He Slipped

Bait [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Bait [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You're taken as bait, but will Geto even bother? Companion piece to Fever Pitch and Bus Stop.

Word count: 3100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader (er, twice?); violence against reader; some non-graphic blood and violence 

There is a thin line separating your world at all times. It might be white or gold or every color under the sun, but it doesn’t matter, because you are the only one who can see it. The only one who knows what categories fall on either side of this decisive line. 

On one side, there is something like comfort to be found. Something like acceptance. It is the world where you sit quietly when Geto tells you to be with him; the world where your heart flutters when he asks you to comb through his hair, or undress him for the day, or bring him his meal. A world where you are his good pet, and that is enough.

But on the other side, there is only one singular certainty:

He will get bored of you.

He will no longer find your compliance endearing. He will kill you, or discard you on the streets, and you’re not sure which is worse.

You’ve never been able to decide how much of his behavior towards you is actually endearment, and how much is a vague interest in the novelty of your compliance. Maybe it’s pointless to decide, because that thought always comes in cold and creeping: you’ll be gone, in a flash, like a wayward candle left on in the night. Dead or alive but without him, and isn’t that just about the same thing?

That thought slithers its way around you even in some of your best moments. When he pats the cushion behind him--a cushion, instead of the bare floor--and instructs you to comb out his hair for the evening. When the water is warm and your bodies are wet and close, and afterwards, you smell almost the same. At least for the night.

He’ll get bored of you, that reality hisses, and that will be that. Not even the twins could save you, if they were so inclined. You’re not sure if they would be, if it came down to Geto wanting to be rid of you. Sometimes, they are warm--sitting with you, reading with you, tending to you. Asking for your opinion like you are, perhaps, a person after all. At other times, they keep to themselves; watch you with something that might be wariness.

Nanako and Mimiko are the reason you are here, under his thumb, at his feet. They saw you and wanted you--like a mother, you think, when you’re feeling sentimental--and they got what they wanted. Geto told you this, once, your knees banging against the floor from where he dropped you like a bad dog. 

And you don’t think he’s lying. Even here, now, in the sitting room with the girls, they seem to still like you overall. 

Still.

If Geto wanted you to go away, you would.

And it’s this sole thought that pushes past the primal surge of adrenaline that comes when a rough bag is suddenly, crudely shoved down over your head.

He’s getting rid of me.

Over your heartbeat, though, you hear sounds that don’t match up with those bitter thoughts that whispered at your back for ages.

It’s not Geto in the room; not Geto who put a bag over your head.

The girls are shouting something--a yelp of surprise?--and there are too many strange voices, too many conflicting sounds. Someone’s fumbling with your arms, and you can feel the scratch of rope, but something about that awful yelp from one of the girls gives you the strength to shove them aside, to rip the bag off your head.

Strangers. There are strangers in the room. Strange men wearing black face masks, with their arms on the girls, rough and cruel. They’re carrying rope, too--to tie them up? To take them? To hurt them?

No. No.

You don’t have a plan. You don’t have the time or ability to think of one. Your body simply launches itself at the men, who aren’t expecting it, who trip and stumble when  you throw your entire body weight against them to get them away from the girls.

“Run!” Your voice sounds foreign to your ears.

And the girls--oh, it makes your heart feel fuzzy--hesitate to leave you. But then they grip each other’s hands and run away. The sight makes your heart soar, for a moment. 

They’re safe. They’ll get to Geto, and be safe.

And you--

You grunt against a stinking cloth shoved over your mouth and nose, and inhale a sharp, pungent scent that makes you gag. You blink against the coming grayness as you fall to your knees. Unconsciousness doesn’t come swiftly, and there’s an uncomfortable dizziness as your hands are tied behind your back, and someone hoists you roughly over their shoulder.

You can just make out what one of them says before you pass out--

“Fuck, I don’t know. Just--just grab her instead. He must like her, to let her around those kids.”

--

The sensation when the world gradually returns to you is a familiar one: you’ve been tied up. But instead of soft silks tightly pinning you to the bed, or winding around your body only to be hidden by your layers of clothing, it’s rough rope that keeps you bound to a cold metal chair.

The room that you’re in, when your eyesight returns with a blurry fog, is not Geto’s comfortable apartments but a bare room with concrete walls. The only decorations are--the realization comes with a dull acceptance--bloodstains against the wall, on the floor.

Ah.

This is where you die.

A sound--muffled, still, but a jarring screen all the same--makes you jerk your head. It’s another metal chair. But the person sitting in this one isn’t tied up--it’s a man, wearing a gray suit and puffing a cigarette that glows in the dimly lit space.

“Wakey, wakey.” 

He blows a puff of gray cigarette smoke into your face, and you cough, throat acidic and burning. 

It takes you some time to realize that it’s certainly one of the men who took you, who wanted to take--and maybe there is some justice in the world, because it seems they got away--the girls. There’s a bandage on his face and a vague memory comes back to you; your own hand reaching across his face, clawing at him with your carefully trimmed nails. 

There are other men behind him, quiet, watching the two of you with their hands folded. There are probably countless of these men, waiting for orders, in the rest of the building. 

“You hear me yet? Or are you still all fucked up?” His eyes narrow; his voice is gruff, no-nonsense. There’s some grit behind it. You wonder how much of his gruffness is because their plans were thwarted, and how much is because you managed to get a good dig into his flesh. Maybe both. 

Your lips part, and you feel a film of stickiness keeping your mouth together peeling as you lick the inside to give yourself some sort of moisture. Your voice comes out hoarse and dry, despite your efforts.

“I… can hear you.” 

Your hands flex from their bound position behind your back, pressed harshly against the chair. There’s no way to get out of this, not on your own. And you are on your own, because Geto would not bother getting you from here. 

You can imagine what happened as clearly as anything, despite the lingering effects of whatever drug they used on you.

The girls would run immediately to Geto, and tell him what happened. He would look them over to make sure they weren’t hurt. He would ask who attacked them, how many, what they looked like, and if they could remember any other identifiers. Then he would probably think back to who might have done this… someone with a grudge? Some enemy he’s made? 

It would only be then that he would realize the girls said you had been taken, and he would sigh. Perhaps he'd be annoyed that he lost his pet, but that would be the end of that. It would be too much of a hassle to get you, too much of a bother. He’d need a plan and perhaps men to back him up and heaven knows you weren’t worth…

Your head snaps to the side, pain blossoming on your cheek, as the gruff voice huffs out from above you.

He slapped you.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

You’re not trying to be distracted. Really. It would be better to stay focused, since you’re going to die here. Maybe you can think about your life from before all this, that would surely be a more pleasant ending than spending your last moments dwelling on Geto leaving you here.

“Sorry,” you say, out of reflex, more than anything.

The man sighs and runs a scarred hand over his hair. He takes another puff of his cigarette. 

“I said, you’re our bait for that greedy sorcerer. Once he shows up, we’ll do this on our terms, and our boss’ll get his curse removed in exchange for keeping your pretty little head intact.”

You don’t mean to do it, you swear you don’t. The reaction comes from deep inside you, from that part of you that’s been stepping over the line where you know that you’ll eventually be discarded by the man who took over your life.

Your lips quirk. And then, from your stomach, into your chest, it happens: you laugh. A harsh, almost braying sound that bounces off the bloodied concrete walls. 

The man’s face contorts, and perhaps he might hit you again, but there’s something freeing in this moment that makes you not care. What’s another slap to the face, when your blood will spray the flat end of those walls before the night is over? Whenever they realize that Geto won’t be coming for you, that you’re the worst bait they could have possibly chosen.

That you’re simply a pet that’s more trouble than you’re worth. 

The feeble jerk your body makes when he screeches his chair back and gets in your face, hot cigarette dangling from his lips, is reflexive. You’re not scared of him, or what he might do--you’ve faced far worse.

Spittle hits your sore cheek when he growls out--

“What the fuck is so funny?” 

You don’t tell him--

What’s so fucking funny is that they think Geto will actually come for you. That he’ll deign to respond to their blackmail, the heavy presumption of it all, just to rescue you.

A trinket. A pet. A toy.

You smile, and wait to die.

--

Surprises are not something Geto particularly enjoys, unless they end up working to his advantage. And there is a keen sense, as he picks up the sudden sounds of scuffles and running feet and shouts, that this is not going to be a surprise he welcomes.

Something in him turns dull and heavy when he sees the girls running down the hall, hair askew, missing the smiles they often sport around him--instead, their faces are etched in worry, fear, and a terrible sort of uncertainty that he hasn’t seen in them in years.

Everything connects together like an unwanted puzzle. The sounds of a scuffle. The girls with their gasping breaths, their flailing limbs, words that tumble out together like spilled marbles--

“They took her.”

Her.

You.

You, whom he expected to find sitting quietly, sweetly, with Nanako and Mimiko when he returned to you in an hour or two. Yet everything was wrong. Topsy-turvy. There would be no quiet evening where you looked up at him with ridiculous doe eyes, hoping to please him, eager to do whatever he told you.

There would be no warm satisfaction in his gut at the sight, no pleasant tingling in his skin as he bade you to do as he pleased. 

Instead, he would be spending his time retrieving you, and what if–the thought comes, and it’s disturbing how much the thought seems to weigh him down. What if you’re already dead? Disposed of, a corpse? 

No. He shakes his head. They wanted you as bait, clearly; or rather, wanted the girls. Pride puffs in him that you protected them, at least. A small lightness in a sea of grey. 

Still–you were gone, and uncertainty weighed heavy in the air as he weighed the best options for retrieving you. 

It was an unpleasant surprise, after all.

They--whoever they were, it did not matter. Perhaps the girls already told him, but their identity wasn’t important. Not only because Geto didn’t have the slightest care over who they were, but because they would be dead in a matter of hours, if not sooner.

No one disrespects him like this and lives. 

The thought of their filthy monkey hands dirtying you, a pet he had risen up from the lowest of the low into something more palatable and pleasant, made acrid bile climb into his throat.

Oh, you were beneath him, of course. There was no doubting that. But the stench of these stranger’s mediocrity and ape-like helplessness would coat you like dust, undoing so much of his hard work. 

Geto collects only the finest things and oh, it had taken time, but you now counted among them. 

He doesn’t need a plan. Why would he, to counteract a foolish kidnapping perpetuated by some half-baked mafia gang? They stood no chance against him. Even without his curses. He’s not sure he’d even release curses against these monkeys; it would be a waste of time and talent. 

All he does is nod to the girls, who have curled up on his sofa, holding each other tight.

“I’ll be back.”

At this, they smile, and he can see their breaths coming easier, their shoulders relaxing down. 

He doesn’t even need to tell them that he won’t be coming back alone. 

It is, as with so many things, a certainty. 

--

The lingering pain after they left you alone was not too awful. Yes, your lip was bleeding--the man wore metal rings--and your neck was sure to bruise, if you were left alive long enough for the skin to get all mottled. 

But you had expected the pain, and that made it easier to manage while you waited for them to return. They would probably kill you now. A gun to the head, you think. They wouldn’t want to waste time with messier and slower implements, unless they were that angry about their “bait” plan failing.

You had expected the pain, and now you expect the door to open, for those no-nonsense guards to come through and simply pull out a gun and that would be that. Would there be pain? For a moment, maybe, but hopefully not more. 

You don’t expect what actually happens.

Shouts--that quickly turn to screams. 

Clanging of metal, the sound of something being struck and sliced. 

Thumping, an awful, dull sound; like a carcass at the butchershop being let off its chain.

And then that door in front of you creaking open to reveal the last person in the world you ever expected to see in the doorway.

Geto.

Geto, with blood sprayed on his face, gore clotting on his clothes.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t believe it until he’s behind you, the familiar warmth of his body turned upside down with the new stench of metallic blood, mingled the scent of your own sweat, the lingering puffs of cigarette smoke.

It’s not until he’s made you stand up, that he’s right in front of you, tilting your chin up to look at him that the realization comes.

He came for you.

He killed for you.

It’s too much--it’s too much to realize the reality beyond that line was bullshit the entire time. It’s too much to realize that you were, perhaps, worth something after all. Too much to see Geto covered in blood and wonder, briefly, if he had been hurt in the process of your rescue.

It’s too much, all of it, and you black out.

From adrenaline, from injuries, or perhaps from sheer disbelief.

--

When you wake up, you are sitting on the floor of Geto’s spacious bathroom. Disorientation keeps you on the floor for too long, because then there are hands--Geto’s--on you, pulling you to unsteady feet.

Despite the swaying of your body, there is something grounding about all this. You, and Geto, in this familiar space. 

Geto stands in front of you, face impassive, still covered in specks of blood. The reek of his blood covered clothing is stronger in this space, an invasion of stinking metal.

“Strip,” he tells you. Your body obeys before your mind registers the command fully, hands trembling as you peel off clothing stuck to you by sweat and a bit of blood. Most of it wasn’t yours.

He tsks at your naked form, and shame creeps down your collarbone--stopping cold when he opens his mouth again. 

“Remove my clothing.” Another order, obeyed just as quickly, but perhaps with more brightness than you thought possible. If he still wants you to do this, it means he doesn’t find you too disgusting, does he? He can’t, if he’s allowing you to touch him like this. 

He doesn’t give the clothing a second glance--he’ll probably burn it, and yours too--as he steps toward the tub. 

The bath has already been prepared, though without the usual luxuries Geto asks you to slip in for him; lotions and salts, dried flowers and oils. 

Still, it is a comfort when Geto steps into the tub. It is all familiar to you, expected--welcomed, even. The way the water sloshes as Geto steps inside, the warm heat of the water rising to greet you as he beckons you closer. The firm, damp grip of his hand as he steadies you, lest you slip and annoy him.

"Wash this filthy monkey blood off me," he says, when you’ve settled in, his voice soft and clipped.

 Is he angry with you, you wonder, or the people he’s killed? Would he think on this later, and decide that it was far too troublesome to go after you in the end? Maybe the next time you were a target, he wouldn’t save you after all. He’d leave you to die and mutter that once was quite enough. He--

“Well?”

“Sorry,” you murmur, not a reflex this time but a genuine apology.  You were making him wait. That wouldn’t do.

So you take up the cloth and gently wipe at his face and body, where those flecks of blood have sprayed onto him like troublesome paint. You go slow, soft, just like he’s taught you to do. 

It’s the softness of the moment that pushes the words from your mouth. If he had not brought you here, if you two were not together in the warm, naked intimacy of the water, you might never have dared to ask.

“Why did you save me?”

You don’t even stop wiping at his skin, dipping the cloth into the water and watching it run red. Not until he grips your wrists with his wet fingers, making you drop the cloth. 

He pulls your hands closer to his mouth and presses a kiss to your damp skin. Soft. Gentle. A streak of blood near his mouth catches on your skin.

“I merely took back what is mine.” His eyes roam over you; you, the pet he owns, the pet he’s created.  How cold his words are. Strict, no-nonsense. What you’ve come to expect from him.

And yet, and yet--

He presses his lips to your knuckles again, and inhales the scent of you, all traces of cigarette smoke  on your hands washed away with the bathwater. 

modern dating is embarrassing i want to meet someone the old fashioned way (he’s the local hot priest who will question god because of me)

how scaramouche met you (au)

he was rushing to work, and you were finding people to hand your flyers to. you couldn't make a living without promoting the company you worked for, you see.

running past traffic lights, you managed to catch up with scaramouche, with him yelling at you to fuck off.

"are you interested in a debit card from our company? we have free gifts!" you said.

you noticed a street sign because you worked here 6 hours a day. you basically knew where ALL the roads led to. Since you were in front of him, you dodged it skillfully. him on the other hand, was checking his GPS.

"Girl, there's a street sig-" you started.

BONK!!!!!!!!!!!!

his hands were cupping his sore forehead.

"um, would you like to register for our weekly magaz-"

"call me an ambulance... i'll sign up for your weekly magazines if you do..." scaramouche gave in.

"hello there, mr. ambulance."

"HAVE YOU NEVER LEARNT A THING IN ENGLISH CLASS?!?!"

hahaha funny i wrote this in like june and when i look back at it it's so funny.... masterlist here!

giddy up!!

ac: aransmind

VENTI LMAO

Hi! Can I request a childe x reader streamer au scenario where reader comes home late after work and joins childe in his stream? It would also be funny to see the chat’s reaction 😂

Childe x GN! reader | No worries !! Thanks for requesting , I found this super cute AAAAAAAHHHH

“Fuck it I died again. Oh wait -- I’m not supposed to swear, aren’t I? Anyway... Yo! Yo! Yo! Yo! ” 

Childe has lost again. For the fifth time this evening. The room was dark, and the silver light showed only his restless face, aroused in zeal. Pale cornflower hues move to the comment box. 

[Scara666] ... This sucks so bad. I almost threw my phone.

[i<3liyue] ... maybe you should update your h6 gun

[Windywhisper] ... Can you make a separate video on only how to use the power blast without leveling up?

[kaeyaSuperStrong] ... every fucking time i tried to play that game, my screen turns frozen help-

[Diluc_] ... @kaeyaSuperStrong; that’s because you bought your computer from the marketplace and you don’t have enough storage.

“This asshole literally blocked me. Move! Move! Move!” Childe groans, his hands stopping in the air. A hiss came, and then he whined. He would’ve cried right then. 

“Guys, I can’t -- like I can’t keep doing this. Every fucking round, my flag team keeps on getting captured..!” 

[Scara666] ... I‘m glad they’re destroying the shit out of you.

Childe straightens over his seat. “Didn’t I block you already, Scaramouche?”

[Scara666] ... I have other accounts you know.

“Well I’m blocking you again.” 

[Scara666] ... Let me just ask you a question.

The male felt as though his eyes could be trapped in the back of his head forever. “What? What is it?”

[Scara666] ... How does it feel when you’re over there enjoying yourself by playing the game you banned me in? That you, yourself, reported my ass just so you could rub it in my face that you’re just as bad as a kitchen sink.

“That’s it. I’m blocking you,” he then moves the mouse to the three dots and clicked block. His posture loosens and without Scaramouche, his chest becomes suddenly light and he could now focus on the game.

[Scara667] ... joins live

Childe jumps on his seat, this time, his eyes wild. “Just leave me alone!” he clicks block again. For a moment, it was peaceful. He went back to his game after a few minutes, encountering no problems becoming relaxed in the quiet air.

[Scara668] ... joins live

“Stop it, Scaramouche! I’m sorry for banning you, alright? Just leave!”

[Scara668] ... Try as you might, but you’ll never get rid of me.

[kaeyaSuperStrong] ... My keyboard is broken

[Windywhispers] ... I said can you make a separate video only on how to use the power blast without leveling up? You literally just avoided me awhile ago...

[$Zhongli$] ... Childe, will you send me the money so I could finally obtain the death sword?

Childe pays the comments no heed, he averts his gaze to the screen, attempting to make it through the next round without faults. He was close. Just barely actually. But still close. “--What are you doing?” came a voice from behind. 

The male leaps from his chair, tearing away his headphones in a meteorotic way. “So this is the game you’ve been playing all night?” you said. You step towards the screen, swerving away from Childe to see a glimpse of it, a glow fascination appears on your face. He pushes you to a distance and your brows knot.

“Let me see,” you pout and he averts his gaze. “No way,” he tells you bluntly. “Also, you’re home late. You better have a better excuse.”

“Are you filming a video?” you peek behind him. “What? No, wait --”

[kaeyaSuperStrong] ... real eyes realize real lies bro

[Scara668] ... Such a surprise for me. Who would have guess that anyone could withstand the sight of you? Is that your lover?

[Windywhispers] ... @i<3liyue; will you tell me how to do a powerblast?

[i<3liyue] ... @.Windywhispers; you have to level up

“Oooooh! Are you doing those youtube videos where a person sits on a chair and play games? That’s super cool! Hey Everybody!!”

“No!” Childe shouts, patches of red covers his cheeks, pulling you away from his computer. You laugh, shaking your head. “Aha, so mean,” your chuckles echo as you walk to the bathroom. From the moment the door shuts, Childe takes his mouse and ends the stream.

hey. don’t cry. crush four cloves of garlic into a pot with a dollop of olive oil and stir until golden then add one can of crushed tomatoes a bit of balsamic vinegar half a tablespoon of brown sugar and stir for a few minutes adding a handful of fresh spinach until wilted and mix in half a cup of grated parmesan cheese and pasta of your choice ok?

The fact that i take a nap randomly make this funny

can i pls request zhongli, kaeya, childe and diluc with a s/o who can fall asleep anywhere at anytime? thank u in advance !!!

im like 75% done with requests *breakdances* hope u enjoyed this anon (o˘◡˘o)

zhongli

no matter how often you randomly fall asleep with zhongli, he panics and thinks something is wrong

with him being the consultant for the funeral parlor in liyue, zhongli was always at meetings with clients and you usually tagged along

they were such boring meetings dealing with finances and logistics that it was easy for you to fall asleep during them

Your eyes fluttered shut within minutes of sitting down at a table in the Liyue Pavilion. The minute Zhongli opened his mouth about costs, your head tipped back and you were asleep. When your came to an hour later, Zhongli was peering at you with a concerned expression. A warm cup of tea was in front of you and you yawned dramatically. "What?" You asked Zhongli, raising an eyebrow at his look. "Are you alright? Did you faint?" He asks immediately. You roll your eyes. "We've talked about this," You say, "I love you, but you're so boring you put me to sleep."

kaeya

the one thing you and kaeya had in common was that you were both slackers from your jobs

kaeya liked to sneaked away to his office to write you love letters or steal klee and create chaos with her while you preferred to go to your office of your own job and sleep

you didn't even have to be tired but if you were given the chance to be alone in a quiet place, you were asleep

"Earth to Y/N...Y/N?"

A soft voice brought you back to your senses. Your eyes groggily opened and you lifted your head off your desk, your unruly hair falling into your eyes. When your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed Kaeya was standing in front of you.

"Good morning," He beamed. You yawned and sat up fully, checking the time and seeing that it was almost noon. And since Kaeya had come to visit you at your job, you knew he was slacking off too.

"Can't I sleep for a few more minutes?" You smirked, opening your arms so Kaeya would envelope you in an awkward but comforting hug.

Kaeya pressed a kiss to your forehead, "I'll be the look-out for your boss."

And within minutes, you were asleep again.

childe

for the longest time, childe thought you had narcolepsy

your weird talent to fall asleep anywhere at anytime was shocking to him, especially since you managed to fall asleep at the worst times

like, for example, when you were supposed to be keeping watch of a hilichurl camp and had fallen asleep abruptly and nearly got your ass kicked if childe wasn't nearby

"You should see a doctor," Childe said for the tenth time, "It's not normal."

You only laughed at him, "I'm not just falling asleep whenever, Childe. I can just fall asleep whenever. Get it?"

He looked at you like you were crazy and ran a hand through his hair, "Whatever, whatever. Just promise me you won't take naps when you need to be patrolling, okay?"

You held up your hands in self defense, "You got it. I'll take a power nap when you take me out for dinner tonight instead."

diluc

similarly to zhongli, he was always surprised when you decided to take a random nap somewhere

you had trained your body to fall asleep anywhere at anytime since you were a little kid and you even considered it a talent nowadays

being able to fall asleep whenever you wanted got you out of a lot of duties and the more diluc got to know you, the more he picked up on your tricks

With the Ludi Harpastrum festival around the corner, you and Diluc were tasked with decorating the tavern and its surrounding courtyard. Except you really weren't in the mood to stand on a ladder for hours that day so when Diluc slipped inside the bar to grab something, you closed your eyes.

When he came back out and saw you asleep, Diluc clicked his tongue. He didn't want to wake you up but he knew you had only fallen asleep to get out of decorating. Upon spotting Diona sauntering around the town, Diluc left the girl with a very important task.

He decorated with Charles while Diona circled your sleeping body with rolls of streamers and stickers. When you finally woke up again, you started to plan a fake-apology for Diluc for your sudden slumber but when you looked down to see your body completely covered in party supplies, you knew you two were even.

I'm not the only that thinks that Childe was trained by one of these two or even both, right?

acheron

Always be prepared in your life