the whole time. doesn’t even notice that he finishes the entire cup until you pry it away. you convince him to drink another, and he nods wordlessly, like a puppy. 

eventually, your feet pad quietly across the kitchen, and into your bedroom. eventually, he falls asleep in your arms, his intoxicated haze finally taking over. you stroke his hair tenderly, embrace him earnestly—hoping that even in his drunken sleep, he’ll be able to feel it:

i love you. forever and always.

Midoriya Walks in on Bakugo… Looking at Pictures of You Like a Lovesick Fool.

Midoriya pushes open the door without thinking. “Hey, Kacchan, I was wondering if you—”

Bakugo’s head snaps up. He is mid-scroll through his camera roll… full of pictures of you.

Midoriya blinks. Bakugo blinks.

Neither of them move.

“…So,” Midoriya starts carefully. “You—”

“GET. OUT.”

“Are those—”

Bakugo’s entire phone combusts in his hands. “I SAID GET OUT.”

Midoriya wisely leaves. He will never forget this.

(For weeks, Bakugo is paranoid that Midoriya will bring it up. He does. Often.)

Mirio Walks in on Tamaki… Practicing Asking You Out in the Mirror.

Tamaki stares intensely at his reflection. “H-Hey, Y/N… you look… uh… nice today. No, too stiff. Okay, um—h-hey! Looking good. NO, TOO FORWARD—”

Mirio leans against the doorframe, grinning ear to ear.

Tamaki doesn’t notice. He takes a deep breath. “Y/N, I think I—I mean, I know I like you. Would you—”

Mirio clears his throat.

Tamaki freezes.

Mirio waves. “Oh, don’t stop! I was really getting into it.”

Tamaki short-circuits. He vanishes into his cloak like a dying star.

(Mirio tells you immediately. You find it adorable. Tamaki never recovers.)

Denki Walks in on Kirishima… Taking a Shirtless Gym Selfie for You.

Kirishima angles his phone. “Alright, cool, cool—gotta flex a little, but not too much. Make it look natural.”

Denki peeks in. “Bro?”

Kirishima whips around. His phone flies out of his hands.

Denki stares at the shirtless, sweaty, flexing Kirishima. “Wait… were you—”

Kirishima grabs him by the shoulders. “Denki, listen.”

Denki’s grin grows. “Were you sending that to Y/N?”

Kirishima sweats. “I—uh—”

Denki cackles. “OH MY GOD, YOU WERE.”

(The selfie never gets sent. Denki teases him about it forever.)

Aizawa Walks in on Hizashi… Singing a Love Song About You in His Underwear.

Aizawa regrets opening this door.

Hizashi is mid-spin, hair down, air-guitaring a love ballad about you. In his boxers.

Aizawa blinks slowly.

Hizashi notices.

They stare at each other.

Aizawa shuts the door. Walks away. Says nothing.

(For weeks, Hizashi lives in fear of Aizawa bringing it up. He never does. It’s worse.)

Hawks Walks in on Endeavor… Watching a Romantic Movie and Sobbing Over a Confession Scene.

Hawks leans in the doorway. “Whatcha watchin’, boss?”

Endeavor scrambles for the remote.

Too late. The screen clearly shows a couple confessing their love in the rain.

Endeavor sniffles.

Hawks grins. “Aww, is someone thinking about confessing to Y/N?”

Endeavor glares. “Leave.”

Hawks flops onto the couch. “Nah, I wanna see how it ends.”

(Hawks tells you immediately. You tease Endeavor. He pretends he doesn’t care. He absolutely cares.)

Dabi Walks in on Shigaraki… Having a Full Conversation with a Picture of You.

Shigaraki stares at the screen. “I mean, yeah, you’d probably like me better if I wasn’t, you know, a wanted villain. But whatever. It’s not like I care what you think.”

Dabi leans against the wall. “Wow. You’re really arguing with their photo?”

Shigaraki jerks in surprise.

Dabi grins. “Dude, you are down bad.”

Shigaraki throws the phone at him. “SHUT UP.”

(Dabi never lets him live this down.)

Bakugo Walks in on Shoto… Practicing Pick-Up Lines in the Mirror.

Shoto nods at himself. “Hey, Y/N. You’re looking—uh… radiant. No, too poetic. Looking fine? No, that’s weird…”

Bakugo leans against the doorframe. “Oh, don’t stop. This is good.”

Shoto slowly turns.

They stare at each other.

Bakugo grins. “Keep goin’, I wanna see where this ends.”

Shoto closes the door in his face.

(Bakugo tells everyone. Shoto has never been more embarrassed.)

Tokoyami Walks in on Shoji… Writing You a Love Letter.

Shoji hunches over his desk, writing furiously.

Tokoyami tilts his head. “What are you doing?”

Shoji jumps. “Nothing.”

Tokoyami leans over his shoulder. The words "Dear Y/N, I think about you every day" are right there.

Tokoyami grins. “Ah. Poetry of the soul.”

Shoji slowly crumples the paper.

(The letter is rewritten. It eventually gets to you.)

Tenya Walks in on Denki… Trying to Take a Dick Pic.

Denki angles his phone. “Okay, lighting is important—oh crap, bad angle—”

Tenya walks in.

Denki screams.

Tenya screams.

Denki fumbles the phone.

Tenya turns around so fast he almost trips. “KAMINARI, WHAT THE HELL?”

Denki is on the floor, crying. “BRO KNOCK FIRST.”

Tenya slams the door shut. They never speak of this. Ever.(Denki does not send the picture. He never recovers.)

Ko-fi / Masterlist