how about the egos realising that theyre in love with reader?? You can choose which ones if you dont want them but for a basis how about Dark, Wilford, Host, Google, and Simon :P have a good day!!
Falling Behind
Dark, Google, Simon, Host x Reader
(separately, no specific gender)
CW// my personal headcanons for characters (She/They/He Dark, He/They Simon, They/Them Host), Canon ending divergent for Simon (possible spoilers? Doubt but just insane), (Host's is rather boring and short, I'm sorry)
Masterlist
Not cross posted anywhere
Dark
It takes them forever to realize she's fallen in love with you. Like, months. Truly, they just think it's an admiration he holds towards you, an appreciation that you're so capable and able to be in their presence without annoying them.
And then it happens. Now, 'it' could genuinely be anything. You giving him a smile, helping them get some work off their plate, taking care of a problem an ego has that would be tedious work for them. Literally anything! And it just? Makes them think.
Like woah, why is their cold dead heart thumping against his chest like that? Surely not.
But it's exactly what she fears, and there is no way to stop it.
It's all denial from there. No way is he allowing himself to feel this way. Not when they're so busy, when they're exerting all his energy on keeping control of everyone and taking down Mark. It wouldn't be fair to you, they can't give you the time and love you deserve.
But it never stops the way their heart beats for you. And so, while they still deny her love, he starts doing little things for you. It goes unnoticed by him, but others catch on quick to the favoritism she has towards you.
The way you get a simple scoff when tardy to meetings or events, the way she lets you go when everyone is being reprimanded, the way he's willing to let you into her personal space without so much as a mean side eye.
And then there's the gift giving. She has no idea when it starts happening, but suddenly they're leaving things in your room when you're gone for the day. Small trinkets he saw and thought you'd like, a candy they remembered you liking, stuff like that.
Every time they see you smile, her heart skips a beat, and god damnit do they hate it. But he doesn't want it to stop either.
Google
Everyone knows he loathes humanity. His hatred for flesh bags holds no bounds, and he's more than happy to make that clear to everyone around him.
But for some reason, he's unable to bring himself to destroy your belongings like he does everyone else's.
Now, don't feel special, he's still a huge inconvenience to you and the work you do, but your items are a less likely target of his destructive habits.
One time he ripped up a shirt of yours that he didn't realize was yours, and when you found the shirt and got sad, his processors felt ... Wrong. Which was weird, because his system looks fine from a quick check.
And then he realizes how.. soft he is towards you. Disgusting, right?
He tries ignoring you for awhile, but that doesn't work for too long. He longs to hear you ask him a dumb question, and for you to give him a smile when he does something, anything. The way you come to him for all your questions makes the coolant inside him run through his body.
Quickly he returns to being around you, if not more than ever before. It's almost as if he's stalking you, the way he's practically always there behind you. Waiting for something, perhaps?
He doesn't do tasks when you ask, or help as much as you'd like when doing stuff, or answer questions entirely correctly, but he's always there. So, bonus points?
Love isn't exactly in his programming, so it does sort of register to him as a curiosity over you, a little bit of an obsession. The file he has on you grows everyday, useless information he'd never have kept before being put in his storage for safe keeping. He wants to know everything about you.
Everything.
Simon
They've never been in love before, and it was a bit of a taboo subject on Eden, so when his heart starts to flutter when you're around he can't help but think 'holy shit I'm dying again'.
A quick chat with the good Dr. Iplier lets him know he's okay though, so he's just left pondering why your mere presence leaves them stiff and flustered.
Regardless, they feel the need to be there for you. For what he doesn't fucking know, but just being near you is enough.
So he's always there. In your presence, ready to help if you need it.
He honestly feels so honored when you ask them for help, even with simple tasks. The way you're asking him to help instead of someone else, makes them feel useful. Needed.
And gods, just everything about you. Your personality, your face, the way you do stuff, literally everything is so. UGH, he is so down bad and he doesn't even know it!!
He knows this feeling isn't normal, but fuck he doesn't want it to ever go away.
A side effect of these feelings is their sudden need to hold onto you. So don't get jumpy when he's suddenly grabbing onto your shirt or wrist and just, holding it. They'll trail after you like a dog while holding the hem of your shirt if you let him. Please let him.
Bonus points if you initiate hand holding.
They do their best to be there for you, please notice their efforts.
The Host
Now Host doesn't actually learn that they're in love with you. They already know, they've known since the beginning. Surprises aren't a luxury they get with their narrative abilities. Since the first interaction they knew they would eventually fall in love with you.
But that doesn't mean they can't still go through the motions. Unsurprisingly when their heart starts to beat a little quicker when you're around, they know it's love. But for some reason, they're.. intimidated of confessing their love?
They're baffled by the thought of that. Them, THE Host, scared of telling someone dear to them that they love them. How pitiful.
Regardless, they know what they can do, and that is be there for you. So they are.
What they do for you varies, big stuff and little stuff. They'll help you carry stuff, help you cook, find the perfect book for you, get others to shut up if you need quiet time, etc etc. Just about anything they can do for you they would.
They're most helpful when it comes to literature. They can help you find specific books, recommend stuff that would be perfect to your taste, quote any book you could possibly want, let you silently read in their library, read aloud to you. Basically anything.
Speaking of- please, sit in their library and do whatever. They really love parallel play, especially when it's you. Sit on the couch and listen to them record their podcast while you do literally anything. Read, play a game, do a hobby, do work, anything, just please sit near them.
They won't force you to, but they would really appreciate it if you did.
Google could tell that something was wrong as he broke the yolk of your eggs this morning. He was unsure as to what was causing this feeling, but it had been hours since it started and he noticed that his ability to dismiss it as nothing was waning. His limbs felt as if it took 15% more energy to move them, and his ability to answer questions and respond to tasks had slowed to a mere 78% efficiency. It was something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, but you knew better than to ask him about it, preferring to assume that he had an update coming up. He always slowed down a little right before a big update, and it was a sore spot for him.
But you couldn’t dismiss it anymore, not with him being like this.
“Google,” you began, watching as his head tilted up and then over to you, it taking an additional second for his eyes to focus on your form. “are you alright?”
“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.
Maybe he was a late bloomer too, but with enough time with you he could pop into his full potential.
This isn’t my entire list of characters I write, but they’re some of my favorites and I’m writing this on the 30th so I don’t have time to write all of them. This is a headcanon list like my Valentine’s Day thing was
I’m trying to get back into writing, so I hope y’all like it
Characters in Order: Darkiplier, Damien, Googleplier, Date Mark, Illinois, Eric Derekson, Yancy, Jameson Jackson
Warnings: One part of Illinois’s is slightly suggestive
Reader is intended to be gender neutral and these headcanons are romantic (with a pre-established relationship). I wrote part of this while sleepy
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
- Y’all spend that night handing out candy to trick-or-treaters and relaxing at home until you fall asleep
In which Google and Bing solve things legally and illegally.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4
TW: cursing, fighting
Pages: 35 - Words: 10,500
[Requests: CLOSED]
You tapped your fingertips along the table's edge in a rhythm you were only half aware of. If you were anywhere else, you might have been able to stave off the fear, but the room you were in—so bare that it could have been built yesterday—offered you no such reprieve. Instead, you were forced to flit between the empty door window and your own reflection in the metal surface below. Neither option appealed to you; the hallway was boring and you knew yourself too well to trust your blank expression, so what else did you have beyond your own frantic mind?
Nothing.
You had nothing. You sat alone in the headquarters of a mega-corporation, and you had nothing.
Except for the faint spark of hope that came with an explosion of noise out in the hall.
"Do you have any sevens?"
"This is Uno."
"Ugh." Bing flopped against the floor, torso bent awkwardly to both get his back against the floor and keep his legs crossed. "I'm bored."
Google watched with an unaffected air. This had, after all, been going on for two hours, and there was little sign of it stopping. You were in the lab, working on something that they weren't allowed to see, which gave them plenty of time to 'research human stuff'. You had instructed as such before kicking them out of the basement, but it was a struggle when you were the only human they could interact with.
Curiosity over what you were doing didn't help them settle, either. It was ostensibly a bug fix that required your full attention, but Google suspected that you simply couldn't focus around them. Whatever form of relationship the three of you were developing was new to all of you, and you had an unfortunate habit of throwing yourself into work to rid yourself of tricky emotions.
Google's eyes flicked up to meet Bing's.
"Is your inability to be patient an accident or programmed into you?" he asked. He leaned towards intentional. Confusing, but still intentional.
Bing pushed himself back up, huffing, "Like you're any better."
A blank stare was all he got in response, which wasn't rare enough to be an insult anymore.
"You can pretend to be cold as much as you like, doesn't mean you are. You're just quietly impatient."
The next few seconds were spent in a stand-off, as if electrical signals replaced words to carry their argument. The first side said the second was an idiot, the second side said the first was a hypocrite, the first obnoxious, the second oblivious, the first, the second, until Bing got bored again.
Google took that as a win, but the conversation passed when Bing got to his feet and peaked at the lab door.
"When d'ya think they're gonna be done?"
"They commonly work for six hours at a time."
Despite pointing it out, Google wasn't certain that it was true—at least, not today. He didn't mention that they had been working longer hours recently, again on projects they weren't to know about. Human emotions weren't his forté, but even he knew this wasn't a good sign. Thinking about you working yourself to death in the lab stirred an uncomfortable feeling in his gut, as though someone had gripped his wiring and pulled. Not knowing what you were working on was worse.
Regardless, he pushed his logic, stating, "As such, they will likely take a break in 46 minutes."
How they had managed to go more than 5 hours together was already a miracle. They had fallen into détente since their conversation a week ago, so it was a shared understanding that they were both getting to the end of their ropes. It was a small house once you got used to it.
A grin spread across Bing's face once he was at the doorway.
"Let's make it 46 seconds then, whad'ya think?"
Without waiting for Google's input, he slid into the hallway, eager to disturb you from whatever work was pulling you away. Google considered stopping him, but that would likely cause an argument. Really, didn't you want them to get along, and, surely, wasn't five hours long enough, and, obviously, wouldn't it be better for them to be with you?
To cover himself, he muttered some 'no's and 'stop's before following Bing to the basement stairs. You couldn't say that he didn't try—he just didn't try that hard. Instead, Google was walking at Bing's heels down the stairs to the basement. Plots for plausible deniability faded from his mind when the door to the lab was shouldered open.
At this point, you were completely isolated from the living world, swept up in lines of lime green lettering and the occasional missed punctuation. What sat before you now was a random string of letters that equated to nothing more than a key-smash. The code was as garbled as your brain, but, although the word vomit sickened you, you didn't have it in you to clean it up. You only made it worse when you slammed your head into the laptop, whatever was printed on the screen beaming itself into your mind before you could look up.
Sometimes you thought about what other career paths might have had in store for you. Would medical school have made you so distraught? Would a literature degree have choked you at the sight of an email? Would investing in bitcoin have possibly given you a concussion?
"Hey, babe?"
You screamed. Of course you screamed, because a 200 pound machine managed to sneak up on you, and that spoke more to your own survival skills than the stealth of the android at your shoulder.
Once you caught sight of the two standing behind you, your brain turned off the sirens. Your heart would take a little more convincing, but you weren't about to throw your laptop at them.
"Bing, don't scare me like that," you muttered as you laid a hand across your chest. Never mind the concussion, a heart attack was on your radar if you weren't careful.
"Sorry," he said, grinning in that way that told you he wasn't.
Google stepped next to him and leveled you with a look. "You were not responding."
"Yeah, I was working," you explained. It was rare for you to be so unaware of your surroundings, but it was taking all of your energy just to face the screen.
You were just about to spin your chair back around when you caught up to what was happening.
"Am working—you're not supposed to be in here."
"You haven't come up for air in a while, we were starting to get worried."
You glanced at Google to see if he supported this blatant expression of emotion, but you were met with a surprise. Nodding. Just one, up and down. Not huffing, not rolling his eyes, not balking at Bing's openness. Plain agreement.
Was this a problem? You didn't think your working hours were cause for alarm, you had been doing this for years, but…
You sighed.
"I have a break coming up in—" You checked the clock, "—49 minutes."
Google corrected, "44 minutes."
Clicking your fingers, you pointed at him. Now wasn't the time to argue over semantics, and he was probably right anyway. You didn't have a great record for keeping track of breaks, and a guy with an internal clock down to the half-millisecond was always a better reference point.
"44 minutes. I'll finish up here and then make something to eat, or something."
With that, you finally turned back to your laptop and immediately regretted it at the sight of your code spaghetti. There was a real word or two in there, which only made the pit in your stomach deepen. Even your subconscious was reminding you that you needed to work because this was important, this was your job, this was the thing keeping you out of prison.
You caught sight of two faces on either of your shoulders in the reflection, the angel and demon both telling you to do the same thing—or, rather, your mind was reacting the same way to both of them, and that was to stall your hands above your keyboard.
The men behind you read through the lines on your screen, but Google was the first to speak.
"Why were we prevented from seeing this code?" he asked, though his tone was as incurious as ever.
"Uh, no reason."
You willed your hands to start typing. The cursor continued to blink at the end of the line.
"You have been doing this for four days."
Had you? You'd barely even noticed. Time seemed to slip away in the basement. All the light was artificial, so the sun and moon trading places hardly registered to you.
But you couldn't say that. They were worried enough to come down to the basement, after all, so there was no reason to get them more stirred up about your health.
Instead, you muttered a quiet, "Yeah, you're right."
"This has happened only after the conversation about our relationship."
Then, even quieter, "Weird."
Silence flooded the room. The chirps and beeps from various machines seemed to fade, and you desperately wanted the clicking of keys to take up the empty space, but no. Nothing was on your side right now, if you even knew what side you were on.
Luckily, someone else did.
Bing leaned on the back of your chair, pushing you down slightly, as he asked, "How long's left on the contracts?"
He spoke so casually. You might have wondered if it were a front, a facade, a lie, but Bing didn't do lies. He knew what was wrong, and he knew what to ask, so he asked it. You envied his confidence.
A second passed before you said, "Yours has 12 days."
"And Google's?"
You didn't like saying it out loud—hell, you could barely stand thinking about it—but you couldn't put it off any longer. This was it.
"The extension ran out this morning," you explained, voice coming from another person's throat. "They could come any second now, and I- I know you said you had a plan, but I can't just sit here and do nothing."
What had Google said were the chances of them being taken? You had latched onto them at the time, but now you were coming up blank. They were low. You remembered that much because they had calmed you down. They were good numbers.
But Google wasn't the best at accounting for outside factors, namely human emotions, namely spite. You had avoided fulfilling the terms of the contract up until this point, and you were pretty sure the mega-corporations who held your soul weren't happy with you.
Switching his attention to your laptop's screen, Google asked, "What are you doing?"
Stressing yourself out, mostly, but he wouldn't take that answer.
"Finding stuff to fine-tune," was your response, and he nodded along as you traced the cursor over neon green letters. "They want you two to be perfect, so if you're not… y'know, maybe they'll give me more time to improve. Or something."
You brought a hand to your face and dug into your cheek. The bone that pushed back was grounding, but you were too far in it to pull yourself out that easily.
Deeply, you sighed. "But I don't know how long until they decide to take you anyway."
The image of those secret-service-wannabes, all dark suits and earpieces, taking Google from your home leapt helpfully to your mind's eye. The look in his eye when he left, and the look when he got back? You didn't want any of you to go through that again.
You were inches away from pushing your eyeball into the socket when your hand was gripped by cold fingers. Bing smiled down at you, bright and cheery and excited and you couldn't let him go to a warehouse.
He elbowed Google, who only just managed to restrain himself, and said, "Great minds think alike, eh?"
You huffed out a, "What?"
"Our plan," Google interrupted, "was and is to intentionally fail code and practical tests in order to be sent back to you for re-examination."
Once he finished, he shot Bing a blank look, which had long since translated to a threat against his new skateboard. It was returned by a teasing smirk and a tip of sunglasses. However, when both androids realized you were still quiet, they started to brace themselves for a scolding. Something small scale, a 'you should have told me, I would stop worrying' kind of thing that would probably end with a light slap on the arm, at worst.
What they were not expecting was for you to be absolutely livid.
You shot to your feet, shouted, "What the hell are you talking about!?" and tossed the chair to the side.
"Do you want me to repeat—"
"You are geniuses by fucking design, and you thought you could just- what, trick them by doing the same thing over and over?!" You gripped at your scalp desperately. "As if they'd never notice, and- and let you go, and- are you stupid?"
Bing was shocked into silence, his mouth hanging open like a skee-ball scoring hole, but Google's indignancy came out as, "My experience at the warehouse indicated their engineers were incapable."
"You're right!" You slammed your hand down on the table. "They are!"
It took a glance at your vibrant red palm to recognize how emotional you were getting. Yes, their plan was all kinds of idiotic, but they didn't need you yelling at them to understand, so you took a long, if not shaky, breath.
You felt bad for moving when Bing reached out to touch your arm, but you needed to come up with a better solution to your problem.
With a measured tone, you asked Google, "What makes you think that they can't do their jobs right?"
"I was returned to you at the first sign of a bug in my code."
"That's it?"
He waited, as if a bear trap would snap around his leg when you finished, but nothing happened.
Simply, he said, "Yes."
"And what happened to them?"
Bing cut in, "They got fired."
He drew out the last word in a way to make you laugh—and you did laugh.
With gritted teeth and a near-bloodless grip on the table, you laughed.
"So what do you think happens to the engineer who keeps causing those bugs?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but no one had to interrupt him for it to slip closed this time. The realization of what this meant hit both androids at the same time, and it dug as deep as their circuitry would allow before it hit something vital.
They could fail the tests, sure, but they wouldn't be sent back to you.
Wheels squeaked over the floor as you dragged your chair back, and you threw yourself down as soon as it landed in place.
"There's a difference between being broken and being imperfect," you explained. "If I can promise more, they might give me another extension."
It was wishful thinking, but what else did you have? Anything else would have required prior planning, and short-term plans were your specialty. Even the ones working their ways through your brain at break-neck speeds were for the here and now. It was how you got into this mess, of course, but you needed to find something to do.
You had to.
As you worked, Google watched over your shoulder, the ever-dutiful assistant to your mad-scientist persona. Bing, meanwhile, slid off to the side of the room. Helping was what he had been built for. What was a fully-sentient android good for if he needed a go-ahead before doing anything?
Maybe a schedule would work? If he and Google were basically hired by their respective companies to do shows and then return home at the end of the day? Bing was an optimist at heart and persuasive to boot. If it came down to it, he was sure he could get someone to agree to a contract.
But he also knew about the risks.
Staring at you and Google, he was all too aware that being stuck in a warehouse was within the realm of possibility. Things went wrong, people didn't stick to their word, and suddenly the coldness and paranoia that permeated the air around Google stuck to him, too.
He didn't know if his plan was worth the risk. He didn't want to go through all of that, and, though he would admit it only to himself, the thought of it happening to Google again sent a crackle of tension through his circuits.
Clicking through the considerable chunk of new code, you muttered some brands of tech to yourself and reached for a pad of paper to jot them down. Soon enough, you'd ripped the piece off and handed it to Google, who was in the midst of cataloguing it all directly from your verbal list. When his eyes cleared, he folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket.
"I'll see if I can get you compatible with other brand devices," you said to Bing once he'd waltzed to your side. "Door locks and plugs. Try the store on Vine Street, but let me know if you don't find anything."
Ordering online would have been better for your nerves, but you were in a time crunch; you didn't have the benefit of 24 hours, or even 24 minutes. The timer had already hit zero, you were just waiting for it to explode.
Google nodded, quick enough that you knew he was glad to have something to do, and started to walk to the stairs. Bing seemed content to stay next to you until you gestured after the other android.
"Think you can go with him?"
His eyebrows furrowed behind the tinted glasses.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, you'll be in public, and I…" you sighed, stress rattling through you like a freight train, "…you'll be safer together. I don't want anything to happen to you two."
Google stalled by the door, and you tensed up in anticipation of a fight. It wasn't a reflection of your faith in him or how responsible you thought he was—in fact, it was more for your sanity that they had safety in numbers—but you expected some resistance.
However, he said and did nothing. He just waited.
You didn't know if you appreciated the effort or regretted your outburst more. It had been less than ten minutes and you were constructing an apology, so you were leaning toward the latter.
Trapped in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed Bing grabbing your hand again, but the tight pressure from him squeezing brought you to attention.
"Don't worry," he said, "we'll be okay."
You returned his smile with a little less energy, but he was happy enough to scamper toward Google and the basement's exit.
"Good luck!" you called after them.
"See ya later, babe!" was accompanied by, "We'll return shortly." The click of the door punctuated their goodbyes.
You took a moment to yourself once the silence settled back in. You already missed them, but you couldn't tell whether it was fear or a certain cheesiness that spawned this longing in your chest. Pride at Google getting better with contractions was definitely part of the second, though, and it pushed a grin over your mouth as you turned back to your laptop.
The next fifteen minutes passed roughly. Unlike in your bouts of passion, you were keenly aware of every keystroke and backspace that went into code, and every misstep was made more torturous by the very fact that you would have to keep going after fixing it.
You just wanted to be done with it, but a knock at the front door kept you from bridging the gap. Although there was only a small amount of work left, you didn't want to leave your boys outside for too long, so you pushed out from the table and wandered from the lab.
Footsteps were matched by the cracking of bones as you leaned a hand against your spine. Your natural posture at your desk was comfortable in the moment, but you always faced the consequences when you got up.
You reaped what you sowed, as the saying went.
When you opened the front door, the blood drained from your face. Four people stood on your porch, all wearing suits and sunglasses and dizzyingly familiar frowns, and you reflexively slammed the door shut in their faces.
Your brain switched to survival. Keys were in the lab, you sprinted to the basement door, heard the turn of the handle behind you, threw yourself down the stairs so harshly that you might have broken something. It didn't matter right now. You shouldered your way through to your desk and scrambled for a pen and paper. Scribbling down a messy 'A + M ret staff', you briefly processed that the lines were still indented with the electronics list, but you tossed it out of your brain just as fast. You heaved a breath as you shoved the note under your laptop seconds before the lab door slammed to the wall.
Pieces of equipment, soldering irons and spare parts, fell to the ground at the impact, but there was a small part of you that thought they were just there to chat. It was possible; you had been the first to run, after all, so maybe they had just reacted—
Your skull cracked against the floor, and you saw stars. Had you still the presence of mind, you might have called it assault, but it probably didn't matter too much to the people handcuffing your hands behind your back. Instead, you were only aware of the relief that neither Google or Bing were at home.
You were being watched, you knew that much. Since you had been deposited into this borderline-interrogation room, you hadn't seen a moment of true isolation, and it was driving you mad. The calm and collected exterior that you were trying so hard to maintain was a stark contrast to the panic racing through your mind. You didn't know where you were, you didn't know where your boys were, and you didn't know if anyone else did.
If you didn't find out soon, you were going to tear yourself apart—and the desolate room wasn't doing much to distract you. It was obvious this place wasn't new; it was clean, but there had been other people held captive before you, if the vague scuff marks against the wall were anything to go by. They traced the room, a hiking path for your eyes that led you to the door.
It creaked open.
You knew the woman, but the man who followed was a stranger. However, because the former was the same lady who had taken Google and delivered him back to you, you guessed that he worked for Microsoft.
Which was just fantastic.
"Good afternoon," the woman said with the perfected air of a corporate lackey. Your frown deepened when your full government name was rattled off in the same way, but it didn't seem to affect either of them as they slipped into the chairs on the other side of the table.
"My name is Eliza Tucker," she said. Then, gesturing to the man, "This is Vincent Coleman."
"You can just call me Vince."
You stared down at his offered hand. A nicer person would have shaken it just to spare him the awkwardness.
The five seconds of silence was indeed very awkward before he got the hint and withdrew it, coughing.
Tucker continued on, "We are here to discuss your contract pertaining to the androids that you were commissioned to build and code."
"I know what I'm here for," you said; you didn't need her to reiterate what you had been hired to do, even if they were only covering their bases legally.
"Good," she said, "we can get right to it."
From a briefcase, she pulled a file and began flipping through the sheets of paper. There weren't many, and from your position, you could make out your headshot, personal details, and a big stamp spelling out 'CONTACT'. You wouldn't have put it past them for the rest of the information to be private, but you weren't a criminal. The most they could use against you was the thing they had you in for, unless they thought a couple of year-old speeding fines could be used against you in court.
You wanted this over with quickly, and you didn't care what they were going to pull, so you crossed your arms and stated, "I can't give them over to you."
Tucker met your glare with a blank look. "What do you mean, you can't? The contract stipulates that—"
"Yeah, I know what it says, but I can't do it. Morally, ethically, whatever. You can't take them and shove them in a warehouse until you're ready to show them off."
"You didn't seem to have any qualms about it last time."
You distinctly remembered being on the edge of punching her when you had first met, and the same impulse was stirring in your stomach the longer you had to look at her.
"Hey, hey, we're here to negotiate," the guy cut in. Your attention dragged itself over to Vincent, who wore an unconvincingly calm smile. "Not to get into unnecessary arguments, right?"
For his efforts, he received a frown from the woman beside him, but she settled back into her seat regardless. It struck you in that moment how familiar these two were—not in the literal sense, this was your first time meeting the man from Microsoft, but you recognized how they acted. The two were at complete odds with one another, but there they were, working together.
A wave of fear struck you right in the chest.
"Where are they?" you asked.
Vincent offered you another smile, shakier this time. "We were hoping you could tell us that."
You were between two minds. On one hand, the companies that were after your boys didn't know where they were. On the other hand, neither did you. Although they were sure to be safe if they had made it back home, you couldn't be certain nobody else had found them. All it left you with was an ugly mesh of guilt and hope.
A disbelieving noise from Tucker drew you back to her. "Their own robots and they don't know where they are," she spat.
"I don't have a tracker on them. The only thing stopping them from going wherever they want is the risk of running into your staff."
"They're not people, they don't want anything."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you said, "I didn't know you'd been living with them for the last year."
"The robots—"
"Google and Bing aren't—"
"You named them?"
"Would both of you shut up!?" Tucker yelled after Vincent's interruption. "You've had more than enough time to work out the issues with Alphabet's android—more than you should have, in fact—so we're here to collect on what was ordered."
You shifted to look at Vincent. He shrugged.
"You don't have long left on Microsoft's contract, either."
As if you needed the reminder.
"I'm just making sure we don't get into the same situation. Withholding products doesn't look great on your track record."
Subconsciously, you carded a hand through your hair. Consciously, you tried not to flip the table and make a break for it. The door was probably locked, anyway.
"Look, things have changed. Google and Bing—" You bared your teeth at Tucker when she went to interject, "—have both developed a consciousness that can't be sold off at auction. They have personalities and preferences, and they have different ways of seeing things, and they have humanity.
"Bing's so curious about how the world works, you should see the life in his eyes when he makes people smile—and Google's a stubborn bastard, but it's because he has a sense of right and wrong stronger than anyone I've ever met. You can't- you can't just brush that aside for your glorified laundry machine!"
Shallow panting underlined the silence after your monologue. Perhaps it was dumb to show your hand like that, but you had to get it through their thick skulls what they were actually doing. A corporate drone was one thing, a willfully ignorant jackass was another.
Gradually, Vincent's eyes widened at the same rate as Tucker's narrowed. They were both realizing different things, and you wondered which way they were leaning.
The more cynical of the two spoke up first, growling out, "What is wrong with you?"
Vincent snapped to look at her. "What?"
"They fell in love with their robots."
"Androids," you corrected automatically.
She ignored you, instead turning to her partner to repeat, "They fell in love with their robots."
When he didn't react, Tucker slapped him on the arm and picked up your file, a silent indication that you were done here. Or, rather, they were; the door slammed closed behind the two, but you still had to sit in this empty room with a thousand thoughts running through your mind. Chief was the question of whether that went well or not.
While much of the fence was free of guards, this was the only section that didn't have any security cams either. Google and Bing stood in the blind-spot of two cameras that rotated just barely short of their spot. It was imperative that they weren't caught too early, especially when they were working on minimal information about the actual building.
The taxi ride over was rough. It wasn't uncomfortable or awkward only because neither of the androids could muster such awareness; their thoughts were focused around a plan to find you and get you away from wherever the retrieval staff had taken you to. Google had figured they were heading for the closest corporation. In this case, it was Alphabet Incorporated, the headquarters standing tall and proud in front of them.
He was silent as he tried to figure out the logistics of climbing a twenty-foot stretch of wire without consequences. The hardest part was going to be getting down, but they didn't have much of a choice beyond finding another route in, and the time was ticking down, and they still had to get inside and find out where you were and then get you out, and…
Bing was twisting off the tip of his finger beside him.
"Self-mutilation will not intimidate the fence," Google said.
"I know that."
He wasn't sure he did until a brilliant blue glowed from the joint. Upon coming close to the fence, the wire peeled away as if it were nothing more than old flower petals. An arch was painted, big enough for both of them to fit through, and it popped out onto the grass once Bing reached the floor again.
Why you installed a blowtorch into a domestic android was a question for later.
"What?" Bing chuckled. "You never snuck onto a basketball court before?"
"No."
"Square."
With that, Bing slipped through the gate, Google on his heels.
The docking area provided the simplest access to the building. A hoard of trucks parked outside made for great cover as the two darted out of sight from security. People were patrolling, cameras were searching, but nothing caught them. Instead, the next obstacle to overcome was a locked door, no doubt alarmed but with a sensor attached to the wall next to it.
Before Bing could consider opening his wiring even more, Google pressed a hand against the screen. A shimmering light illuminated his digits, proceeded by two, quick buzzes and the door sliding open.
"Showoff."
Google walked ahead, but Bing still saw the satisfaction in his posture.
Now was time for the hard part. Alphabet, the company that owned Google, was staffed by too many people to avoid being seeing altogether. They wasn't anything they could do about their recognizable faces or the logos on their clothing, but they made it possible to sneak by if they kept their heads down.
And if Bing stopped nervously rambling.
"If they're trynna get something out of 'em, they won't be front 'n center, so it's somewhere alone. Out of the way, prob'ly behind a ton of locked doors. We can steal a keycard or do your hacker-hand thing or do both so we're able to get outta two places—"
Google could do something about that one, though; he grabbed Bing by the shirt, wrenched him back and said, "Be quiet, you are going to attract attention with your nonsensical, unhelpful, pathetic muttering."
He could see the gears turning in Bing's eyes, some stupid retort that wasted more time, but he didn't get to say anything.
Two scientists rounded the corner, and all four immediately tensed. Three curses and one censoring beep kicked off the fight.
The staff surged forward first, each digging in their pockets—it wouldn't be a dangerous weapon, but the uncertainty put Google on guard as he scanned the area. Bing kicked a rolling table from the side of the hallway into their path before yanking a sign off the wall to use as a shield. He dove at them, prepared to knock their hands into the open, but he came up short.
First law: they couldn't harm humans.
Bing brought the sign up to block one of the scientists' punches.
Second law: they had to listen to their orders.
Grunts and huffs and yelps—but no words.
Third law: they could protect themselves as long as they didn't hurt anyone.
The other made a jab at Google's stomach when he stepped into the fray. Undeterred, he grabbed their fist and wrapped it around their back, planning to push them into a wall and restrain them. Whatever was in their pocket wouldn't matter if they couldn't reach it in time.
However, they did reach it.
And they jammed the taser into his side.
75,000 volts of electricity rocketed through Google's body, leaving fried circuitry and components in their wake. Scorched earth. Smoke flooded from the gaps in metal plating and floated to the ceiling. The crash to the ground created an explosion of noise that drew all attention in a fifty-mile radius.
His name came out as a hushed gasp from Bing, but he covered his mouth immediately. Both scientists converged on the downed titan, which gave him the perfect opportunity to escape unnoticed.
However, he only took it when Google shot him a familiar glare, and he could have sworn he heard the words in his head—what was he doing, just standing there, if he wanted to be useful, if he wanted to help you, he needed to be free—that pushed him to turn and run.
When Google was tossed through the door, your first thought was barely a thought at all; it was more a rush of relief that flushed out fear from your system. However, when your second thought rolled around, that fear was back in full-force.
"Google!" you yelled as he curled in on himself, then dropped to his knees, then sprawled out on the floor like a broken toy.
Something like a cough wracked his body when he landed, but his entire body twitched in place violently. He was spasming so quickly that you barely saw him move between the jolts. You didn't know what this was, but you knew it was bad, and he wasn't getting up.
You rushed to kneel next to him and propped him up against the wall.
"Google, can you hear me?" You pushed his head up, desperately searching for the swirling of his eyes, but there was nothing. "H-hey, come on, we're not doing this again. You went long enough without speaking, you can't- don't- don't go quiet on me."
You couldn't do anything for him here. The room was empty. You were utterly useless in front of Google's body. Shell. Husk. Corpse.
At another jolt, you tore yourself away and jumped to the door.
"Hey, is anyone there?!"
Whoever had shoved him in with you couldn't have gone far.
"Hello?!"
Someone would have been walking through the hallway, a staff member or a janitor or one of the secret-service idiots.
One glance at Google told you that you didn't have the time to wait around and hope someone saw you.
"Just hold on tight, I'll…" you trailed off, focusing on your brewing plan.
You tried the handle just once, but before you had even processed that it was locked, you were grabbing the closest metal chair and swinging it down on the door. It broke open and you shot out under flashing warning lights. You dove into a couple of rooms in a frenzy, ducked in and out until you found some sort of lab, and then snatched the first toolbox you found. With your free hand, you stole a box of random parts. Things clattered around inside, but you didn't have time to check what it contained. No, you needed to get back to Google.
Dropping the box by his too-lax arm, you positioned yourself in front of his chest. An interrogation room wasn't the best environment for surgery like this, but you didn't have the privilege of your lab, nor the time to get there. He twitched once, twice, three times violently, but he calmed down long enough for you to peel away the breastplate panel.
Smoke plumed like a festival fire.
What you saw when you waved it away was a lot of fried wiring and flickering lights. Most everything had short-circuited, which meant a lot of replacements were due. Worst first, though, so you focused all your attention on not getting shocked as you pulled out busted wires.
Energy moved, your mouth was free to start its absent muttering.
"Wh-when you can speak again," you said with a melted wire in hand, "you have to, y'know, actually speak. We're not going back to how it used to be, okay?"
You fumbled a comparator but managed to keep it from clattering to the ground.
"You can be as opinionated as you want to be, you can complain about my schedule and my Roomba and humans, I don't care, just…"
Don't stay silent.
The next ten minutes were spent with your hands digging through Google's guts. Your nerves had steadied out halfway through, but you were nowhere near done yet. Many of the original parts were tossed in a pile of waste, and the scrap that you had found in the other room was sub-par at best. Of what you had taken out, only 70% could be fixed with what you had at your disposal.
You were reattaching a plate when a voice spoke from the doorway.
"Hey, did you break- where did you get that?"
Vincent had found you, apparently, right where he had left you. Really, he was the better of the two, but you didn't have the focus to spare on explaining yourself properly.
"A room," you muttered.
"You can't just steal—"
You whipped around to face him, furious and holding a red-hot soldering iron. "Do you really want to argue right now!?" you yelled. "I'm trying to save someone's life, and you want me to stop because I didn't ask for permission!? Either you stop bothering me or you come and help!"
You went back to your work without waiting for a response. The lack of one told you that he chose the first option, which was just as well. He would have been more of a distraction than a help.
"I don't know how you do it, Google," you mumbled under the noise of flying sparks. "Even when you're angry, you don't fly off the handle. Not that I've seen you that angry anyway."
The more you replaced, the less Google glitched. They were still running through his system, but they were becoming rarer and softer. By the time that you held the last of the wires that needed replacing by a pair of tweezers, there was a five-minute interval between jolts. This one was incredibly shallow, but you figured that it was just the impact of all the replacements.
"Your hand is shaking."
You huffed at Google's comment. "Yeah, well, it's kind of a high-stakes situation."
One half of the wire was melted, but you still tilted it to the side to check if the current had gone all the way to the end—you paused, eyes drifting to Google's face.
You promptly collapsed against him, wrist caught in his hand to keep the wire steady.
"You can't do that ever again," you mumbled into the circuits.
"I did not choose to be electrocuted."
You didn't respond; for the moment, you were content to listen to the whirring fans spinning consistently in a cave of not-flashing lights. He was alive. He was alive. There were so many potential outcomes, each worse than the last, but he was alive.
Distantly, you processed the pressure of an arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you finally let out a breath.
Minutes passed in that position, but you knew you had to move. You still had more work to do, and your hand was starting to ache from holding up the tweezers.
You jostled yourself back to the present as you leaned out, saying, "Right, hold still for a little longer."
He did so until you were done, at which point he managed to sit up straighter. This was the first time you had seen him so hunched, and you were glad to get back to the norm.
Brushing off your knees, you stood and held out a hand to help him up, too.
"Was Bing with you?" you asked, tugging him to his feet.
"We were separated when staff accosted us and—"
Another glitch wracked Google's body. You immediately jumped to support him as he doubled over.
"I-I thought I fixed- fuck, I'm so sorry."
One second passed, then another, and then he forced out a blunt, "It… does not hurt."
You didn't believe him. You had seen his smoking insides, of course you didn't believe him, and you showed it on your face as clear as day.
"I can bear it," he said, like that was any better. The first words of his next sentence were swallowed by another jolt of his system—the only things to get passed it were, "Unimportant now."
You didn't want to argue with him. Whether he was going to admit that he was hurting or not, it didn't change the fact of the matter.
"When we're back to the lab, I'll get you fixed up, alright?"
You had actual equipment there, tools designed with them in mind. First, though, you needed to get out of the building, so you took a step forward and felt the strain of shouldering a metal box. Stubbornly, you ignored it and pushed through the pain right until you got to the door.
You would have hoisted Google into the hallway had he not pulled himself away from you. He positioned himself to subtly lean against the door frame.
"Leave me here," he demanded. Or, rather, he said it, like it were an idea so casual that you had no reason to disagree with it.
You huffed. "I'm not abandoning you."
"It is in your best interest. You will get out quicker. You can come back."
All three reasons made sense, but you knew what he was doing, and two could play at that game.
"No. No, I'm not going without you."
"I am damaged," Google said slowly. "I can't function correctly, and they don't want me like this. You said so yourself—they want us to be perfect. If you take me with you, I will slow you down."
For a moment, you assumed that he was mad at you. It wouldn't be the first time that Google had used your words against you, and this could have been no different. A little jab because he was in pain suited him fine—but he wasn't being spiteful. He wasn't being petty. He genuinely believed the words that he repeated again.
"I am damaged."
What could you say? None of your objections had been taken on board so far, and you were running out of time. Flashing lights and wailing alarms were a dreadful soundtrack and a dismal reminder of the situation. Getting out of this room was the first obstacle of many.
You cast one look at Google and left.
He watched you run, ducking into other labs. There was little chance Bing would be in any of the nearby rooms, and each failed search took you further and further from him.
It was cruel to hold it against you. Google had told you to leave twice. There was no reason for you to stay behind when even he was telling you to go. It was for the best, he knew that, and between Bing and himself, he knew he could withstand the warehouse better.
Still, the electrocution seemed a kindness in comparison to the ache in his chest.
His steps toward a chair were intersected by another rapid pair in the hallway. They were getting closer, but he wouldn't dare hope it was you. You were a lot of things, but you weren't an idiot.
Pushing an industrial hand cart, you smashed into the doorway and sent a chunk of plaster skidding across the floor.
"You're right," you panted, and you brought the frame to his feet. "You're not perfect, Google. Glitching like that doesn't help you clean dishes or mop floors or whatever other chores you were originally designed for. Technically, you are damaged."
He could still feel the sharp spikes of rabid electricity in his hand. At best, he was damaged. At worst, he was dangerous. And yet you held out your own fingers close to his, and he took your hand as if nothing were wrong.
You squeezed tighter as you continued, "But things change. You're a person, whether you like it or not. Back when I showed you those movies, when you learned to speak, when you started deafening yourself so you wouldn't have to listen to me. That's human, baby!"
Laughter danced with the warning sirens.
"Lucky for you, humans don't have to be perfect. You can be damaged all you want. I'll try to help you feel better, but you're not worth any less either way."
"My material value is greatly diminished by my damage."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
With your free hand, you slapped the metal dolly and winced because you slapped a metal dolly.
Despite your wince, you grinned. "Now, hop up. We've got places to be."
Now, Google maintained that you weren't an idiot. You were reckless and bull-headed and impulsive and all manner of idiotic things, but, unfortunately for him, he loved you. Right now, getting strapped to a dolly was the price he had to pay to love you.
Bing's sneakers pounded over linoleum. He raced through one hallway, took the first left turn, and then threw himself down the next. He had been lost for the last thirty minutes as he tried to figure out both where he was going and where he should have been going. Both questions were clouded by his panic over losing you and Google. The only thing his mind could still process was running, and so he did.
Right into a familiar face.
But it was neither of the ones he wanted to see.
He assumed this was Eliza Tucker, the Alphabet employee everyone was calling out for when they spotted him. There was supposed to be someone else from Microsoft with her, but he had apparently gone MIA, leaving only her and whoever she was trying to call on her phone.
Bing slapped it out of her hand before she could open her mouth. An apology slipped beneath his tongue, but he didn't have the time for manners.
And, frankly, she deserved it.
"Look, I don't want any trouble," he said in as calm a voice as he could muster.
She glared back but didn't move for the discarded device. Instead, she spat, "You've already caused enough."
"Yeah, yeah, I know we have. So why not just let us go?"
"Too much effort and money has been sunk into this project for us to just let you go. Do you have an idea what this will do to the industry? Things like androids could revolutionize everything, and you want to throw it away, for what?"
He didn't give a damn about 'the industry'. Intangible stuff like that simply wasn't on his radar, and the corporations could collapse spectacularly for all he cared.
Tucker seemed to realize that she wasn't getting through to him, saying, "You're just a robot, I don't need to argue with you."
"You don't," he acknowledged. His processors were working overtime to give him a way out of this. Humans were his specialty, but he needed something different for this. The formality from Google that he had seen but never used.
He tried to keep his accent from slipping into the explanation. "I know what I think, and you know what you think. I'm not gon- going to change your mind 'cause it doesn't matter—but- but you saw what happened with Google. If we can't feel anything because we're just robots, imagine what kind'a damage we could do if we actually wanted to."
Guilt over trying to scare her was matched by relief that she was actually listening. A flicker appeared in her eye, wariness or doubt or something beneficial that made him take the risk of crouching down for her phone.
"You get a net zero or a net negative outta this." He stretched again to his full height. "But it's your choice."
With that, he held out the device. Other choices, different ways to do this, flashed through his mind. He could have snapped it in two, he could have held it hostage, he could have broken into it, called her boss, and used a voice modulator to call of the staff completely.
He did none of those things because, if there were one thing he had learned from being with you, it was the importance of choice.
Tucker dialed a number and held the phone to her ear. She maintained eye contact with him all the while, daring him to move, but he stayed still and waited.
"Ma'am? Yeah, it's me. We've had issues with the android project."
Had Bing needed to breath, he would have passed out by now. His fans were going haywire and his instincts were begging him to run, but no. No, he had to stay so that he could go back to you and Google with good news.
"We have to terminate the contract. I-I know, I know, but- look, it's gonna be more expensive to keep going."
And there it was! The stakes falling, Bing pumped a fist into the air and pushed the phone call to the back of his mind. He had done it! He had negotiated with a human and come out with exactly what he wanted! He was going to make out with you so hard that he'd fry a circuit!
As if the universe was rewarding him for such a good deed, two figures raced past the hallway—neither you nor Google noticed him, one too distracted by steering and the other by retaining his dignity, so Bing was forced to sprint after you. Electricity thrumming in his body made it an easy objective.
He skidded around the corner, painting a curve on the floor and causing a high-pitched squeal that made you look over your shoulder. What sliver of fear your face held melted instantly.
"Babe!"
"Bing?!"
You almost crashed to the ground from the force of his tackle, but his arms wrapped around your midsection to keep you upright. He was running hot from wherever he had been before, and you couldn't help leaning into it.
When Google attempted to shift the dolly away, Bing clotheslined him by the neck and locked him in place within the hug. One of your arms snaked around each of them—you were glad for the support that stopped you from collapsing in relief.
"Are you alright?" you asked, slightly muffled by the fabric of Bing's tank.
"Yep. You?"
"Perfect."
Both of your boys were here. You weren't alone, you weren't at home, you weren't even entirely safe, but you were together. It had been less than a day spent apart, but you didn't want to spend another hour like it. The moment of reprieve that this hug offered was a paradise.
Google reached his limit after ten seconds, saying blankly, "Let go of me."
Bing unhooked his arm but the grin stretched across his mouth let you know he wasn't getting off that easily.
Exhausted, you stretched out your arms and asked, "Ready to leave?"
"Yes," was Google's immediate answer, and you didn't blame him.
Surprisingly, however, it wasn't unanimous; Bing called out a quick, "Not yet!" and held out his hands pleadingly. "I had a little chat with one of those secret service dudes, and I don't wanna brag or anything, but I think I solved our problem."
"Really? Just like that?"
"Yep."
"And no threats this time?"
His smile seemed to grow wider but no more genuine.
"Don't worry 'bout it."
A concerned frown pulled at your lips, but any questions were cut off by Tucker rounding the corner with Vince in tow. The former approached with a look of pure disdain—which could have only meant good things for everyone else—but the man from Microsoft seemed more pensive.
They stopped in front of your trio with a sigh and your full name once again. You really wished she'd stop lording that over you.
"I have just spoken to the higher-ups," she said through ground teeth, "and it has been agreed that the risks of continuing this project outweigh the benefits. As a result, pending legal confirmation, you are released from your contract with Alphabet Incorporated."
Your heart jumped to celebrate, but your mind took the reigns for a second to say, "What about Google?"
"We cannot store the android. It's too risky. It's up to you what you do with it."
"And Bing?"
At this, Vince stepped up.
"Nothing's set in stone yet, but I don't think Microsoft will be coming after you either. If the first company to commission an android pulls out after getting it, they'll probably try to shut it down before anything goes wrong for them."
He shrugged and slipped his hands into pockets.
"Plus, you know, after what happened today…"
You weren't certain what part he was referring to specifically, but you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If it convinced him not to continue the contract, you were happy. Bing wrapping his fingers around yours like someone told they were having a child hinted that he was the same, and the light buffering in Google's eyes meant he was filing the information away somewhere important.
Tucker tapped through her phone before holding it out to you. The screen showed a contract, layers upon layers of legal jargon piling up to create a Frankenstein's monster. She scrolled to the bottom, where a dotted line demanded your name, and let you take the phone.
The second that it was out of her hands, Google plucked it from yours and started the arduous task all humans hated that was reading the terms and conditions. He jerked and jolted a few times as he parsed through the information, but it was done quicker and more eagerly than you could ever hope to yourself.
He gave you a shallow nod as he handed the phone back, and you didn't hesitate to scribble your signature across the designated section. You deflated instantaneously, an untied balloon or a brick pulled from a dam. Your legs felt like jelly and your pulse was only now catching up to the resolution. Such a combination made you light-headed, but you were conscious enough to tug your boys back in for a hug.
After spending so long on giant projects, it was nice to work on something small—and you meant that literally. The smart-pet was nowhere near the size of an android, but it still housed a lot of the same components. The recognition software, processing units, and sound-bites were the same. The dog couldn't talk, of course, but you mixed in the same noises to replicate the barks of a little pup.
Bing had resisted for all of ten minutes before he was loading up his own barks. He'd used them religiously for the first two days after you entered that phase of production, but a comment from Google that he was 'all bark and no bite' made the noises less common. You were proud of him for working on idioms, but less proud of yourself for letting the barks' meanings take up space in your brain.
You shook your head roughly. Mozilla had been hounding you for a prototype pet, and you were on the brink of calling it finished. Just a little more and it would be done. Yes, it was due in an hour, but you had never been good at deadlines.
"You should make it spin before it lays down," Bing offered. He was leaning on your chair, tipping it back in his attempt to watch over your shoulder. "And give it a collar and a little patch around its eye!"
"Am I the one making robots or are you?"
"Ya didn't give me the parts to do it alone."
Google had taken three steps into the lab before saying, "Don't be cra-crass."
He made his way to your desk with a mug in hand, which he placed a generous distance from the blueprints and metal filings scattered around the surface. You offered him a smile that was returned by a small nod.
Two months had passed since the contracts were trashed—two months of stress-free time with your boys. It wasn't a major departure from your normal life, but clearing the looming threat of being separated left you on cloud nine. Everything was easier, lighter, more enjoyable.
Nobody had escaped completely free of consequences, though. On your part, you put a hard boundary between you and any robotics that neared a hint of sentience. No more androids for you, which curtailed your reputation in the industry by a wide margin. However, you were content to work on projects that didn't risk gaining sentience, although they were of less importance.
Bing was subtle. Despite being so sensitive to people's emotions, he had a hard time expressing his own, especially when they were negative. He'd offer to accompany you on grocery runs so that he could 'flex his muscles to an adoring crowd', and jokes about the coffee machine being a bad companion were thrown over a desperate fear of being alone.
So, when the local kids complained about their school not taking skateboarding seriously, you jumped at the opportunity. A few emails with the PTA later, Bing was the proud coach of a middle-school skateboarding team. He taught them tips and tricks and terrifying moves that scared you and every parent who watched from the sidelines, but heart-palpitations were worth it to see the 4'2" line of high-fives when the clock struck seven.
Google's hold-over was a lot more obvious. No matter how hard you tried, the glitches were here to stay. He continuously reminded you that they didn't hurt and were more of an annoyance on his part, like a pop-up he had to keep closing, but there were some days when the guilt got the best of you. The very instance regret passed over your face, he was grabbing you and setting traps for you to fall into.
"Do you think I am damaged?" he would ask.
"No!" you would say.
"Do you think it was a poor price to pay for freedom?"
"No."
"Do you think I am worth anything less than before?"
"No…"
And then he would look at you, and you would look at him, and he would smile smugly, and you would groan, and neither of you believed anything he said but he made sure you didn't think badly about yourself for it.
On every other day, it was just something he had to live with. It warranted a few more check-ups and repeated sentences, but he was right when he said it was a good exchange for getting them back safe and sound.
Hands digging beneath your arms brought you out of your memories. Bing hoisted you to your feet while Google packed the smart-pet into a cushioned case. The container snapped shut after he added the instructions, and he carried it behind Bing, who was, in turn, carrying you like a cat.
You huffed. You should have made them weaker.
When the lab door was shut behind you, Google placed the package by the front door carefully. He was always so mindful of your work despite his cold exterior, or maybe he just wanted the cutesy thing out of the house.
Meanwhile, you were thrown unceremoniously onto the couch. Any thoughts towards complaining were redirected when Bing crashed down beside you, took your face in his hands, and pulled your mouth to his. The kiss was short and sweet, almost something you would see from Buggs Bunny, but he only separated so quickly to stare at your surprised face. Sneak attacks like this were common, and you were half-sure he was so fond of them because he liked seeing you flustered.
You shifted to the center of the couch, giving Google space to sit down when he entered the living room. How the legs were supporting all three of you was beyond you, but you could address that when they actually broke. For now, you were happy to listen to the androids debate what movie to watch. In one corner was Die Hard—which would undoubtedly spur another argument as to whether it was a Christmas film or not—with Titanic in the other, because Google had developed an affinity for critiquing the weird social rules and acting.
You were secretly vying for a new hematophobic horror movie that had recently come out, but you could save that for later in the night. Bing's arm around your shoulders and Google's hand slipped in yours made you think that you had all the time in the world.
And, this time, you actually did.
[WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I SWEAR I AM DONE WITH THIS SERIES NOW, YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME, PLEASE! In all seriousness though, I am pretty sure that this wraps up what was originally just a two-parter. This fic is also somewhat of a response to the request for a Google hurt/comfort thing, so I hope this satisfies you, dear anon! This also goes out to the person who commented on the last chapter asking for more, as well as everyone who has ever read or liked or reblogged this series. Thank you all so much, and I hope you've enjoyed!
also did you guys know what Google is owned by a thing called Alphabet Inc? Because I didn't]
I would not recommend fighting a home care android on sleep.
Googliplier x GN!Reader, TW: none
Words: 587
“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.
━Notes: I have delted this over five times on accident. If there's any typos- too bad so sad I'm never revisiting this. It took so long ;-;
━Song: "Why Am I Anxious" By Tom Cardy
"You know I have the power to fire you right."
Giggles filled with pure mirth came from (Y/n) as they tried not to double over, staring at their unamused boss, whom, was covered head to toe in sticky notes.
Their record for how many post-it notes they could place on one person had been 18. Had been.
Now it was a whopping 23.
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.
"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.
All my stuff in gender neutral, unless explicitly stated otherwise! All Markip**er egos. Updated: 27/02-2024
^^ = Lime
*** = Lemon
Strike through means I do not recommend reading that fic, but it’s still there
Characters: Actor, Darkiplier, Damien, Engineer, E-plier, Eric Derekson, Googleplier, Heehoo, The Host, Illinois, Murdock (Murderplier/Killer Mark) Porniplier, Wilford Warfstache, Yancy, Yandere. (And some extra Antisepticeye)
Normal fic count: 77
Kinktober 2022/23, fic count: 23
All my fics
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: 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) ***
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
Prompt: Reader being tired of being a bottom with “Touch yourself for me.”/“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” ***
The doorbell rang throughout the house, signaling the long-awaited arrival of the postman. It had been a couple weeks since (Y/n) had gotten early access to the new Google IRL. Finally, the day had come to test it out. Running down the stairs, she quickly opened up the door and saw the.. surprisingly small package with the Google insignia on it. She picked it up, and brought it into the house.
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.
