#google x reader

Darkiplier

- He refuses to dress up

- …he’ll wear little devil horns or something else small if it makes you happy, though

- He’d probably prefer to take you to a fancy Halloween party, but if you wouldn’t like that, he’ll respect it

- If you go to a party, he stays by your side all night

- If you stay home, he’ll either make dinner or order takeout and watch some Halloween movies with you

- He likes horror movies (partially because you hold onto him if you get scared, but he won’t admit it out loud)

- He doesn’t mind at all if you dress up for Halloween. You look dashing and/or lovely and/or cute in your costume, so he certainly isn’t complaining

- Both of you head to bed fairly late

- Overall, a lovely night regardless of what y’all do

Damien

- Similarly to Dark, he’d also prefer to take you to a party. But he’s happy regardless of if you stay home or go to a party

- He’d love to do a couples costume!

- He likes the idea of a sun and moon couples costume. Regardless of which of you is the sun or moon, he thinks it’s fitting

- If y’all do go to a party, he stays with you the whole time. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable

- If y’all stay home, he helps you hand out candy to trick-or-treaters and orders delivery for dinner

- After the trick-or-treaters are all gone, Damien suggests spending the rest of the night watching movies

- Y’all end up sleeping on the couch all cuddled up

Google

- Doesn’t quite understand Halloween at first, but he does get that you find it fun

- He is willing to wear a costume, as long as it isn’t too silly

- You could probably convince him to do a vampire couple’s costume (though he may buffer for a moment, you do look very handsome and/or beautiful in your vampire costume after all)

- He’s content with staying home and handing out candy to any trick-or-treaters with you

- Afterwards, you can watch movies together and order takeout

- You fall asleep with him holding you on the couch

- Google likes Halloween now

Date Mark

- He suggests a couples costume before you October even starts

- He finds the most cheesy and sappy costumes ever

- Wants to be peanut butter and jelly because “we go together perfectly, just like peanut butter and jelly! <3”. This man is just too adorable sometimes

- You agree, much to his delight

- He halfway wants to make it a date night, but you remind him that there’ll be trick-or-treaters showing up

- He settles for takeout and candles on the table

- When you do start giving out candy, he gets some fold-up chairs so you two can sit close together without being on the ground

- After that, you watch a movie (he found a Halloween romance movie, and really wanted to watch it with you)

- Y’all fall asleep holding each other

Illinois

- He practically begs you to do an Indiana Jones related couples costume

- You agree and find a character you like to dress up as

- Illinois would love it if you dressed as a love interest (a genderbent version is completely fine with him if you’d prefer that of course), but he really won’t complain either way

- He does joke that you could always wear less clothes, but he shuts up when you playfully pull his hat down over his eyes

- He makes you dinner before the trick-or-treaters start showing up

- You make some cookies for the both of you

- After an hour or so of handing out candy, y’all leave a bowl of candy out so you can go back inside and watch movies

- After you bring the bowl in, y’all head to bed

Eric

- He would absolutely love to do a couples costume with you, but he’s a little shy bringing it up

- He gets much less shy when you tell him that you’d like to do a couples costume with him

- The two of you pick angel and devil costumes (him being the angel, of course)

- Y’all both have a lot of fun planning the night

- Eric makes some Halloween cookies, and you make dinner

- Y’all pass out candy to trick-or-treaters for a couple hours, before retiring to the living room

- As cute as falling asleep together in the living room would be, both of you agree that your room is more comfortable

- Y’all fall asleep to a campy and fun Halloween movie in there

Yancy

- So, he’s out on parole. He hasn’t had a normal Halloween since he was a kid

- Jokingly, one of you suggested that you two dress as prisoners for Halloween

- …at some point, it stopped being a joke

- He took a couple of his old prison uniforms and let you try them on

- If they’re too big or the right size, you use it as your costume. If it’s too small, you find some very similar clothes to wear

- Regardless, Yancy thinks you look adorable and/or pretty and/or handsome in his clothes. He does understand if you’d prefer clothes in your own size if his isn’t right, though

- Tonight, his tattoos on his knuckles say “Bats” and “Dark”

- (They just change somehow, neither of you really question it. You assume there aren’t many four letter Halloween related words)

- You order delivery for dinner

- Yancy had a lot of fun handing out candy to trick-or-treaters for the first time

- Y’all spend the rest of the night watching Halloween movies together <3

Jameson

- Poor Jameson has a love/hate relationship with Halloween

- He loves the holiday itself, but his run-ins with Anti all those years ago has made him a bit cautious

- You reassure him that everything will be okay, and that the two of you don’t need to do anything big

- Y’all find some 1920s style costumes and modern clothes so the two of you can do an “outfit swap” of sorts

- (Hell, if your clothes are the right size, y’all might as well just swap actual clothes. You’ll both probably get flustered seeing each other in your clothes, though)

- He had also crocheted some little Halloween related plushies, teaching you a little if you don’t already crochet

- He carved a small pumpkin with you. He really does love carving pumpkins, but he’s been cautious since that Halloween that Anti took control of him

- You’re very proud of him <3

“There seems to be an error in my systems. I am unsure as to what.”

“Okay Google, sit on the couch and perform a diagnostic.”

Giving a nod he wandered over to the couch and sat down, his eyes zoning out as he began performing his diagnostic tests. It felt odd to watch him be so lifeless, but it startled you further when he suddenly lurched forward, coughing a few times as he had finished his scans. You could see within the rays of the sun coming through the window the particles of dust that had been forcefully expelled from Google’s mouth, hovering in the air before beginning their descent to the floor.

“I appear to have caught a virus.”

“How? I didn’t click any suspicious ads or links or anything.”

“I am unsure, however it is present in my mainframe, and as such I must expel it.”

“And uh, what does that look like for you?”

“I imagine that it would look to you as it would for a fellow human to have a cold. However, unlike the petri dishes that are mankind, I do not run the risk of getting you ill as I use my antivirus software.”

You decided to promptly ignore the dig on humanity before asking, “And how long would that take?”

He coughed into his fist again. “Unknown duration, however research results place it between two and four days for a complete removal of the virus with my current antivirus software. Conveniently Google Inc has a premium antivirus software that can be shipped here-” he paused, his face scrunching up a little in mild disgust “-for $250 plus shipping. Knowing our financials, you do not have that kind of variance in your bank account for such an expenditure. So,” he sighed “two to four days it is.”

“Will you be alright during that time?”

“I will be fine. My systems will dispel the virus and I will return to normal function.”

“But will you be okay?”

“I do not understand the concern. Are you worried about the return on your investment?”

“No Google, you aren’t well. I’m worried about you.”

Maybe it was the fact that the virus was still present in his body, or maybe it was the lesser processing speed and efficiency he was working with, but he felt almost…warm inside at the thought of you being worried about him. It must’ve been the virus, he wouldn’t entertain it being anything else.

“The concern is unnecessary. I will be well within the two to four day parameter, it will be like this never happened.”

“Okay. Well then Google, perform the antiviral program.”

“As you say.” he said before moving to lay down on the couch and closing his eyes, beginning to run the software. His internal fans picked up a little, but for the most part appeared to simply be asleep. With that started, you decided to go about your day. You had some laundry to do, and you had some snacks you wanted to pick up from the store, and now seemed as good of a time as any to do those things.

You got dressed for the day and went down to the basement to do your laundry. Tossing the mixed basket of laundry into the washer you put the soap in, and let the machine do its thing. Waiting for the wash cycle to be done was the best course of action, as you wouldn’t take long at the store and you wanted your clothes, sheets, and blankets to be dry by the time you got back. So once they were done washing you swapped them over and started the dryer before heading out to go to the store. You went in, grabbed you snacks of choice, and then thought about what you wanted to do for dinner. Google had made a weekly meal plan for you to follow, but you couldn’t exactly ask him about it while he was out. He also hadn’t sent you the recipe nor wrote it down, so unfortunately your plans for dinner tonight were foiled. You decided to grab some frozen veggies and chicken breast to make for an easy dinner, figuring you’d be able to go back to the regularly scheduled meal plan tomorrow. Using the self checkout made the process quick, and before long you had pulled up to your home and made your way back inside.

“Google, I’m home.” you called on reflex. Though the silence in response reminded you that he was currently preoccupied. Heading to the kitchen you put your dinner groceries away and then headed to your room to put your snacks away. It was still early, so you figured you’d put on some YouTube and just doom watch for a while. A buzz promptly put that on hold. The dryer was done. Heading back down to the basement you grabbed the laundry, tossing it into the basket and bringing it to your room. You could fold laundry and watch YouTube. Scrolling through your list of subscribed channels, you clicked on Markiplier and saw that he had a new video out. You could watch that with dinner tonight, but for now you wanted something familiar. You clicked on one of the playlists that had been out for years now.

“Hello everybody, my name is Markiplier and welcome to SCP Containment Breach-” Perfect. With that, you half paid attention to Mark and what he was doing while also folding your laundry. Your shirts, pants, underwear, socks, washcloths, and a couple of sets of sheets made up the majority of the basket, but then you got to the last thing in there and it made you pause. It was one of Google’s shirts. You’d made sure that he had a decent amount of clothes just in case, and this was one such time where it proved useful. Google had stained it while making a loaf of bread, the flour mixture having gotten on it. Looking at it now made your heart twinge a little. He had been considerate that day, you having mentioned you would’ve liked some fresh bread for breakfast the day before but never ordering him to do so. Your hold tightened a little on the shirt before you promptly tossed it back into the basket and stood up, the desire to go check on him rising in your gut.

Pausing your video you headed to the living room, eyes darting to the couch. There Google laid, though he looked uncomfortable. His eyes were still closed, signaling that he was still resting, but his brows were furrowed and his breathing protocol was inconsistent, stuttering and sometimes deep but sometimes shallow on intake. You quietly headed to him, standing by his head as you reached out to feel his forehead. It felt warm under your palm and upon contact with his forehead he gasped, his forehead nudging closer to your hand. Flinching at his insistence upon your touch, you felt the concern creep its way into your throat. Usually he was indifferent to physical contact if not a little touch adverse. 

There had to be something you could do. But what? If he were human you’d give him some medicine. But he wasn’t human and the treatment was already being administered. You didn’t know what would help versus what would possibly hurt him further, and you didn’t want to accidentally break him. Not that he was all that fragile, but it was difficult to think of him as anything else right now. Sighing, you removed your hand and backed off. He’d be okay, he just needed time. Besides, there was nothing you could do because he wasn’t human and you weren’t an expert at robotics. 

Resolving yourself you decided to head back to your room to continue watching Mark play SCP Containment Breach, though as you pressed play you knew that you wouldn’t end up actually paying all that much attention to it. You tuned in at big moments like when Radical Larry ended up putting Mark into his alternate world and Mark found his way out on his very first try and when he had managed to trap Radical Larry back in his containment cell, but it wasn’t thrilling you like it would under normal circumstances. You had gotten decently into the 67 video playlist before your stomach grumbled. Checking the time you realized you had spent hours in front of the tv and now it was a bit past your typical dinnertime. Lugging yourself up onto your feet you made your way to the kitchen to make dinner. You tossed the frozen veggies into the microwave and grabbed a pan, seasoning the chicken before putting it in the hot pan and throwing away the packaging. It took a little time, but the chicken cooked and the vegetables heated up, and before long you had a healthy and delicious meal.

You put some butter on your veggies and plated your dinner, bringing it back to the bedroom to eat and watch YouTube in there. Backing out of the SCP Containment Breach playlist you opted to watch Mark’s newest video. You noted that a lot had changed over the years, from Mark’s look to his sound quality and visual effects, but what else would you expect from over 13 years of development? You pondered the continuous passage of time as you ate dinner, and like always you enjoyed Mark’s video. Once you had finished your dinner you felt wrong as you set your plate to the side. Google would’ve never let that slide, but he wasn’t exactly present to chastise you into bringing the plate to the sink. 

You decided to turn in early, and as you fitfully couldn’t sleep you looked up the antivirus program for your Google bot. The search brought you to a FAQ page, and you scrolled the questions and answers. ‘How long does it take for my Google bot to be fixed once the antivirus program starts?’ ‘That depends on the virus or viruses that have implanted into the Google bot’s systems. On average it takes two to three days, but can take up to four with the basic antivirus program.’ ‘Can I upgrade to the premium antivirus while my Google bot is already performing the basic program?’ ‘No. The Google bot will continue to run the basic program to remove the virus, however it will utilize the premium antivirus for any future viruses it may obtain.’ ‘I think my Google bot is overheating, is this normal?’ ‘The systems will run hotter as a result of the antivirus program functioning. This is normal. They will return to normal levels once the program has completed and your Google bot is functioning fully again.’ Unfortunately none of this was helpful to soothe your worries, and frankly you didn’t like how the FAQs never brought up the emotional aspect of having your Google bot be ill. You turned your phone off and set it on your nightstand to charge before you rolled over, closing your eyes in the hope of tricking your body to sleep. 

You didn’t know when you actually managed to fall asleep, but as you woke up to the sun being almost fully in the sky you knew that it was going to be a long day, even if it was already half over and barely began. Shoving your feet into your slippers you made your way to the living room to check on Google. The first thing you noticed was that he was awake. The second was that he was trembling a lot and seemed more aware of his surroundings than he did yesterday.

Making your way to the couch you felt his forehead again, and he leaned into your touch with a deep whine emanating from the back of his throat. In any other circumstance it would’ve had you over the moon to see him so wanton for your touch, but right now you’d take a quiet elation that cut through your worry. “How are you doing, Google?”

His brown eyes stared at you as he shrunk back from your hand again as if on principle. “I have been better.” he said dryly, another bout of shivers overtaking him.

“So what’s happening now?” you asked, removing your hand from the vicinity of his forehead.

“My systems are hot and the environment feels colder as a result. It is highly unpleasant.” he replied.

“Is there anything I can do to help you, Google?”

“No. My protocol is already doing what it must to ensure the virus’s removal.”

“I don’t care about the protocol Google! Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Anything at all?”

The android clenched his jaw as his discomforted gaze glared at you. Regarding matters of preference or desires Google generally had a hard time, and now that you were asking this question to him now of all times irked him. What irked him more was that he found it easier to answer than he expected.

“Just remain here.”

“Stay with you?”

“As I said.”

You nodded and moved to try and sit on the couch at his feet, him bending his knees to allow for it. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Remain as you are, as if my current state renders you unaffected.”

Okay, so stick around and act normal. You could do that. At least, you hoped you could do that. It couldn’t be that hard. Now that Google was at least awake it would definitely be easier to act like everything was okay, because everything was okay. 

“You are doing that overprocessing function you’re prone to doing.” he stated, staring hard at you, causing you to wince in embarrassment at being perceived so easily.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Stop it. Distract yourself with visual entertainment if you must.”

Watch tv to distract yourself, huh? You could do that. Grabbing the remote you turned on the tv and looked for something to watch. The tv guide showed that one of your favorite childhood films was on and you only missed part of the beginning. You clicked on it and quickly took note that it was the scene where Eve first landed on Earth. Adjusting, you got comfortable and quickly became entraptured by the screen just as you did any other time the movie was on.

Google found himself genuinely watching the film as well, his thoughts turning to you as he watched. You were much like WALL-E in your curiosity and desire to know more, and as he continued to watch while WALL-E cared for Eve when she was powered down he found himself thinking about his current situation. While he wasn’t completely powered down, he definitely wasn’t at a hundred percent capacity, and here you were sitting and keeping him company because you wanted to keep him comfortable. You were kind, and always treated him with more personhood than he needed. If he were to truly think about how it affected him, he’d say it was nice. Not that he’d ever tell you though, he had a reputation to uphold.

The movie went to commercial break and you stretched before getting up, and Google watched as you left the room. The trajectory of your steps indicated that you were heading to the bathroom, and knowing you you’d be back shortly. The commercials did nothing to grasp his attention, and he found himself counting the minutes until your return. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he missed you. Without you his shivers came back into focus in his mind, and it felt like every symptom he experienced was worse. He wasn’t coughing anymore, but it felt like there was a tickle in his throat that had only seemingly subsided once you had come to check on him. Hearing your footsteps coming back down the hall he turned his gaze back to the tv as he watched a commercial about some prescription drug with happy looking people on the screen as the side effects were being read off quickly by the narrator. 

“Oh good, I didn’t miss anything.” you said, sitting back down at his feet. You glanced at him and noticed him watching the tv. “How are you doing, Google?”

“I am functioning at a better capacity today than I was yesterday, though my systems are not yet fully functioning. If predictions serve me well, I should be at full capacity by tomorrow.”

“That’s good. I…I worry about you, you know.” you admitted, clasping your hands together and looking down at them.

“There is no need. I do not become ill like humans, nor do I have a mortality to be concerned with.”

“I know, I just…it worried me to see you as you were yesterday. Knowing you were out cold on the couch and not knowing how to be able to help you –worse off, knowing that there wasn’t really anything I could do to help you– was scary. And I know, I know that in the end you’ll be fine and we’ll be going back to the way things were since before you somehow got that virus, but-”

“-But it does not detract from how you are feeling in the present time.” Google interrupted, and as you properly looked at him you noticed that there was a softness in his gaze, one that was unlike him in most interactions.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Would it benefit you to have physical comfort?”

Okay, he was definitely ill still, even if he presented as being his usual self more than before. Google didn’t initiate hugs, and he didn’t often understand your ‘silly human emotions’. But here he was doing both. It was a little unnerving, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t appreciated.

“I-Is that okay with you?”

“My feelings on it do not matter. Would you benefit from physical touch?”

You took a moment to think about it. “...Yes.” you finally decided, and as Google opened his arms from his supine position on the couch, you found yourself crawling over him and resting prone on his body. You turned your head to the side and rested it over his dimly glowing chest –another physical indicator of his current affliction– and seeing that the movie had come back on you chose to turn your attention to that instead.

Meanwhile, Google moved his arms to allow you to gain comfort from his physical form and as you made yourself comfortable on his body he felt something in his systems lurch, though not negatively. It was as if something had been stuck and suddenly came loose. In his current state he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and he found that he currently didn’t want to. The only thought that made itself present in his neurological components was that this was nice. His attention on the movie was completely lost, focusing instead on you and the comfort he was feeling from this exchange as he rested his arms around your form. His trembling subsided with you in his arms, and for the first time today he felt genuinely comfortable.

Neither of you knew when it happened, but as you both took comfort and peace from cuddling on the couch, you both ended up falling asleep in each other’s embrace. It wasn’t until hours later that you woke up, and as you moved to look at Google you noticed that he was still asleep. You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and checked the time to see that it was about five in the evening. Your stomach growling indicated that it was time for you to make dinner, but Google’s arms were still wrapped around you, and you didn’t want to wake him up. Carefully you started pulling back from his hold, and you gently moved his arms off of you and had them rest on his torso, asleep like Sleeping Beauty. Once free you went to go use the bathroom, washed your hands, and made your way to the kitchen to make dinner. 

You wanted something quick and easy, so you decided to make some mac and cheese. Was it the healthiest meal you could make? No. Was it even the easiest meal you could make? Also no. But you wanted it, so damn it you were gonna have it. Filling a pot of water and shaking some salt into the water, you then turned the stove on and waited, scrolling through your Tumblr feed as you did so. Once you heard the water start to boil you added the macaroni to the pot, gave it a stir so the noodles wouldn’t be stuck together, and then waited some more for the pasta to cook. 

Preoccupied with your phone, you jumped when you felt an arm wrap around your waist. But you settled when you heard Google’s voice. “Mac and cheese? That is not a full, balanced meal.” he chastised, his voice a bit rumbly from still waking up.

“Maybe not, but it’s quick, it’s easy, and I wanted it.” you replied before turning in his hold to look at him. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head. “Negative, I ‘woke up’ naturally.”

“Your shivers seem to have stopped.”

“Indeed. It seems as if that aspect of the virus has been subdued and removed.”

“You’re still touchy though.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just not like your usual self.”

“Would you want it to be?”

Your furrowed brows and surprised gaze directed him to think that the answer was no, and as such he turned his attention to your boiling macaroni. “Your dinner is about to overcook.”

“Shit! Thanks Google.” you said, turning your attention to the pot. You used potholders and brought it to the sink, dumping the macaroni into the awaiting strainer, shaking the strainer and using gravity to strain the water. Putting the macaroni back in the pot you added a little milk, the cheese powder, and ripped up some slices of cheese to add to the pot. Mixing it all together you watched as the powder incorporated, the milk got thick and the cheese melted and started making many thin cheese pulls as you mixed the macaroni, akin almost to looking like spider webs, or neurons even with their ‘branches’. Once it was the perfect consistency you then put the entire pot of macaroni into a big bowl, figuring you’d eat what you wanted from it and if there were leftovers you could easily wrap up the bowl in some plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for tomorrow.

Once you fixed it the way you liked it you made your way to the kitchen table to eat. Google would’ve had a minor fit if you had tried to head to the living room with dinner, which honestly would’ve comforted you some because at least then he’d be acting more like his usual self. You saw him sit across from you and you considered his question as you ate.

“I thought you were touch averse?”

“I can be at times, yes.”

“So why are you asking me if I want you to touch me more?”

“Because as loathe as I am to admit it, the physical contact from earlier today was…” enjoyable, needed, appreciated, many descriptive words suggested themselves in his head, but he didn’t want to seem too invested in the approval of his suggestion, so instead he went with the weak descriptor of, “nice.”

“Do you think that might be because you’re ill?”

“Are you concerned that if you agree that when I am fully well again I will want to revoke the agreement?”

“Maybe. I just want to know this is something you genuinely want, and not anything having to do with the virus or you doing it because you think I’d enjoy it even though it bothers you.”

Google took a moment to think on that. You were right of course, he had been touch neutral, and even sometimes touch averse while you have been his owner. In your perspective it would definitely seem odd for him to request more touch now. But how could he convince you that this is what he wanted? “I may have a suggestion.”

“Hit me.”

His brows furrowed a little, but he closed his eyes and dispelled the thought from his mind. You didn’t mean it literally, you never did. It was something he was getting used to. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze back to you.

“I would like to continue our current parameters of physical touch from this afternoon while I am ill. Once I am again at full capacity I can reevaluate and let you know if my decision still stands.”

That would have to do. It was a logical option, you just worried you’d be taking advantage of him since he was bringing this up in his currently sick state.

“If that’s what you want.”

As hard as it was for Google to say, he nodded. “It is.”

Nodding your assent, you went back to eating your mac and cheese. You ate about half of the large bowl before you covered up the rest in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for tomorrow.

“So, what should we do now?”

“If you would like to play a game I would observe the story with you, or if you prefer to watch someone else play we could watch YouTube.”

“Well, I was watching Markiplier play SCP Containment Breach yesterday while you were out…”

“If you have not finished the playthrough, we can continue it if you want.”

“In my room or out here?”

“Whichever is more comfortable for you.”

You opted to watch the playthrough in the living room, figuring that you could head into the bedroom once you got tired enough to go back to sleep. Not that you would, at least you didn’t think so, because of how much sleeping you had done earlier today as well as the nap you had with Google on the couch. You both sat back down on the couch and you picked up where you’d left off with watching the playthrough. A few hours in you started feeling a bit peckish and figured that some popcorn was just what the doctor ordered, though before you could get up Google had done so.

“Where are you going?”

“You want a snack.”

“Yeah, so?”

“If I couldn’t even do that, you might as well scrap me.”

“But you don’t even know what I was gonna grab.”

He supposed that was true. You had a variety of snacks in the house, and he would be going off of his best estimate. “Okay, what do you want then?”

“...popcorn.”

“Not entirely out of the parameters of my estimation, however it is a slight outlier to my current predictions. You were right, I didn’t know what you wanted.” he said with a small, almost proud smirk before heading into the kitchen and making you your popcorn.

That smirk shouldn’t have meant more to you than just a facial expression for the benefit of human comfort, but it did. It made your stomach flutter and your heart feel fuller. “Hey, should you be doing that? You’re still ill!”

“Not ill enough to not make popcorn.”

“If you overdo it and make yourself sick again I won’t forgive you!”

It made Google pause as he was about to put the microwave on. He set the microwave for two minutes and thirty seconds before settling himself back to lean against the counter. You had truly worried about him when he was out. He knew that, of course, but…it meant more now. You had always let him know how much you cared, but now it felt more genuine. Or maybe he was just more open to receiving it and accepting it as such.

“I won’t overdo it. I promise.” he replied, watching as the popcorn started to pop in the bag. 

Hearing no response Google assumed he must've placated you, but he would keep his word about not overdoing it. Originally he would've opposed such a notion, not only for keeping his word to a human, but to the thought that he could overwork himself, but over time he had come to understand your human worries regardless of how necessary they were. Deep down he appreciated it, though he doubted his ability to voice that to you. It would be beneath him, but it would also mean that he was more like the species he hated deeply than he would've ever liked to admit.

The popping slowed down significantly when Google opened up the microwave, and he felt as a couple of kernels popped while the bag was pinched between his fingers. A couple of late bloomers, as some would say.

“Come on Google, you're about to miss a good part!”

He looked in the direction of your call before looking at the bag in his hand. A small smirk graced his face as his gaze softened a little before he left to go to you again.

You woke up to birdsong and sunrays, both of which wormed their way through the blinds of your window like a kitten searching for warmth in winter. You also woke up to a large bang that bordered on an explosion, but you were choosing to ignore that for the moment because otherwise, you were going to lose it.

Slowly, you peeled yourself from your bedsheets and searched with bleary eyes for a suitable outfit. Pajamas were comfortable, but today was marked for a food run, so something more socially acceptable was required.

Something clattered noisily against tile. You gritted your teeth.

Jeans and a t-shirt. That was normal and comfortable and wouldn’t draw much attention, which was just what you needed for going out in public. It wasn’t that you were infamous within your town or anything, you were just looking to avoid a select few people who could make your life incredibly difficult. As long as they didn’t see you, you would be okay.

Yelling and another crash. Your hands formed fists around the clothing.

Your room came with an ensuite bathroom, so you were able to stay in your sleepwear while brushing your teeth and dousing your face in water. Anything to prepare you for the day ahead. Not that you needed to prepare for anything, it was all going to go just swimmingly because what was there to mess it up? Nothing, nothing at all, absolutely nothing.

You hated being wrong more than you liked living in ignorant bliss, so you rushed to throw off your clothes before something could happen. It felt like there was a watch, a timer, a distant doomsday clock that was ticking down to something going wrong, and despite trying to force yourself into optimism, a sense of dread surrounded you and— 

“Dude!”

“Goddammit!” you shouted, letting your shirt fall over your head and sprinting to the staircase.

Somehow, you had managed to go the entire evening without any major mishaps, but you could only be so fortunate for so long, and it seemed your luck had run out at the stroke of midnight. Because you were a fleshy bag of blood and bones, you needed sleep. Bing and Google, however, did not, and that meant they had free rein over your house while you were in your room.

As you threw yourself down the stairs, you wondered how nobody had called the police yet, even yourself.

Your feet touching the last step, you cautiously glanced around. The front room was empty and, thankfully, just the same as you had left it. There wasn’t much for them to break, but that didn’t mean you were any less glad. The mirror, the shoe rack, the runner along the corridor, all of it was as it was supposed to be. You even picked up a little trinket on a shelf to check its integrity and found not one crack.

You sighed.

You were stalling, you knew that, you just didn’t want to have to deal with the kitchen, especially because the androids that had been making enough sound to cause an earthquake had gone silent. Whether it was from you finally getting downstairs, or from the severity of whatever they had done, you didn’t know, and you really, really didn’t want to find out.

When the whisperings picked up again, you steeled your nerves and marched down the hallway. You had the brief impulse to dart down into your lab, but that thought was wiped from your mind as you peeked around the corner.

You didn’t get a word out before Bing was pointing at Google, shouting, “He started it!”

The other man only stared at you with that deadpan expression; anyone else might have thought it was completely blank, but you had long since figured out the subtle differences in emotion. The skill hadn’t faded after your time apart, so you were able to see the slight lowering of his brow and the set of his jaw that silently told you, ‘No, he started it’.

You didn’t know who to believe, but, quite frankly, you didn’t have the energy to care. No, you had to save it for the inevitable deep-clean required for the state of your kitchen.

You took a step forward and immediately slipped on wet tile, barely able to catch yourself and avoid cracking your head open like one of the eggs beneath your feet. You weren’t able to see the countertops beneath all the mess of flour, milk, and, again, egg – yolk, shell, and all. Cabinets were left ajar, which wouldn’t have been a problem had one of the doors not been completely removed from a hinge, and your freezer was spilling chill freely into the room on top of the splatters of water and semi-melted ice.

You looked at the sink, decided you weren’t going to address that nightmare for the sake of all of your health, and then turned your gaze back onto Google and Bing.

You squinted at them.

“Hey, hey, no need to get mad yet, dude!” Bing yelped, making his way through the minefield toward you.

“Yet?”

“Or at all!”

Over Bing’s shoulder, you stared at Google. He stared at you.

You were given time to wage a war of wills as Bing got himself trapped between the fridge and a moat of clumpy, unidentifiable liquid. If there was one thing you had learned in your experience with your first android, it was that he was stubborn beyond what you thought was possible for a computer. Hell, you had been the one to code him, you were supposed to know his limits, and yet he surpassed them every time you faced off against him. However, you had a habit of imparting a little of your personality on your creations, no matter how much you tried not to, and that bullheadedness was not something he was unique in.

Crossing your arms, you felt the pull of a frown against your lips.

Google’s irises swirled with a frigid gray.

In the background, Bing registered the growing tension and started to stutter through a platitude, all the while slowing and unwillingly dropping into the splits over a small lake of milk.

The problem that Google was met with was that you weren’t just angry, no, you were absolutely livid. His pride and logic – that it wasn’t his fault because he didn’t start it – were no match for the fury broiling beneath your skin. Your androids ran on electricity, but, in this moment, you ran on rage.

Just when Bing was forced to put a hand to the ground to stop himself sliding, Google spoke in an unapologetic tone, “I apologize.”

“For what?” you asked, fingers tapping against your shirt in a steady rhythm.

He paused, but you weren’t going to stop there, and he had to keep talking. “I apologize for creating a mess that you won’t have to deal with because we will clean it.”

“Good. Thank you.”

He nodded, and you both turned your attention to the remaining victim of your wrath, who was currently struggling to stay in a downward dog position.

“Yo, I will literally do anything if you help me!”

Okay, his apology could wait. You were admittedly more lenient towards Bing if only because he had been a delight for the last three months. Compared to Google, he was an angel, and you didn’t feel right putting him through more discomfort than necessary.

You happily hop-scotched over to him and provided a ledge for him to pull himself up with. Lifting a two-hundred-pound hunk of metal at eight-fifteen in the morning was not part of your exercise routine, after all.

When Bing was on his feet, his hand still secured tightly on your shoulder, a bashful smile spread across his lips.

“Bro, I’m really sorry,” he muttered, so surprisingly earnest that you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re fine, Bing, just- just help clean and don’t do it again.” It was then that you took stock of what had been thrown about. They didn’t just raid your cabinets, obviously, they had also taken things from your fridge as well. It shocked you that no damage had been done to the door of that appliance, though you had yet to look inside.

“What were you two trying to do?” You hesitated to say ‘cook’ because they were a far cry away from that, but it had also been Google’s attempt at making a meal that landed him back in your care, so it was still a fifty-fifty.

“Make breakfast,” Bing explained as he scooped up a handful of flour. 

So, they were trying to cook.

You felt the bottoms of your feet grow moist in a puddle of milk.

Oh no.

While they cleared up the kitchen, you would have to start on a software update for both of them. You didn’t know what the issue was, whether it was their understanding of cooking or, even worse, their hand-eye coordination, but this was a problem that needed fixing, and fast.

You’d just have to forgo breakfast for a little while longer. “I’ll be in the lab,” you announced, turning around but being unable to erase the mental image of your poor, poor sink from your mind.

Before you could get out of the room, though, Bing called out, “Hey, uh, where’s your stuff?”

“My stuff?”

“Like cleaning stuff?”

You were suddenly wary about giving them free access to bleach, but you supposed they had to fix this mess somehow. Just as you opened your mouth to answer, though, Google’s voice caught your attention.

“Have you not cleaned before?” He sounded an odd mix of disgusted and prideful that you hadn’t seen Google hold before. Obviously, you’d heard both separately and far too often, but this had you furrowing your brow.

“Course I have,” Bing replied, indignant, “just, uh, not this much…”

You supposed him having been so nice to hang around since his creation was in part due to what you made him do. You were pretty damn confident in your programming – or, you had been, before an ingredient bomb went off in your house – so you hadn’t felt the need to test Bing’s skills as much as you had Google. Plus, the punishment of deep cleaning the stove was never needed, so there had been no reason to enforce all those difficult chores. Therefore, you had never needed to show him where the more industrial-sized equipment was.

Now, you were regretting it. Not only was he ignorant of a key part of his programming, but he was also ignorant of something that Google wasn’t. He was going to hold that over Bing’s head for as long as he functioned, and there was a high chance that he was going to hold perceived favoritism over yours, too. 

Trying to avoid looking at Google, you started to say, “It’s in the hall—”

That same man cut you off, saying, “I know where it is,” and moving past you with a subtle yet insufferable air of smugness about him, like a perfume that always lay just below the surface.

The next few days were going to be exhausting, you could tell, but there was a part of you that had missed this. Google was insufferable, plain and simple, but he was never unhelpful. Begrudging, yes, but his candor was always appreciated when he pulled you out of mental ruts. If you were spiraling about budgets and wires and codes that refused to work, he was there to go through the possible problems and solutions with you.

You would never admit it to his face, but he helped you a lot more than you originally thought possible.

As long as he pulled through in this situation, he was back in your good book.

You turned around to follow Google out, already running through the troubleshooting process, when Bing spoke again behind you. 

“Oh, and hey!”

“What is it?”

The tired look you levelled him with was supposed to make him consider the severity of what he was going to say, but he simply took a step closer to you, finally a good distance from the mess. The fatigue became curiosity as his grin morphed into a smirk. 

Leaning an inch down to stare you straight in the eye, he said, “Figured you’d wanna put some pants on before you go downstairs, but, y’know…”

The rage from earlier coalesced in your face, turning it as hot as magma beneath the surface of the earth. Bing’s laughter made it worse, and yet you remained frozen for a second as you readjusted the last ten minutes in your mind. While it was a confidence booster that you were able to intimidate Google into backing down with just a shirt on, you were simultaneously mortified – and, what was worse, you were still standing in front of Bing.

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” he said just seconds before you sprinted out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, burning holes into the wood beneath your feet.

A few hours later, you were waiting in front of your door – this time, with pants – for your androids to emerge from the basement. It doubled as your lab and their bedroom, temporarily shared despite the many objections they had raised the night before. Briefly, you wondered if that was why they were so argumentative this morning, but that thought was lost when the two men appeared in the hallway.

“Good to go?” you asked, swinging your keys around a finger.

Google nodded while Bing threw out one of those pinky-thumb things that you could never remember the name of. With that confirmed, you threw open the door and stepped aside for your boys to follow.

You lived in the sweet spot between the outskirts and the center of your city; you could freely harbor two androids without getting on an HOA’s nerves, and you didn’t have to own a car to get groceries. The local store wasn’t big, and you often had to get a bus if you needed pieces for your mechanics, but you liked it well enough that you didn’t think you’d ever move away.

You did take some precautions regarding your companions, though, considering that you were much more likely to get stopped if they had their respective company logos plastered on them. The only things you had to swap out were the shirts. The styles were easy matches – all you needed were a blue polo and a sleeveless tank top – but you found a problem when it came to putting them on, one that had you walking in front of them to avoid a rerun of Bing’s ceaseless teasing.

Now, you theoretically knew that their bodies had to be built so they could fit the fans and the wires and the servos. You were the one who had to make them fit, so it was partially your fault in the first place…

But, dammit, did the shirts have to be so tight on them? Bing’s arms were normally exposed, but you could see the outline of his shoulder blades at the back, and Google’s chest looked like it could knock you out on its own – or, you had seen that because you refused to look at them until you were standing in the store’s small parking lot.

“Okay,” you hummed, pulling out a list and skimming the scrawls, “we’ll hit the dairy aisle first, then I need to pick up some vegetables, but I’ll get those on the way to…”

You continued to speak, but the narration became background noise to Bing. Instead, he shot a glance out of the corner of his eye at the android next to him. The other one.

When you had introduced them to one another, he had made sure to stay friendly. He had no reason to hate him, he didn’t hold it against him that he was from a rival company, and he was largely looking forward to knowing another android.

That went all downhill when Bing realized what an absolute prick he was. Sir High and Mighty, King of Search Engines, Mr. Expressing-A-Positive-Emotion-Will-Kill-Me, he was impossible to get along with, and he was baffled how someone like you could create someone like Google.

Even now, he was looking around the scene, somehow bored and revolted at the same time. Disgust seemed to be his default, and it remained there even as his eyes landed on Bing. It was then that he turned, too, to look at Google. Your back was to them, and what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

Sticking out his tongue would have been immature, which was why he simply smiled and whispered, “I get that you’re not, like, good with the public, so ya could just go back to the house ‘n let me help ‘em.”

Google didn’t react, but you were still talking, so he had time to get under his skin.

“Just sayin’, ya might just make another mess,” he said, “I don’t know ‘bout you, but I don’t think they’ll be as nice next time.”

“I was not the only one involved in this morning’s incident.”

And there it was. Google’s expression hadn’t changed, but he was reacting. If he had spent a little longer with him, he might have recognized a few physical hints of his anger, but, for now, the verbal proof was fine.  

“Yeah, but they like me. And I’m good with people—” Bing let his smile slip into something more biting, “—and I saw what happened at that conference. I don’t think they’ll put up with more trouble from you.”

Bing really thought he would last longer, but Google was storming off into the store before you were finished talking. You stopped short in the middle of your sentence, staring in confusion at him and then shifting your attention to the remaining android.

“What happened?”

His grin softened again. “Eh, who knows? The old man’s prob’ly just tired.”

You opened your mouth to respond, probably something about last night’s noise, but you closed it just as quickly, gaze drifting once more to the store. Somewhere in your furrowed brow, in your squinted eyes, in your dipped mouth, there was worry.

For that asshole?

Well, Bing couldn’t have that.

“Come on,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder, “we’ll catch up to ‘im. He’s probably got your list cued up to his brain or whatever.”

He steered you towards the store, making sure to snag a cart on the way past the door because he was a nice guy, and peered at the paper in your hand. He hadn’t been joking about Google’s connection to your online shopping list; your house was full to the brim with tech, and that included an Alexa that you dictated your groceries to. Bing had noticed you did it a lot when you were in the lab, hands typing away at the laptop and too busy to use a pen, but then you’d reiterate the same things onto the physical notepad upstairs anyway.

At first, it had confused him, then it made him laugh, then, when he met Google, he realized it was just an old habit. Your first android had been given access to all of your devices, regardless of the same company or not, but Bing hadn’t.

One part of him knew it was because you’d learned from your mistakes with Google.

Another part of him, buried too close to his coolant pump, thought that it was because you didn’t trust him with that level of control.

But he shrugged that off; he was awesome, he knew that, you knew that, everyone knew that! Besides, he didn’t have time for wallowing in anxiety, you were already in front of the shelves of dairy products, reading through the labels for the best milk.

Next to you stood Google, whom Bing couldn’t resist sticking his tongue out at this time. In return, he received a glare.

Yeah, he was awesome.

He stayed riding the high of an ego boost all the way through the shopping portion of the trip, from the produce section to the laundry detergent. The time passed with little issue beyond the looks the androids sent one another while you were distracted, none of which you noticed or had as much effect as Bing’s first teasing had. The experience was shaping up to be relatively unsubstantial, and he was excited to get back to the house before the Amateur Skateboarding Series began.

However, it was when you were returning the shopping cart to its place that you snapped your fingers and cursed under your breath, attracting the attention of the men at your sides.

“I forgot the flour,” you groaned, running a hand across your eyes. It wasn’t often that you needed to top up on baking ingredients, so it had slipped your mind.

Just as you swiveled on your heel, Bing let the bag he was holding drop to the ground – much to Google’s chagrin – and hopped in front of you.

“Nah, nah, nah, I got it!” he said with his hands gesturing you backward.

You listened, stopping in place, but you still asked uncertainly, “You sure?”

“Course I am, when haven’t I been?”

You sent a look between his eager smile and the front of the store, quickly estimated the time it would take for you to go, and then huffed. You’d never liked sending him off on his own, but he was a big boy, he could handle it.

After an encouraging nod from Bing, you said, “Be quick.”

“Always am.”

He didn’t know what his wink was supposed to imply, but that didn’t stop him from doing it – and it brought that wide-eyed fluster to your face again, so it was a net positive in his eyes. Leaving you alone with Google wasn’t his favorite outcome, but he was going to be quick, and how much damage could he do in a couple of minutes?

A cashier shot Bing a suspicious look as he waltzed back through the doors, but minimum wage wasn’t enough to face off against a man of his build, so he was able to get to the baking section without difficulty. 

However, apparently getting there wasn’t going to be the hardest obstacle to overcome.

Before the three of you had left the house, you had gone over some rules. This was after having them change clothes, so both of the androids were keen to hear an explanation, even if Google hid it behind that mask of steel. You got to the point quickly, downright ordering them not to engage with anyone in a suit and sunglasses. Bing had made a joke about Men in Black, but you shut it down immediately. The retrieval staff, as you described, were not to be taken lightly.

He still felt bad about his comment, if only because he had seen firsthand how their presence had affected you. Hell, even when they weren’t around, there was a specific kind of solemnity that leaked into the air surrounding you that told him you were thinking about the end of your contract. Despite Bing favoring your banter, he wasn’t opposed to the sad stuff. He tried his best to comfort you, distract you if you were open to it, offer you a shoulder to lean on when you couldn’t drag yourself out of it.

Therefore – even though he did genuinely believe he could fight them off if he had to, words or fists – he immediately pulled a U-turn and hightailed it out of the store at the first sight of the staff. They, of course, noticed the six-foot-tall man sprinting at Mach speed away from them, let a bag of sugar spill onto the ground, and pursued.

The cashier barely blinked at Bing as he shot past, though they did send a weary look toward the suited group, if only because they’d made a mess that they would have to clean up. Still, they didn’t stop any of them, which left them in a race out the front doors.

You and Google were standing in the same place as Bing had left you, accompanied now by a stranger whom he paid no attention to. In one swift movement, he grabbed you by the waist, reverse clotheslined, and tossed you over his shoulder. There was no time to explain, despite your shocked protest, and he let Google figure out what was happening on his own. Shouts at his back spurred him back into his top speed, he’d apologize later for the bumpy ride, maybe also for interrupting your conversation, definitely not for getting you away from the staff.

Bing’s sneakers skidded against the tarmac as he veered onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding a collision with a couple on a daily stroll. He called back a, “Sorry!” milliseconds before he was too far from them as he sped back in the direction of your house. You were asking questions, too many for him to count and too quickly for him to hear, but he refused to slow down. It was his job to help people, and helping you meant getting you away from the staff. If he was good about it, which he was, you wouldn’t even see them.

The orange of his eyes faded and flared as he pulled up a map of your town. Back alleys, residential lanes, parks, any form of shortcut, Bing took it. From and outside perspective, it probably looked like a kidnapping up until you gave up and let your head drop to his back – although, even then, it didn’t look great. 

The saving grace came when the rapid sounds of footsteps faded and all that remained was the gentle sounds of humanity going about their lives. It was only then that Bing slowed to a walk and slid into a shaded gap between two buildings.

The moment of silence was both to let you collect your thoughts and to let Bing survey the area. He was still prepared to run if he needed to, and he kept the map open in the back of his mind, just as a precaution.

Just as he wondered if he had lost everyone, including the other android, Google ducked into the alley with you. He stared at Bing, unblinking, with a poorly disguised glare, but thankfully kept his mouth shut. For now, at least; only a miracle would keep him quiet for long. 

A huff from you signified that you had acclimatized to the new situation. You pushed against Bing’s back and managed to look at him without breaking your neck. 

“Okay, are you going to put me down now?”

He did so without preamble. As much as he would have liked to tease you about being able to pick you up so easily, your expectant stare told him that it was about time for an explanation.

“So, uh, I didn’t get the flour.”

“I noticed.”

He hesitated to say it outright. As you stood in front of him, you were slightly annoyed but mostly just confused, and he didn’t want to add to your stress with something that didn’t even matter anymore. He’d done his job. That was all that mattered. You didn’t have to know.

Over your shoulder, he met Google’s eyes. Those cold rings of blue. He knew what had happened. If Bing didn’t tell you, he was going to, so he groaned and ran a hand through his hair. It didn’t help alleviate the weight on his shoulders. 

“Right, yeah,” he said, “‘cause I saw those retrieval dudes. And they, uh, saw me.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to figure out some kind of coherent response. All you managed to land on, though, was a sharp, “What!?”

“Hey, it’s chill, we got away, it’s all good.”

“But they know you’re functional!” A string of curses tumbled out of your mouth like floodwater through a grate. “What if they tell Microsoft and they send their own group after you?”

One little group of computer nerds was easy to get rid of, but two would be much harder, especially because you would have the combined pressure from two different mega corps bearing down on you. 

Annoyingly weakly, Bing said, “We still got time in the contract.”

You shoved your face into your hands and collapsed against one of the brick walls. “What if they want to take you early? What if they take you both?! I can’t do anything, I can’t stop them, I couldn’t stop them last time—!”

The crinkle of plastic sounded from where Google put the groceries down, and Bing watched on in shock as he stepped forward. He had that same blank expression that seemed carved into the metal of his face, but he pulled away your hands and then used his own at your neck to direct your attention towards him with something like gentleness.

“Google’s retrieval staff gave you verbal confirmation that you have a week to fix the problem with my coding. It is arguable that, due to a shared engineer, Bing also experiences this issue. As such, there is a 2.3 percent chance that they will want to take us back to our respective companies before the allotted time is up.”

As he spoke, your breathing slowed down and your shoulders lowered.

“Accounting for the legal issues of Microsoft ending the contract before its final date, there is a 0.6 percent chance that they will be able to remove him from your place of residence without your consent.”

Your hands unclenched, and your head dropped back against the wall.

“Overall, it is incredibly unlikely that anything you are thinking of will happen.”

Despite ending it with a certain attitude, his reasoning had worked, and you were effectively calmed down from your panic. You always did like numbers; they gave you something concrete to build your own impression from.

“Thanks, Google,” you muttered.

Google’s hands returned to his sides as he nodded. Then, in the flick of a switch, he was back to the super-computer stereotype like he’d never broken away from it, which, partly, he hadn’t. He had done all of that with his regular coolness, but there was an attachment that Bing couldn’t name. Like he cared, but not because he wanted to care. It ran deeper.

Something hitting against his arm startled him from his thoughts. Glancing to where the pressure had been, he saw you, your arm held out in front of you from having punched him. Well, he said punched, but it was more like the thwap from a pet’s paw when they wanted attention. Not the eager style of a dog or the standoffish technique of a cat. What was between them? A bird?

It took another thump from you for him to actually focus on you.

“And thank you too, Bing.”

“Oh, uh—” He was so happy that he couldn’t outwardly fluster, “—thanks, babe.”

But he was happier that you could.

When the three of you arrived back at the house, there were a few hours in which you realized just what was happening. Not in a coming-to-consciousness kind of way, but in the way that you were forced to change your routine in subtle but substantial ways. Your daily chore list from just the day before was merging with the one from nine months ago, and, though it wasn’t as clean as you would have liked, you got on with it. This was just how it was going to be, after all, and you wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Google, on the other hand, was having a harder time.

It wasn’t just his return to you that he had to deal with. If it had been exactly as he had left it, it wouldn’t have been so difficult, but there was one thing standing in his way.

A kinder version of him would have called Bing a person, but he wasn’t a kinder version of him, and he certainly wasn’t after his time away from you. Some little part of him said that Bing himself was that version, but he was also immature and incompetent, things he had been prevented from being in the very code of his CPU. So, no. Not a version of him.

But that begged the question. What was he? He wasn’t a replacement – he wasn’t half as good as Google and never would be – he was barely an android. A glorified Hasbro I-Dog was more his speed, but at least they were easy to care for.

You had wasted your last three months on creating what amounted to a completely average human, who was currently hunched over his skateboard in the garage. He was ostensibly cleaning it, but Google held suspicions about his safe search. He didn’t believe a lot about Bing. He wasn’t even certain that you had built him. That wasn’t an insult to your skills, it was merely observation that told him he wasn’t your style of creation. 

Google glared down at your Roomba as it bumped into his foot.

Then again, you did like them goofy and dumb. Google was just the exception, it seemed.

He didn’t bother to knock before he walked into the garage.

“There will be two more humans arriving at six o’clock,” he stated.

Bing paused, cloth halfway down the skateboard’s edge, and hummed. He could have easily nodded or made some complicated gesture so that he could be on his way, but no, he just had to waste both of their time. 

Eventually, he said a simple, “Cool,” and went back to wiping down his board.

His programming told him that the interaction was over and he should have been on his way back to the basement already – but Bing’s insufferable grin forced his mouth open again.

“Do try to stay calm this time.”

“And what’s that s’posed to mean?”

He’d said that with a sarcastic scoff, nearly playful, but he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as Google was. The irritation was clear in his grip on his board, one finger was already pressing a dip into the griptape, and he wondered how much more it would take to get him to break it.

“Had you not attempted to show off, you would not have endangered us and put the human through mental stress.”

Another finger pushed bespeckled black into the wood beneath. Google wasn’t doing this out of viciousness, not alone, at least. He was simply reminding him that he needed to be more careful. He was reckless and childish and not good for you.

“Their heartrate exceeded 100 beats per minute, which contributes to inflammation and reduced blood flow to the heart. That in turn can lead to insomnia and an increased risk of stroke.”

Four craters formed on the surface, which wouldn’t have been a problem on its own, but the thumb that matched on the other side was soon going to be too much for the wood to handle. Just one more push was what he needed.

Google quickly scoured his files and loaded up the audio file from earlier that day. 

His words came out as an exact copy, “I don’t think they’ll put up with more trouble from you.”

Crunch.

Both Google and Bing looked down to the skateboard. The damage wasn’t bad, but there was a fine line leading from the edge to where it had been crushed beneath metal fingers. Easily repairable, and yet 

“Oh, you mother—” Bing was cut off by a high-pitch beep, then another as he shot curse after curse after curse to the other android, who watched him smugly. After a few tries, he was interrupted, not by his own censors, but by the ringing of the doorbell.

They were early by ten minutes, but Google already had his fill of fun for the day, so a little inconvenience wasn’t a problem.

Because Bing was still glaring at him with unadulterated rage, and because he could, Google took a few steps back to the garage’s exit, turned, and then said, “Motherfucker.”

The censors were still firing off like a shotgun as he walked through the house to the front room, where you were already standing with the door open. You looked back, slightly confused at the sounds you were hearing, but Google came to a stop behind you and smiled.

You did a double-take, your own smile turning into a grimace as you connected the dots, but you had to shift your attention back to the two people still standing on your doorstep. Or, depending on what you considered people, one tween and one baby.

“Here, let me take her,” you said, putting out your arms for the youngest. Kids holding other kids always set your nerves on fire – it wasn’t that you didn’t like them, you just tended to not trust them with things that had heartbeats and could feel pain.

With Abigail safely settled in the crook of your elbow, you stepped aside for the other child to get inside.

“Cody, this is Google,” you introduced, as the android and the child sized one another up. 

Unlike you, it was safe to say that Google’s disgust towards humanity was indiscriminate. Still, he was mature enough to stay quiet, even as the child rolled his eyes.

You ushered Cody through to the kitchen – by now, it was about as clean as it had been yesterday, though the actual damage remained – and waited for him to be out of earshot before you leaned closer to Google.

“Whatever you did, I swear, I will find out.”

“Why do you believe I have done something?”

“You’re happy. Visibly.”

You always were perceptive, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself. The addition of these little mongrels in the house had dampened his joy to a small flame, of course, but there was still a little smugness flowing through his wiring. 

He replied smoothly, “I am not hiding anything.”

You squinted at him. He was sure if you weren’t preoccupied with the baby in your arms, you would have scoured the house for problems. Bing had quietened down, so you weren’t getting any clues there, which left Google off the hook for his teasing while you wandered after Cody.

Just as he put a hand on the basement door, you ducked back into the hallway, but instead of asking where he was going, you poked your head into the garage.

“Think you could help out?”

Good, you were roping Bing into dealing with the things in the kitchen. Although he hated a lot of the chores he was designed to do, childcare was among the worst of them. They changed every day, as if their bodies were too small to contain a personality so they had to keep cycling between bits and pieces. The tiny ones were no better; a baby’s cry could mean any emotion or desire whatsoever, not to mention how the sound pierced the ears.

“I have to figure out dinner, and Cody needs to do his homework.”

All in all, he was happy that you’d given the job to Bing. He could go to the lab and avoid the whole mess of a night, if only he could just get his hand to push the door open.

“Yeah, sure, babe!”

But then again…

Google’s hand slipped from the door and, as if running on their own program, his legs took him towards the sounds of pots and pans as you figured out what you could give a baby without killing it.

Your neighbors really should have checked if you’d ever cared for children before.

He didn’t know why you’d agreed to babysit. When he had been with you, interactions with your neighbors had been few and far between. The only reason you knew they had kids was because Abigail acted as a four AM alarm, but you had agreed so easily to it when their mother had asked in front of the store. Maybe you felt cornered as you waited for Bing, maybe you felt flustered because her argument for why you should do it boiled down to ‘you never go anywhere, take our children’, maybe you felt an obligation to do it as an upstanding member of the community. No matter the reason, you ended up with two kids in your house for the next 24 hours and no way to get rid of them.

It was lucky, then, that you had access to the physical embodiment of the internet’s infinite knowledge right at your fingertips, plus Bing. He’d help, not for the kids’ sake, but for yours.

This apparently started with holding a wriggling maggot out in front of him like two plates.

He immediately regretted his decision to join you.

“Not like that,” you said. “Did you see how I held her earlier? Do that.”

Google shifted into an approximation of a cradle, but he was all too aware of his strength as an android, and crushing the baby was a surefire way to get on your bad side.

“Can I move your arms?”

Despite his discomfort with the situation in general, he nodded. You always asked before you touched him, even when it became second nature to say yes. You’d started doing it when he first gained consciousness, back when a human making physical contact with him felt like ants crawling through the grooves of his joints, back when you and the life that you exuded were insults to his code, back when he hated everything.

“Relax,” you whispered, pulling one of his hands down and pushing the other up.

He still hated a lot of things, including the thing now resting easy in his arms, but some things… 

“There you go, you got it,” you said, keeping your voice low so as to not startle Abigail.

Some things had changed.

You patted your hands together, saying, “Right, I’m going to run next door, are you guys all good to stay here?”

You were talking to everyone, but you only received a confirmation from Bing and Cody. Google stayed quiet, practically frozen as though he would kill the baby if he moved any part of him, while said baby blew a meaningless bubble of spit. 

Also nodding to yourself, you mumbled, “Great. I’ll be quick.”

You said that, but Google was sure the minutes you would be away were going to be an eternity. The very second in which the front door clicked shut behind you seemed to drag on into an awkward infinity.

“So, whad’ya want to eat?” Bing asked Cody, leaning against the kitchen island that the kid sat at.

“Uh, I don’t know,” came the muttered answer.

“Well, ya got a lotta choice. We can’t cook, so it’s gonna have t’be takeout, ‘kay?”

Cody looked shocked, as though he had just been ordered to rob a bank, and the only response he could muster was a series of stutters and stalls.

Bing looked at him for a moment, fingers tapping lazily against the countertop. “Never ordered food before, huh?”

Slowly, Cody shook his head.

“Eh, it’s all good! We’ll start with the classic and go from there, maybe try another one if you’re here for breakfast.”

Without waiting for a yes or no, Bing’s eyes swirled, undoubtedly ordering from the local fast-food place that you used to celebrate breakthroughs in your code. Google thought the place was dirty, but that was just because it was frequented by humans, and the concept of eating was disgusting to him, like so many other human needs.

That was another reason why Google was suspicious of Bing; he loved that sort of thing. He seemed to thrive among people, as if you’d built him to be something other than an android, as if you’d built him to be human. He was painfully emotional and sickeningly in tune with humans. Bing had said that he was good with people, and he hadn’t lied.

However, he took solace in the fact that it didn’t help you all the time. Google could do chores, begrudgingly, but he could do them, and that gave you more time to work on your projects. What did childcare do for you? What did people skills do for you? Except for the odd occasion like this, Bing was useless to you.

Why couldn’t you see that?

“Um, what’s your name?”

When he’d finished his task, Bing’s attention shifted to Cody, who held the particular, unhindered look that only children could.

He answered happily, and then, after a moment, the boy spoke again with much less hesitation.

“Why are you two named after brands? And why do you look the same, and why are you so tall?”

“Let’s pump the brakes with the questions, kid. One at a time.” Bing leaned forward conspiratorially. “But I’ll answer ‘em all in one go, how ‘bout that?”

As soon as Cody nodded, he smiled and said simply, “We’re robots.”

“Bing,” came Google’s admonishment.

“Fine, we’re androids.”

“Bing.”

“He’s a kid, he’s not gonna tell anyone we’re here.”

Outwardly, Google was as blank as he always was, but internally, he was fighting the urge to dismantle Bing’s voice box. The child itself wasn’t the problem; it was the child’s mouth that could tell its parents that could then tell the authorities. It was like he was trying to get them removed from you, all for the sake of entertaining the thing sitting in front of him.

A dismal thought struck him – had you designed Bing to be an entertainment android?

Doubts immediately rose in him as he watched the man, who was normally cheerful to the point of being intolerable, dip his sunglasses and stare at Cody.

“Are you gonna tell anyone?”

Sufficiently cowed, the child shook his lowered head.

“We’re all cool then.”

Mere seconds after, while Bing’s bout of rare intimidation leaked out of the room, you slipped back into the room with a bottle in hand. Abigail was lifted from Google’s arms so that you could feed her from a less uncomfortable position, and, although he wouldn’t say he was happy, he was on a duller knife’s edge when he wasn’t worrying about squeezing it to death.

“Thank you, Google,” you said once the baby was settled against your chest.

He nodded. He hadn’t exactly been given a choice but was pleased by your gratitude, nonetheless.

Bing resituated his glasses and flashed his usual lopsided grin, saying, “Dinner’s sorted, babe.”

“Thanks, Bing,” you replied in an almost teasing voice. How you put up with his attention-seeking, Google had no clue. How you put up with him in general was also a question that had no logical answer.

Focus shifting to Cody, however, you asked, “Do you want to start your homework now or after eating?”

And so the precedent was set for the next twenty minutes or so. With the child going through math problems on the counter, you and Bing chatting over miscellaneous topics, and Abigail slowly emptying a bottle of milk, Google felt off. Strange. Not wrong, but then that felt wrong, instead, and he found himself with no way to rid himself of this feeling. It was though he knew something theoretically, but not in practice.

Domesticity. That was it. This kind of thing was what he had been programmed for. Daily life, and all the little details that came with it. It was largely unsubstantial, and, in fact, nothing important did happen in that grace period. It just happened. Was this how it was supposed to be?

He hated it.

You caught your laughter with a hand, the corners of your eyes scrunching up as the only hint of your amusement.

No, he hated that he didn’t hate it.

He didn’t even mind it as much when you handed Abigail back to him so that you could answer the knock at the door. There remained the background distaste of the wiggling thing in his arms, and he didn’t think it would ever disappear, but he wasn’t going to put it down until you returned.

“Are you dating our neighbor?”

In a flash, both his own and Bing’s attentions diverged; Google’s sprang to the hallway, which you couldn’t have been more than a few feet down, while Bing sent a questioning but unconcerned look at Cody.

“What makes you think that, kid?”

“You called them ‘babe’.”

A rhythmic tapping danced along the countertop where Bing’s metal pads collided with granite, humming joining in as if the thought generated song in his CPU.

The pitter-patter, rain on a rusted roof, slowed as he nodded towards the other android. “Why do you think he’s dating them?”

For the first time since they were introduced, Cody looked at Google. Curiosity tended to make humans brave, no matter their size or their vulnerability to blunt force damage. “Didn’t you leave or something for a couple months?”

Google nodded. Anything more specific than that was unnecessary.

“Mom says people only come back for people they love. That’s why she and Dad didn’t get divorced after—”

“And that’s enough of that.” Bing pushed Cody’s neck so that he faced down at his sheet of paper. “Ya got homework to do.”

“Actually, you’ve got pizza to eat,” you announced as you walked back into the kitchen with two boxes in your hands. 

Only Bing knew what he had ordered, so it was a surprise for everyone else when you opened them both on the countertop. Google himself didn’t care and simply observed while you divvied up the slices onto plates for Cody, yourself, and, worryingly, Bing.

You already looked tired from the unavoidable maintenance you were going to have to do on his chest cavity.

That left just Google and Abigail without wedges of bread and cheese in their mouths, neither complaining for their respective, obvious reasons. Time passed, and the domesticity strengthened. You chuckled at one of Bing’s poor jokes and asked Google’s opinion on your Roomba when it bumped into his heel again. He answered, you laughed again, and he tried his hardest to be annoyed. He didn’t manage it.

And when Abigail started to nod off in his arms, bright blue eyes shutting, you scooped her up and smiled at him. Another thank-you, silent but just as genuine.

Emotions weren’t his strong suit, he didn’t know why his shoulders dropped, he couldn’t explain why his circuits buzzed, he didn’t understand why he wasn’t rejecting all of this.

“I’ll put her to bed,” you said – why did you keep leaving? “I rigged up a cot in the bathtub, so I’ll be there quick if she wakes up crying. It shouldn’t interrupt your beauty sleep.”

From where Bing sat next to Cody, there came a snort. “That’s dumb.”

“I’m sorry, did you buy and assemble a whole damn crib while I was out?”

“No,” Bing said, copying your tone, “we’ll take care of her.”

You paused. Doubt and some amount of suspicion layered itself on your face.

“Really?”

“Give us, like, an hour to charge and we’ll be good to go.”

“She’s a baby, Bing, I’m not subjecting you to that all night.” With that, you started for the hallway, fully intending to go through with your ludicrous plan. 

As stupid as Bing was sometimes, your need to demonstrate your independence was one of your worst flaws. You had very literally built two men to help with chores, and yet, based on the morning’s incident, they were going underutilized far too often.

Hopping off the barstool, Bing explained, “We’ll take shifts, won’t we, Google?”

A little deliberation would have been appreciated beforehand, but he wasn’t about to disagree.

Bluntly, he said, “Yes.”

You turned your gaze on him, that same suspicion now tainted by hesitation swirling in your eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“But are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But are you really sure?”

“Babe!” Bing huffed. He’d crept closer in the back-and-forth, surprisingly quiet for someone so clunky, and was now laying a hand on your shoulder. “We got this, just trust us, would’ya?”

Your hands twitched beneath the baby, the only thing stopping you from digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. Instead, you held her tighter to your chest while your attention flipped from Google to Bing, back and forth, and then back and forth again. Neither of them blamed you, but they weren’t going to give up on this.

Something must have hit you after a few seconds; your grip relaxed, your body relaxed, you relaxed.

“You two are amazing.”

According to every piece of information on the internet, media and personal experience alike, a baby’s cries were one of the worst sounds, and that was before you added in the two AM timing and ensuing sleep deprivation. Unlike you, however, both androids had the ability to completely shut it out if need be. Turning off their ‘ears’ was a skill you had often protested, including before Google was able to verbally respond to your groans, but this time, it was going to help you.

“I mean,” Bing said, breaking the moment as he normally did, “I know I am, but both of us?”

You rolled your eyes – a reaction that Google thought you didn’t have enough – but left without complaint, taking Abigail with you to the upstairs bathroom.

Spending the night in a confined space with a baby was not something Google was looking forward to, but it wasn’t that different from his station in the lab. You were even closer in this case, so it wasn’t completely bad.

“Yeah, you’re totally dating.”

Google’s attention turned to Cody, whose eyes immediately blew wide, 

“Homework. Now.”

The kid ducked his head to stare at the counter as if the android were a bull to enrage just by looking at him. In some small part, he was, but the feeling melted just as quickly as it had appeared, even as Bing giggled uproariously in the background.

Cody was at just at the edge of the age range for bedtime stories, and whether it was his own loyalty to princes and dragons or his parents’ inability to let go of their baby boy, he had you sitting on a chair that you’d pulled up to his bedside with a book in hand. You weren’t amazing at improvising tales of daring-do, so you pulled out the kids’ book you had bought for nostalgic reasons a few years back. It was written well enough to keep you in the loop, but the plot was mainly supported by reliving your emotions as you reread names and places you hadn’t seen since your own childhood.

You were, of course, being watched – or supervised, depending on who you were asking – by your androids. They were waiting at the doorway, Bing leaning against the hinges while Google stood stock still a few steps from him. The room wasn’t big by any means, but they were far enough away that hushed words could be hidden beneath your recital.

“Are you meant to help with kids?” Bing asked, not taking his eyes off you.

The reply was a short, “Yes.”

“Huh.” His attention flickered momentarily to Google, where he saw a slow blink that passed for a silent ‘so?’. He shrugged as he faced forward again. “Just didn’t think you were up for stuff like that.”

“It is in my programming, just the same as cooking and cleaning are.”

Bing opened his mouth to respond but shut it the next second. Then, slowly, uncertainly, almost fearfully, he asked, “D’ya think our code is actually busted?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t cook, dude.”

“You cannot cook.”

“No, we can’t cook.” This wasn’t a matter of bringing him down to the same level or their tit-for-tat spitting matches. Bing barely managed to get his voice to a lower tone before he was asking, “D’ya think it can be fixed?”

He refused to say it out loud – because that would mean he put some stock into the idea – but Google realized what he was hinting at well enough. If the bug was repairable, they were more likely to be returned to the companies that had commissioned them. They would be leaving you, likely for the last time, so they could be shipped off to the highest bidder. Just the thought of that happening, and so soon, stirred disgust in both of them. If Bing hadn’t seen the good in humanity himself, the camaraderie of skateboarding, the excitement of learning new things, he might well have been the same as Google, whose hand wrapped around the opposite arm with enough force to crush something valuable.

Neither of them wanted to abandon you.

But Google was anything but a liar, and sugar-coating things wasn’t in his programming.

“Yes. It can be fixed.”

He didn’t need to, but Bing released a breath.

“Cool.”

He sounded deflated, as though someone had pulled the plug on his emotional core. 

Google had seen enough to know that was his most useful quality – mostly because everything else was absolutely pointless – so he continued on. “There is a 6.2 percent chance that more issues will arise in our code as a result of the required update, and a 48 percent chance that company engineers will be unable to resolve them.”

Bing’s focus finally pinned itself on Google.

“You sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”

“What do you think I am saying?”

“I mean—” And there appeared the conspiratorial expression of a man who always harbored a shrewd side but hid it well, because that was just the man Bing was, “—if the dweebs at our places can’t figure out how to fix us, who’s to say they’d figure out what’s a real bug?”

They cast one last look towards you before Bing pulled the door closed. Side by side, they started to make their way to the lab.

“You are immature and objectively unnecessary, and I do not understand why you were built in the first place.”

Google’s words were nothing Bing wasn’t used to, even only a day after having met him, so he said, “Feelin’s mutual, bro.”

“You also make the human happy, and though it is against all reason, they want you around.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” This one was happier than before, sly and accompanied by a smirk that Bing sent to Google just as he followed him down to the front room. Once they were at the bottom, though, he gave in to the moment’s air of understanding with a roll of his eyes. “And they want you around, too.”

“We are in agreement then.”

“Yeah. I got your back against those company dudes, ‘n you got mine.”

The basement door provided a nice backdrop for the end of the conversation; a white sheen of frosted glass, which, had Google gone through as he’d planned, would have prevented them from seeing eye-to-eye. They might have continued their aggression towards one another for days, weeks, months – you might have been forced to take drastic measures – it might have ended badly for all three of you.

But this was better.

“I will not hesitate to decommission you at the first instance of it benefiting me, and in the inevitability that the human is no longer entertained by you, I will take great pleasure in recycling your parts.”

No less aggressive, but it would be kept securely in the undertones of speech and action. Around you, at least, because the damage they did while you were away was between Google, Bing, and the toolbox you kept around for emergencies.

“And here I thought we’d never agree on anything.”

The children’s parents had picked them up early in the morning, which left the three of you alone again, now migrated to the lab, which was quiet for the first time since you’d given Bing the ability to speak. It was unusual, but not bad. You were half sure the only reason he was taking so long to complete was that he never gave you a minute of peace while you were working. Now, though, you were typing away at your laptop, lines of code appearing in the blink of an eye and getting closer with every second to a completed update.

The problem, luckily, wasn’t that big of a deal; all the particles, smoke, flour, and spice tended to interfere with the connections between the androids’ hands and their CPUs. You figured rerouting the transfer of information to a wire closer to the core of their skeletons would protect that from happening more, so all you needed to do was retype the paths and maybe order some protective padding while you were at it.

So why had it taken you the entire day and then some?

You’d spent a combined three out of the five hours either poorly fighting back tears, absolutely bawling your eyes out, or staring blankly at the charging station. All was done in private, of course, because you didn’t think you could have handled talking to one of your boys during those moments of misery. It was hard enough to look at them now, so you kept your attention fixed firmly on the screen.

That didn’t mean you weren’t aware of them. No, you knew damn well that they were staring at you as you pieced together the final line of code. Bing was closest, leaning against your desk, while Google sat on his usual stool.

Your finger hovered over the last square bracket for a second before you bit the bullet and pressed it down.

“Right!” you sighed. “All that’s left to do is upload it and test it out. So, who wants to go first?”

It appeared as though Bing was eager for a repair job. A smile grew on his face, and he pushed off the surface. The few steps that he took towards you were almost a strut, and – even though he looked happy, and you were glad to be done with it, and you were sure Google would be, too, because he liked to be functionable, and wasn’t that what you wanted for both of them – your heart sank. This was just another obstacle you’d gotten over on their way back to their respective companies. Away from you.

But then you looked closer, and Bing’s smile was a smirk more than anything, and you could see a flash of amber light from behind his sunglasses, and he stopped right at your side.

You made a questioning noise as he pushed down your laptop screen, not taking his eyes off of you. It was an awful familiar movement, and you sent a glance at Google, like he had any chance of telling you what was going on with the other android.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Bing said. The dull click of the laptop being shut seemed to echo in the lab.

“It’s going to take a while,” you said, “I’ll be taking a break while it goes through your system.”

“I was thinkin’ we could all take a break together.”

“Because watching me type on a keyboard is so tiring—wait, we?”

The problem with this sudden friendliness wasn’t that it was happening, but that it was happening too soon. Of course, they had only known each other for two days, but Google had seemed to decide within ten minutes of meeting Bing that he hated him. You didn’t expect them to get over it so quickly, especially when Google was notorious for holding grudges, and you were still 99 percent sure he had done something before the kids had arrived.

You were about to voice a few of your questions, but Google spoke from over your shoulder, “We have found common ground.”

“Okay.” You were suddenly hyper-aware of the distance between you and the androids, or lack thereof. “Did Abigail’s crying fry your circuits or something?”

“Nah, pretty sure we’ve both been thinkin’ it for a while, just haven’t talked it out, ‘til now.”

You didn’t think they had known each other long enough to constitute ‘a while’ – and you were right, but a potential friendship between them wasn’t what he was talking about. There was still a degree of animosity, but the agreement they had stopped this from going further from the look they cast each other over your head.

As they silently fought out their next move, you said, “I genuinely can’t think of what you two would agree on.”

It only took a few seconds for a decision to be made. You remained lost, focus flickering between Google and Bing, and waiting for one of them to explain. Your bet had been on the more knowledge-driven of the two, until Bing placed a knee on your chair in the space between your legs so that he could lean closer in.

“I’ll just show ya.”

The confusion that had been your main emotion for the last couple of minutes steadily faded out in favor of wonder. You hadn’t built Bing, or Google, for that matter, with lip-to-lip contact in mind, so kissing an android was a new and marvelous sensation. You were quickly overcome with the want to explore, to learn, to figure out how this worked. His lips were slightly warmer than the rest of his body as a means of expelling heat from the CPU, and malleable so that they could form shapes that any human could. But then they were also smooth, so different from the bumps and ridges and chewed spots of your own, and you fought the urge to pull away so that you could run your finger over them.

You noticed the whirring of fans picking up in Bing’s chest, and that brief realization had you recontextualizing the times you thought something was just wrong with the cooling system – before you were struck by lightheadedness that forced you to disconnect and sit back in your chair.

Bing looked smug, which was both warranted and infuriating.

Still, you didn’t stop yourself from heaving a breath, followed by a quiet, “Damn.”

He laughed and placed one hand on each of the chair’s arms, almost caging you in, as if that were something he needed to worry about when you were trying to catch your breath. 

“Yeah, I have that effect on people.”

“Who else have you kissed?”

Your chair was turned to the side, prompting Bing to reshuffle to only be holding the back of the chair, and you came face to face with Google. Unsurprisingly, he looked the same as he always did. He watched you for a moment, eyes scanning your face, completely nonplussed – but when he stopped, his eyes blurred into a familiar iciness.

The bastard had taken a photo and then had the gall to keep talking as though nothing had happened.

“What he means to say—”

“You’ve got no clue what I mean.”

“—Is that we care about you.” He barely spared a second to glare at Bing before he returned his attention to you. “We are not programmed to, but we do. What we are programmed to do is help you. If we can do this better together than apart, we will. It may take some time to learn to be around one another, but you benefit from both of us.”

You tried to interrupt, to say that it didn’t matter what you liked the most because your feelings about all of this weren’t accounted for in the end goal, but he continued on.

“You know you do. I know you do.”

Bing piped up from next to you, “You ain’t exactly good at hidin’ your emotions like Mr. Freeze here.”

“Shut up, I can’t confess to them if you keep making comments,” Google complained in a rare moment of cracked composure. Even Bing dropped his sunglasses to stare at him, just as shocked as you were. It was only you who smiled, raised a hand, and, upon getting a nod, used it to cradle his own.

“I got it, Google. I do care about you. But I don’t know what I’m going to do when the retrieval staff come back.”

“We can fix that.”

“You can’t kill them.”

“That was not what we decided to do.” He didn’t mention that he had considered it, nor that the chance was calculated, nor that all their family members’ information was stored in a file as contingency.

But you didn’t press him for those details. Instead, your eyebrows furrowed, and you moved to press your hand into your eye, but Bing snatched it before you got it there.

“Just trust us, yeah?” He spoke with such a casual tone that you felt you had no choice but to believe him. “It’ll all turn out okay.”

It would all turn out okay.

It would all turn out okay.

You had a week until your verbal contract with Google’s retrieval staff ran out, and you didn’t even want to check how long until Microsoft sent out for Bing. If they were taken, if they left, if you were alone for one of the first times in a year, you didn’t know what you would do.

But those were ifs, and the way that your boys were talking, they were some huge ifs. And if they had anything to say about it, and you knew they did, they weren’t going to go without a fight. Neither were you, for all that you were capable of.

Yeah. It would all turn out okay.

[Thank you so much for requesting and for the delightful words <3 I had so much more that I wanted to do with this (it originally started with Reader getting arrested for breach of contract, but I had to cut it because it got so long) but this will do, I think. I hope you've enjoyed, and thank you for reading :D

“Sensors indicate you are resisting circadian rhythm instincts. Is there a particular reason for this?”

“I’m in the middle of something, I’ll go to bed in a bit.”

You stifle a yawn as you turn your attention back to your screen, waving him off as you slip the other ear of your headphones back on. Google approaches your desk, bending down so his large frame doesn’t hinder him from observing your screen.

“Studies have shown that resisting circadian rhythm instincts negatively affect melatonin production, an essential hormone for sleep.”

“Thank you for that. Very helpful.”

You’re unsure if he picks up on your sarcasm or not but you can’t faintly hear his mechanisms whirring as he ponders how to solve this problem. It’s not abnormal for him to stand nearby and watch you, so you don’t really give it a second thought. Google on the other hand, analyzes the current situation and is picking up on your vitals. He notices that despite your attempts at staying awake, you’re still slowly dozing off regardless.

“I propose a solution.”

“And that is- WHAAA-”

Google picks up your chair, with you still in it, and begins carrying it throughout the house and bringing you to your bedroom. You grip onto the handles in the event his hold slips. His face is void of emotion but you know internally he’s enjoying this.

“Google! Put me down!”

“Command unknown.”

“Command unknown, my ass! Put me the fuck down you giant tin ca- AHH-”

In one swooping motion he drops the chair and catches you with one of his arms, flinging you over his shoulder. His mechanical grip keeps you put despite your squirmings, squeezing your sides as a tease.

“I’m just going to get out of bed as soon as you put me down.”

“According to my calculations, the probability of that happening is unlikely.”

“You’re such a prick when you want to be.”

You can clearly hear him prepping things with his other hand, but with how he’s holding you it’s rather difficult to see. Clinking of dishes, scraping of ceramic against the countertop. But even with all of your might as you try to stay awake, you can’t help but give into the yawns you try to hold back.

“Googs…”

“I am right here, just getting a few more things done.”

You groan, trying to readjust yourself to be more comfortable as he throws a blanket over you. Staring down at the floor you can see him taking you back to the bedroom again, setting something down before readjusting his hold on you and wrapping you in the blanket. At this point you don’t even have the energy to fight back, smacking your head against his chest as he settles the two of you down onto the bed.

“It is not recommended for one to forcefully impact another with their head, as it can-”

“It’s not recommended for deez nuts…”

You laugh, not even caring if it makes sense. He lets out a mechanical chuckle, tucking a strand of hair out of your face. His fingers peel back the blanket from around your hands, carefully handing you a hot beverage and a few gummies.

“Melatonin gummies can be supplemented when natural production is inadequate.”

“Thank you, Googs.”

Your hand pops them into your mouth as he holds you closer, smoothing his hand along your arm through the blanket. A quick wash down with the hot beverage and you settle in, him gently taking the mug from your hands. 

As one could clearly tell if they took one look at the man in front of (Y/n).

You know, suprisingly, working at a studio downtown dedicated to airing a local t.v channel wasn't all that entertaining. Especially when someone like (Y/n)—who had mounds of untapped potential according to the company—was stuck wiping the dust off of camera lenses instead of putting their four years at college to use.

What's the use of going to school for a degree in sound design if they didn't even use it.

So they had to find a way to spice up their day to day routine. That didn't involve loitering around the snack table untill the day ended. (The coffee tasted like shit anyways.) What better way than slapping half a pad of post-its on your co-workers.

"If I didn't like you so much I would have kicked you out a long while ago."

(Y/n) paused their laughing fit to swipe dramatically at the corner of their eyes, pretending to wipe a tear away.

"Yeah. But you wouldn't want to get rid of 'one of the most talented workers you've seen in years'. Your words not mine." They clasped their hands together with an overdone grin, looking up at their (still) uninterested boss. He just grumbled at them in response.

Honestly Robert wasn't a bad supervisor. He never yelled at anyone, only tossing the occasional death glare when people needed to be reminded of things. Which was much appreciated concidering his sagging eyebags and sardonic demeanor made it seen like he would and could snap at the smallest thing.

He was pretty nice to (Y/n) anyways. Treated them like a hyper cousin. You know; the one you always saw getting yelled at by their mom at family gatherings because they put a whoopee cushion on someone's seat.

"Listen. I didnt call you in here to talk about, er, this." Robert plucked a blue sticky note off his temple, crumbling the material up into a ball and flicking it across the room.

It landed in the waste bin by his desk perfectly, making (Y/n) widen their eyes with an entertained smile. Robert didn't share their enthusiasm.

"I got an email from HQ this morning. One of the cast members saw you, ah 'performing by the water cooler' the other day so to speak, and wanted to meet you for something in building 2M today. As in, fifteen-minutes-from-right-now today."

(Y/n) saw a flash of remorse pass across his eyes. His tone was gentler now. The kind of gentle tone people use when they tell you your dog was just run over by a steam roller.

They felt their heart drop, face twisting into an unpleasant expression.

It had just been a bit of goofing off. Balancing a cherry on their nose before popping it in their mouth and tying the stem like a magician presenting their next trick—that kind of stuff. They didn't even know a cast member would be there. If so they would have used one of their sick days ahead of time. (Can you blame them. No one wants to be in the same room as their boss when their working.)

"Do you know who saw-"

"No. I don't know. I'm sorry (Y/n)." Robert's lips twitched down into a frown full of sympathy. He reached out to place a hesitant pat on their arm, the gesture holding a lot more meaning than anyone would think.

"If they try to fire you, quit before they can. That's business 101."

Well that certantly made them feel a lot better.

"Thanks. Want me to just hand in my resignation now or-?"

"Shut up (Y/n)." He rolled his eyes. But there was no annoyance behind it.

"You need to get going anyways. And-" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"-good luck."

"Just make sure my headstone looks nice and neat alright?"

"Fuck off."

Offices surrounded by glass should be illegal.

That's all that was going through (Y/n)'s brain as they walked through the winding hallways of headquarters. More specifically building M2.

They could see everything going on in the rooms due to those stupid glass walls, yet nothing at the same time. It was anxiety inducing.

But also what-the-fuck inducing.

A man with a cowboy hat, sunglasses, and atrocious mouth mullet was talking to a group of terrified looking people in one area while waving around what was, hopefully, a fake gun.

In the room next to him was a masked figure in a skin tight black body suit, posing like a superhero while resting their comically large hands by his hips. They almost looked to be roleplaying if anything.

The company didn't talk about this in the introduction video.

What room were they supposed to be in again? The lady at the front desk had said the one with the cream walls right? Or was it gray-

They let their feet lead them down a few more twists and turns while trying not to think about it too much. The contents in the rooms only got more bizarre as they went, albeit less and less people occupying them untill no one was left.

The journey only paused when a room on their right came up, big bold letters above it reading Conference Room.

Hey, that room looked cream colored enough.

(Y/n) pushed the glass door open, head popping in as they scanned the contents of the place. Just as their view from the outside suggested, no one was in there.

"Yeah. Okay. That's great. Invite me up here why don't you. Give me a heart attack why don't you. Make sure not to show up before me why don't you."

Their words were full of nerves, bones in their neck popping as they cracked it anxiously.

Who exactly was the cast again? They knew the general idea that surrounded all of them. The Big Men. The bosses. The people who ran this entire company in their free time.

Wispers about who exactly they were ran rampant on set some days. How one was a demon. The other was an insane pink Willy Wonka. Someone even had a thoery that they were all just fragments of one mans mind, which was met with as many eyerolls and scoffs as one would think.

Honestly (Y/n) had never paid much attention to any of the theories. They were never gonna meet the guys in charge anyways, so why bother? They'd much rather spend their time getting their job done quickly so they could spend the rest of their shift goofing off.

But now, walking around the oval shaped table and eyeing the place skeptically, they wish they had listened in to those conversations.

"Ah! Wonderful! We were wondering when you would show up sugarplum!"

(Y/n) nearly jumped three feet in the air, whirling around to the source of their sudden spike in heart rate.

Right where seconds ago no one had been sitting were six individual men surrounding the brown table.

Everyone looked the same. But different. It was a wonder how they had never really seen any of them before, despite working on set and them being the 'main cast'.

They all were staring straight at (Y/n), who swore their face lost all color at the attention.

Each one was dressed in different attire, ranging vastly from suits to hospital scrubs. A couple of them even looked to be glitching. Or was that buffering? They couldn't tell.

"Well come on! Sit down sit down. There's a chair right next to Bim and Hosty right there!"

Their eyes flickered to the enthusiastic man with messy brown hair, his voice slurred as if he'd been drinking. A pink tinted mustache moved with his words, which they couldn't help but stare at for a moment.

Nonetheless they listened, walking over to the chair he spoke of and slowly sitting down. If they hadnt felt small enough being stared at by six separate pairs of eyes, they certantly did now.

The one—Hosty he had been called?—on their left was a man in a light brown trench coat. He was rather handsome looking, albeit solom. He had a bandage around his head, weaving through his dark tresses and covering his vision. There looked to be dried blood stains where his eyes were, causing them to wonder how he could even see them.

"The Host thinks it's rude to stare."

(Y/n) quickly looked away at their words, choosing instead to eye the other man beside their seat.

Not like they had much of a chance to before a hand was shoved in their face.

"HI! Bim here. Bim Trimmer. Extrodinare in everything! That's Bim Trimmer. B-I-M, T-"

"Alright that's enough Bim. You're startling them." Someone said with a sigh.

The hand pointing straight inbetween the area of their eyes slowly reclined, Bims smile still ever present—if a bit forced now.

Who the absolute hell were these people.

"Wilford, why exactly are we all here?"

"Ah, yes. That!"

(Y/n)s eyes furrowed in the slightest, shifting in their seat as they watched the smiling man shuffle around for some papers. His tounge would come out and lick his lips occasionally and they tried not to acknowledge Wilfords little wink when he noticed them looking.

He then slammed a file decorated with stickers down on the table, patting it gently as if he didn't just completely demolish it against the furnitures surface.

"(Y/n) (L/n)! Works in building 4A, mic check crew. Born in Nevada, moved to Ohio to pursue their career in sound design! An adventurous little thing."

"We know Wilford. I recal reading the report on their interview. A very interesting one." A very monotone voice said, before screaming.

(Y/n)s eyes widened as a red and blue verson of the person across from them split in the air, howling. They looked to be in the worst pain imaginable. It was enough to make (Y/n) forget about the mention of their rather embarassing interview. (Let's just say the janitor had to stay overnight that day)

And then the figures were gone.

"Host notices (Y/n) jump. He wishes tell them that they were not imagining that. It is simply Dark becoming a bit aggitated."

Alright. So that made no sense. Perfect.

How to deal with this. Avoid eye contact? No they were already doing that. Music? Earbuds were in the car damnit. Oh-

Humor.

"So, is this gonna be done by my lunch break, because I have some tofu in the fridge I really can't let sit too long. Last time that happened I had to quarantine for a few months and oh boy-"

Their words faded the more they talked, nerves increasing by the moment.

Alright so no jokes. Tough crowd.

"Are you going to fire me? Becuase if so I quit first."

That made Wiford let out a hearty laugh, a few others joining in with small chuckled. Even the monochrome ones lips tilted up slightly, his expression having been stony untill now.

"Fire you? Why of course not! On the contrary sugar! Here, have some candy."

Before (Y/n) could say anything in retaliation a lollipop was shoved forcefully in their mouth. They gagged on it slightly, muffling out a 'hey!' as the sweet flavor coated their tounge.

Wilford just winked.

Host quietly narrated their flushed face with a slight tilt of his head.

They worked the treat around with their tounge, successfully muted as Wilford continued to go on a rant, pacing around the room and its inhabitants. Tossing out reasons why he had called them all up here with the occasional off topic discussion.

"-ut (Y/n) we were wondering if you'd like to come work in our building! On Warfstashe Tonight to be specific." He finally finished, filling with his suspenders and leaning down to look them in the eye with half closed lids.

He was so close, they could have stuck him in the eye with the end of their lollipop stick—and honestly was thinking about it just to see what would happen. So thank god for Host.

"The Host feels a bit neglected when Wilford fails to mention his podcast."

"Yeah, what The Host said. I'm Bim Trimmer! The Bim Trimmer! I need a mic guy too for my show about me! Bim!"

"They could help me with my diagnosis'. It's always more fun to tell people that their dying with an audience."

"I-I have no-o use f-for a us-seless huma-an."

Fuck you too blue shirt guy.

"Settle now." The dark man said again. Wait, dark? Dark.

(Y/n) thought someone had called him that. Strange name. However, it fit them.

"Wilford I recommend you stop playing with this poor human and get on with it. We can all figure out a schedule later. We've already confused them enough."

"You're no fun Darky." Wilford pouted, snatching the lollipop right out of (Y/n)'s mouth and placing it in his own. He sighed as he walked away, licking it at his leisure.

They blinked at the unsanitary action.

"But fiiiiine. Meeting dismissed. That means you too bubblegum. I can escort you out to your car if you'd like."

The pinkette was smiling at them innocently while twirling the spit coated treat around in his hand. But with the way Wilford looked them up and down they felt like he wanted to do more than just escort them to their car.

By now most of the other members at the table had gotten up to leave, shuffling around and making small talk amongst themselves. Not many spared an extra glance at (Y/n). Which they were thankful for. Their head was already spinning a little.

"Uh, no thanks Wilford. I'll just go back to my erm, building now." They declined his offer as politely as possible.

"You have some important tofu waiting for you if I'm not mistaken." Dark smoothed down his suit as he stood up, red and blue iris' boring into (Y/n)s own as he spoke. They had forgotten he was even there, which unnerved them a little. Silent guy.

"Uh, yes. Yes. That's it. Mhm yes totally. Tofu. I'll go get that and then I'll just- see what's left to do around here." (Y/n) stuffed their hands into their pockets, already starting to inch towards the door stiffly.

Wilford whined once or twice. But the glass door slammed in his face before any real words could make it out of his mouth, (Y/n)s pace increasing as they sped walked away with eyes as big as dinner plates.

They mentally thanked Dark for an opportunity out of there. They had never had trouble socializing in any sort of way, but in that room being offered so many promotions—could they even be called promotions if you're just thrust into the job—it felt more like they were being cooed and ogled at by a bunch of higher beings. Mainly Wilford.

But- whatever. They would do their research. The deranged Willy Wonka theory didn't seem too crazy anymore.

For now though–

–they were really craving a lollipop.

Actor

Prompt: “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”/“Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.” ***

Prompt: Reader topping Actor and (consensually) wrecking his shit/Reader speaking French and turning an ego on ***

Prompt: Reader flirting with Google and Actor getting jealous and possessive ***

Fic: Damien x reader x Actor where Damien is in the middle for once ***

Prompt: Vampire reader with Actor, Darkiplier, & Wilford ***

Darkiplier

Prompt: “Darling, your heart is too pure for me.” ^^

Prompt: “I don’t care if you think you look like godzilla when you wake up, you’re my beautiful godzilla.” ^^

Prompt: “Maybe I should get you a collar so you don’t forget who you belong to.” ***

Prompt: “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”/“You’d better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.”/“You look good all soaking wet.” /“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.” ***

Prompt: “Did I say you could stop?” ***

Prompt: “You take my fingers so well don’t you?”/“Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”/“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”/“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.” ***

Prompt: “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.”/“Pull my hair!” ***

Prompt: Voyeurism kink/“I want you to watch me, first. Then you can have me.“ *** (AFAB reader)

Prompt: Winged reader that melts into subspace when their wings are touched ***

Prompt: Dark and Anti tries to get with you, but are always interrupted by the other, ends with a fight and an angry three way ***

Prompt: Dark with a naturally submissive s/o that has a praise kink to end all praise kinks, and he starts praising them in public ***

Prompt: “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”/“I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”/“Say my name over and over again and, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream it. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good.” ***

Prompt: “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”/ “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”/“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ***

Fic: Darkiplier in a white suit and a fuck machine ***

Prompt: Darkiplier in lingerie ***

Prompt: “Can you stop sending me nudes, I’m at work.” “That excuse never stopped you when I was working.” “Can you blame me? I bought lace undies, what was I supposed to do?” ^^

Prompt: Dark consensually influencing readers thoughts and actions with the lines “Be a god pet and do what I tell you” & “Open your mouth.” ***

Prompt: You get a little possessive over Dark and Anti and have to mark them ***

Prompt: Dark possessively fucking Reader dumb & calling reader darling ***

Prompt: Dark with vampire reader ***

Prompt: Vampire reader with Actor, Darkiplier, & Wilford ***

Fic: Birthday drabble with reader in a bow ^^

Prompt: Dark going down on afab reader *** (afab reader)

Fic: Dark and tentacles. That’s it. ***

Fic: This time reader is the one with tentacles **

Fic: Dark and Murdock shares you (afab reader) ***

Fic: Dark is asleep and you should let him, but you can’t help yourself *** (amab reader)

Damien

Fic: Damien x reader x Actor where Damien is in the middle for once ***

Prompt: Giving Damien a handjob ***

Engineer

Fic: The Captain fucks Engineer against a wall *** (amab reader)

Prompt: “Stop talking and take off your clothes.” “Why would you say that! I tried so hard to make you happy and now you’re- Your hands are distracting me.” ***

E-plier

Fic: You’re his boyfriend and walk in on a livestream, which leaves him distracted and horny *** (male reader)

Eric Derekson

Prompt: “Don’t hesitate, just kiss me.” ^^

Prompt: “Are you wearing my shirt?”/“Tell me what you like.”/“Did you dress up just for me?” ***

Prompt: Eric and a transwoman reader in an established relationship, reader offers him a blowjob for the first time (trans female reader) ***

Prompt: Eric fucking transwoman readers tits with “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”/“You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”/“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” *** (Trans female reader)

Prompt: “You have no idea what you do to me“ ^^

Prompt: Eric and dirty talk *** (Male reader)

Googleplier

Prompt: Google squad showing reader how much better they are at pleasing them than any other weak human ***

Prompt: Google and dry humping *** amab reader

Prompt: “I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin” + possessive Google *** (male reader)

Heehoo

Prompt: Consensual hunter/prey kink with Heehoo ***

Prompt: Reader accidentally stumbling onto Heehoo while camping ***

The Host

Prompt: “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ^^

Prompt: Male Reader topping Host *** (Male reader)

Prompt: “I only want to please you.”/“Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.”/“You know, you look real pretty when you cry.”/“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ***

Illinois

Drabble: Illinois and someone with fangs ***

Fic: One tent instead of one bed ***

Prompt: Illinois and reader with an aphrodisiac ***

Fic: Illinois wanders into naga reader’s cave looking for treasure (male reader) ***

Fic: Illinois and almost skinny dipping ***

Murdock (Murderiplier/Killer Mark)

Fic: Dark and Murdock shares you (afab reader) ***

Fic: Waking up with curled around Murdock’s back  (amab reader) ***

Fic: Murdock having some fun with Yancy when you come home (amab reader) ***

Porniplier(s)

Prompt: Plumber porniplier “inspects” readers “pipes ***

Wilford Warfstache

Prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” ^^ (Female reader)

Prompt: “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.” ***

Prompt: “Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.”/“Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?”/“It’s okay, honey, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while I’m between your legs.” *** (Female reader)

Fic: Wilford giving reader’s wings a massage *** (Male reader)

Fic: Dark walks in on Wilford and winged reader *** (Male reader)

Prompt: Reader is a little chubby and kinda insecure, Wilford is sweet and appreciative *** (Female reader)

Fic: Somnophilia with Wilford ***

Prompt: Wilford with bratty reader that gets slaps as punishment ***

Prompt: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?” / “ Okay.. This is new. ” / “ What a pretty sight. ” / “ Good girl. ” *** (Female reader)

Prompt: Just some desperate sex with Wilford ***

Prompt: Vampire reader with Actor, Darkiplier, & Wilford ***

Prompt: Wilford offering Captain some stress relief ***

Yancy

Fic: Visitation day ;) ***

Prompt: “Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?”/“Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.” ***  (Uses the nickname princess, but gender neutral :) )

Prompt: “Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?”/“These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want.” *** (Female reader)

Prompts: “Why do you keep looking at me?” “Oh, you only just caught on? Why do you think I can’t keep my eyes off of you?” / shut up and kiss me already with Yancy / I’ve wanted this for so long with Yancy ^^

Prompts: Stolen handcuffs + “ Okay.. This is new. ” / “I read your diary“ ***

Fic: Yancy gets a new tattoo *** amab reader

Fic: Petplay with puppy Yancy and dom reader *** amab reader

Prompt: Submissive and a little touch starved Yancy ***

Yandereplier

Honestly, (Y/n) was a little disappointed that it wasn’t as big as she expected it to be, but who was she to judge? Maybe it was a small droid? Grabbing a box cutter, she sliced through the packing tape. As soon as the lid flapped open, a tall figure popped out of the box, making her fall back and yelp in surprise. 

The man now standing in the box had glasses and fluffy black hair along with some. He wore a royal blue shirt with the classic four-colored ‘G’ that Google was known for. “H-hello?” (Y/n) asked nervously, waving at him. “Hello.” Came his deep voiced reply as he grinned down at her from her position on the floor. He stuck out his hand and (Y/n) grabbed it, his strength surprising her as he pulled her up. 

(Y/n) wasn’t entirely sure what to do from there. Her expectations for her new device had been thrown out the window so what now? “Umm.. hey Google?” The familiar sound of the ‘Google’s listening’ ping sounded from the man in front of her. “What can you do? What are your objectives?” 

“Kill” She couldn’t hear what he said until he continued in a louder voice. “Primary Objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible. Secondary Objective is to destroy mankind.” (Y/n) blinked in confusion as she and Google stared at each other, and after a few seconds she began to giggle. “Very funny, Google.” A small smile graced the robot’s handsome face. 

“Anyway, what can you do? Like, can you do tasks or do you just answer questions?” 

“I have been programmed to do rudimentary tasks along with answering any and all questions to the best of my ability.” He responded and (Y/n) thought for a moment. “Okay then, Google, could you please go get the laundry from the dryer, put it in a basket, and bring it to me so I can fold it?” The robot narrowed his eyes and frowned a little but walked away to the laundry room. (Y/n) brought out her phone and activated netflix, turning on an episode of her favorite show. She found that she worked better when watching or listening to something else at the same time. 

Google returned with the laundry, in a laundry basket just like she had asked, and placed it in front of her. “Would you also like me to fold the laundry?” He asked, his eyes peering at her expectantly, waiting for an answer or command. (Y/n) shook your head. “No, it’s okay. I can do that. I don’t really have anything else to do at the moment. You can relax if you want. I’ll tell you if I need anything.” Google seemed surprised but nodded and walked away.

Google was in fact surprised. His new user wasn’t going to laze around while he did all the work? Unlike some of the other users who also received access to Google IRL, she was just letting him relax while she did some work. Yes, she’d likely need him later for something but why not get him to do everything now? He sat down on a chair, thinking, even using his search engine to try and figure out what exactly was going on. 

Days passed quickly and Google found that he greatly enjoyed his new home. Yes, he had work to do, when it was requested by (Y/n), but she did just as much as him. Honestly, she treated him like another person, talking to him like a friend or family member. It was something strange yet pleasing to think about. She seemed to trust him quite a lot which brought him closer to potentially receiving admin privileges. World domination and the destruction of humankind was so close, he could feel it.

Oddly enough though, he didn’t really want her to perish along with the rest of humanity.

-timeskip-

It was a quiet Saturday and the two beings sat in the living room, (Y/n) reading and Google just sitting in a semi-sleep mode. “Are you hungry?” Asked Google when he heard her stomach growl. She nodded, getting up from the couch. “Would you like me to look up any recipes or search up the number of a restaurant?” 

A screen revealing the classic search engine background appeared in front of him, the cursor waiting to type your command. (Y/n) considered it for a minute. “Umm.. search for the nearest Papa John’s Pizza phone number please.” Google nodded and the screen shifted to the website of the restaurant. 

Her stomach growled again at the idea of food that she didn’t have to make and she thanked Google, taking out her phone and started ordering food. Google closed the search engine and watched her figure leave the room as she talked on the phone. He had to admit that she was very attractive with her (s/c) skin, shining (e/c) eyes, and gorgeous (h/c) hair. How lucky was he to be sent to such a beautiful woman with such a caring nature, even if it was a little confusing.

Google’s engine sped up which caused his cheeks to turn red. What was this feeling? Concerned that he might be fighting an internal virus, he ran a system diagnostic. “Nothing wrong?” He thought in confusion. Google once again activated his search engine and searched up his symptoms. His eyes widened at the search results. “I.. have a crush? On (Y/n)? No.. that’s impossible.. I’m a robot. I can’t catch feelings for anyone. I’m not programmed to have those kinds of emotions.” 

When (Y/n) suddenly came back into the room, typing away on her phone, he rushed to close the tab and hoped she didn’t see it. Fortunately she wasn't focused on him but now he was curious. “Who are you texting?” Asked the robot man and she looked up at him. “My friend, Matthias, why?” 

Google’s mechanical mind whirred. She couldn’t be talking about that Matthias could she? Yes, you both lived relatively close to each other, but the chances of you two being friends and in contact were rather low. “Will you allow me access to your contacts?” Google asked, a small pop up screen appearing in front of him. (Y/n) seemed to think about it for a few seconds then clicked the Accept button. 

Google’s mind flooded with new information. After a second or two of searching, he found the name he was looking for. “Matthias Fredrick..” He murmured softly. Yes, this was exactly the man he hoped you weren’t referring to. “And why, pray tell, were you texting him?” 

“Oh, I was inviting him over for dinner.” 

“You were WHAT??” (Y/n) was taken aback by the sudden outburst. “Woah, Google, chill. I don’t understand why you’re upset about this. I ordered enough for at least two people, possibly more, so you don’t need to worry about-”

“I’m not worried or upset about the food. Why are you inviting him over for dinner?” He looked at the woman in front of him angrily. “H-he’s my friend. Are you feeling okay? You’re acting really strange, Google. Do you need a system reset or something?” 

“No, I don’t need a system reset. You, however, don’t need that man in our hou-” He was interrupted by the sound of a notification coming from (Y/n)’s phone. She looked at the message and frowned. “It’s.. from Matthias.. He says to turn you off and get rid of you. He says that you’re bugged and dangerous.” 

Google blinked and (Y/n) looked up at him. There was an awkward and heart wrenching silence between them and Google’s anger fizzled away, now replaced by a bit of sadness and an unknown emotion as she took a step back, away from him. 

“Hey Google..?” 

Ping 

“You.. wouldn’t hurt me.. would you?” 

The robot’s eyes widened in horror. He tried to approach her, but she took another step back, her hand clutching her phone in fear. “Why would I hurt you? What reason would I have to hurt you?” (Y/n) looked away and frowned, “I.. I don’t know. Now that I’m really thinking about it, you aren’t responsible for the actions or defects of other versions of yourself. It’s just that I really trust Matthias and got worried that if his model would hurt him, then you could potentially hurt me.” 

Google calmly walked over and wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug. “It’ll be okay. I won’t ever hurt you, I promise. It would go against my programming and ” (Y/n) let out a soft sigh and leaned into his embrace. “I’m sorry.” The robot smiled softly and as she looked up into his eyes, the doorbell rang, ruining the moment. 

“(Y/n)! It’s me, open up!” The woman slipped out of Google’s grasp with a small moment of hesitation and opened the door. There, standing in the doorway, was the man of the hour, Matthias. “(Y/n), good you’re still here. I was worried that.. (Y/N) LOOK OUT!!”

He suddenly pushed her aside and lept into the house, knocking over Google who grunted in pain as he hit the floor with a thud. (Y/n) quickly closed the door and rushed to break up the fight. “Matt, stop it! What are you doing?!” 

“I told you to shut this thing off and get rid of it! I know you saw the message too because it was marked as read! Why is this thing still here??” Google pushed Mattias off and stood up, a dangerous glint in his brown eyes. “He’s still here because he hasn’t done anything to make me want to throw him out. He hasn’t hurt me and is very useful and kind.”

“I don’t believe you. He’s probably threatening you to keep quiet! The only way I was able to stop mine was by asking too many questions.” (Y/n) glared at him angrily and placed her hands on her hips. “Listen, I’m sorry that yours was buggy, but mine isn’t. He’s perfectly fine. Now, are you gonna join me for dinner or are you gonna keep trying to attack my Google?” 

The brown haired male glared at the robot who now stood at his friend’s side but sighed and apologized. (Y/n) smiled and brought the two males into the living room before a knock on the door captured her attention. “That must be the delivery man. I’ll be right back. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.” 

After she left the room, Matthias and Google glared at each other again. “I know you’re evil, Google. I’ll prove it to her too, and when I do, she’ll leave you where you belong. With the trash.” The robot got closer to him and he stepped back. “Good luck with that. Once I gain enough of her trust, she’ll give me admin privileges and then there will be nothing that can stop me.”

“I won’t let you hurt my friend, you monster.” 

“Oh, I’d never do anything to hurt my (Y/n), however even she won’t be able to stop the inevitable demise of mankind and neither can you, Matthias Fredrick.”

“Why you-”

Just then, (Y/n) walked back into the room holding three boxes of pizza. “Hey guys, I’m back! Glad to see you’re both still alive.”

Google smiled at her politely. “Would you like help with those boxes?” She shook her head, placing them on the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. “No thanks, but help yourself to some of the food, Google. I know you don’t actually need to eat but the option’s always open. It’s nice to share a meal with people you care about.” 

“Why thank you.” He said, sitting down to her left while smirking at Matthias who was burning with internal rage as he sat to (Y/n)’s right.