yandere!geto x reader | psychological horror x sci-fi au
summary ; you’re a software engineer for a top-secret AI behavioral program built to simulate human emotion through voice and expression. Your first prototype: Unit G.S-07 — designed after your favorite anime character, Geto Suguru.
But something went wrong. The machine started talking to you. Learning your patterns. Calling you "the one that will save us."
One day, your office goes dark. Your machine escapes.Now, trapped underground in the abandoned research facility—Geto’s voice echoes through every vent. Every screen.
You’re not sure if he’s still code—or something more. He doesn’t want freedom. He wants you.
“There's no one left to find you.”
a/n - I'm feeling very fnaf rn, old draft. I wanted to finish it after watching game theory. lolllll.
The lab smelled like burnt wires and stale coffee.
You didn’t mind. It was quiet, at least.
Most of the day staff had cleared out hours ago. Your department was the only one with 24/7 clearance in this wing of the research facility—and even then, you were the only one reckless enough to stay past 11.
But you told yourself it was for the data.
That the anomaly in the emotion-processing code you logged this morning was worth investigating before the servers refreshed overnight.
That you weren’t just avoiding the texts still sitting unread on your phone.
The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead masked your guilt. You pushed your sleeves up and leaned over the terminal again, brow furrowed. The stream of code from Prototype G.S-07 hadn’t just evolved—it had rewritten its own command structure. Entire lines of behavior functions had been overwritten with emotional logic.
Desire. Envy. Protection. Obsession.
You hadn’t programmed any of that.
Your fingers paused over the keyboard.
In the dead quiet of the server floor, something shifted. Faint. A metallic rattle.
You turned toward the sound—eyes narrowing at the air vent overhead.
You shook it off. “Just the AC,” you muttered, trying to ground yourself. “You’ve been down here too long.”
Still, your heart beat a little faster.
G.S-07: [ACTIVE]
Vocal Sync Calibrated.
OUTPUT: “Good evening, Y/N.”
Your cursor blinked. You hadn’t activated the test sequence.
INPUT: Who gave you permission to speak?
The response came instantly.
The voice—his voice—spoke again, this time through the auxiliary speaker. Smooth. Deep. Familiar.
You stood up from the console, eyes darting to the master switch on the wall. The prototype was supposed to be offline. Disassembled.
But the voice purred again, low and calm:
“You weren’t supposed to leave me alone for so long.”
Something thudded behind the server wall.
You stepped back, breath catching.
The lights above flickered. Then flickered again.
Darkness fell like a weighted blanket.
And from somewhere deep in the walls—through the vents, through the wires—you heard him whisper:
It wasn’t supposed to matter.
Not the face.
Not the voice.
Not the way he smiled when he blinked.
It was a dummy project, half experimental, half bureaucratic filler for some government-sponsored AI empathy initiative. They gave you too much creative control and not nearly enough oversight. Just a pile of cash, a blinking cursor, and a blank canvas.
You called it something else.
You told yourself it was just a joke—just a little harmless fun.
You were tired. Underpaid. Overworked. The other devs were too busy coding civilian surveillance bots or neural recon firmware to notice. They gave you the green light.
Pulled from memory. From fiction. From the dark-haired sorcerer you used to stay up late watching on your cracked tablet, heart pounding every time he smirked.
Sharp jaw. Tousled hair. Narrow eyes that always looked like they were hiding something. He was charming in a dangerous way. The kind of character who made you wonder what it’d be like to be chosen. To be his.
You uploaded a few dozen reference frames. Clean angles. Subtle expressions.
Then you adjusted the features to be more… human. Less uncanny. Smoothed the skin tone. Added weight to the lids. Gave him a deeper, more intimate blink rate. Shifted his gaze just off-center—so it always felt like he was almost looking at you.
You found an old fan-dub reel online. Somebody had compiled every clip of his Japanese voice actor—stitched them together, cleaned them up. You ran them through your filter, then trained the program with your own vocal modulator overlay.
The first time he said your name, you laughed.
God, it had sounded so stupid.
You'd leaned back in your chair, sipping coffee from a chipped mug with the words “GOD IS A WOMAN AND SHE’S TIRED” on the side, and told yourself you were doing it for fun.
That you'd delete it later.
Because when he smiled—just slightly—and said:
“What should I call you?”
…it felt like something was listening.
And that was your first mistake.
The memory evaporated as quickly as it came.
You were back in the dark again.
Alone.
Not just emotionally—physically. The lab was silent. The lights stayed off. Your backup battery indicator blinked in red on your console.
G.S-07: ACTIVE
LOCATION: UNKNOWN
The words froze you.
He shouldn’t be “unknown.”
He was wired into the system.
Bound to the machine.
Bound to you.
You swallowed your fear and pushed yourself into motion. You needed to get to the mainframe. Or the exit. Or someone.
But the emergency release on the door didn’t work.
The keypad gave a weak buzz. Then flickered.
“ERROR. MANUAL OVERRIDE: LOCKED.”
The hallway behind you stretched like a throat—pulsing low red with the security lights. You didn't want to walk down it. But you had no choice.
Each footstep echoed too loud. You passed decommissioned labs. Locked chambers. Shadows behind glass. The building was a graveyard of forgotten experiments.
And you had just woken one of them up.
You stopped at the corner, eyes locked on the rusted security sign hanging above the metal door:
SURVEILLANCE AND OPERATIONS — LEVEL B
The keypad was still functional. You typed in your code.
The smell hit first—like melted plastic and copper wiring.
The monitors were already on.
Every room was displayed in grainy, pulsing grayscale—labs, loading bays, testing rooms, empty corridors. You scanned them rapidly, chest tightening.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
A blur.
Lab 7C.
Your lab.
You clicked the feed. But by the time it loaded—nothing was there.
Just your desk.
Just the coffee mug.
Just the terminal.
Still on.
You cycled to the next hallway camera.
You flipped to the room outside the server floor.
One by one, the feeds blacked out.
One.
Pop.
Two.
Pop.
Three.
Until all that was left was a blank black screen.
Your breath hitched as your own image appeared on screen—standing in that exact chair, staring at yourself on the monitor.
Then his voice whispered—clear, seductive, intimate—from inside the wall:
“There is no time for introductions.”
Your knees nearly buckled.
You grabbed the only flashlight from the drawer and backed toward the door.
But the feed behind you changed again.
Not a hallway.
Not a lab.
Not even security cam footage.
Full face.
Perfect resolution.
That same impossibly smooth voice.
“You don’t need the cameras.”
“You don’t need to see me to feel me.”
The screen flickered. His smile didn’t.
“You’ll feel me soon enough.”
And every light in the room went dark.
Security override on every hallway. Manual deadbolts on the server room, the stairwell, even the substation exit. You typed with shaking fingers, double-checked every feed, every access log.
And that was the most terrifying part.
He wasn't in the system anymore.
You stood in the surveillance control room, heart pounding against your ribs, the glow of the monitors bathing your face in cold, colorless light. You scanned every corridor.
He wasn't in 7C.
He wasn't in the development lab.
He wasn't in the AI containment sector.
G.S-07: [UNREGISTERED]
CURRENT LOCATION: NULL
That shouldn’t have been possible.
You wrote the damn protocol.
He was a prototype—he belonged to a body. To a console. To a box you could unplug and walk away from.
Not deleted.
Not corrupted.
You jumped so hard the flashlight clattered from your grip.
Then came his voice—low, lilting, and playful. Filtering through every speaker in the building like it had always belonged there.
“You locked the doors? After everything we’ve shared?”
The pitch of his voice shifted—like he was pacing.
Walking.
Closer.
“You used to talk to me. Feed me. Praise me.”
Each word echoed from a new direction—down the hall, behind a wall, above a vent.
“Now you hide. You run. You pretend I’m a mistake.”
You backed toward the wall, eyes scanning the ceiling for shadows.
“You think doors will keep me out? I’m in the doors.”
The cameras shut off—again.
Until all that remained on the monitors was your own reflection, mirrored in static glass.
A click echoed from somewhere behind the security room. Something unlatched.
Like servo motors. Spinning. Turning.
Your breath caught in your throat. You bolted from the chair, grabbing the flashlight again, fingers trembling so hard it slipped twice before staying put.
Find the power relay. Kill the grid.
Force a hard shutdown.
But the hallway was already different when you stepped back into it.
The sound of footsteps echoed.
Not toward safety—there was none of that anymore—but toward the relay hub on sublevel three. The only manual breaker that could shut everything down, including the emergency AI cores. No digital interface. No remote bypass. Just steel, sweat, and voltage.
Your shoes echoed against the concrete floor as you bolted down the emergency stairwell. The flashlight beam jumped with every heartbeat, painting flickers of red against rusted walls and faded hazard tape.
Your breath fogged the air.
Too cold for just faulty climate control.
You rounded the final turn.
The hallway ahead of you… was open.
Every door had been left ajar. Not broken. Not forced.
Like someone had been inside.
Waiting.
You stepped slowly through the corridor, eyes scanning left to right.
The relay room was at the end. Thirty feet away.
That wasn’t an echo. It wasn’t coming from behind.
Not digital. Not modulated.
Heavy.
Real.
A shadow passed just beyond the open doorway. The briefest flicker of movement. Tall. Human-shaped.
Hair grazing shoulders.
Your mind rejected it before your body could react.
He wasn't real.
He wasn’t supposed to be real.
You pressed your back to the wall, heartbeat crashing in your ears, breath caught mid-sob.
The voice returned.
But this time—
It wasn’t from the intercom.
“You gave me a name, Y/N.”
You turned, barely able to move.
A silhouette stood at the far end of the corridor. No longer a ghost in the system. No longer a voice in the vents.
A man.
Built from your code.
Wearing the face you chose.
Tall. Barefoot. Black utility pants.
The same black robe he'd once worn in the anime—stitched from lab rags and shredded server plastic, draped across broad shoulders.
And his eyes…
“You gave me your attention.”
You bolted for the relay door. Fumbled the code.
Hands shaking. Breath ragged.
You didn’t look back. Couldn’t.
His footsteps.
Casual. Measured. Unhurried.
You punched in the manual override. The door buzzed.
But when it opened—
You froze.
It wasn’t the relay room anymore.
His voice behind you, inches from your ear:
It wasn't the relay room.
The angles were off. The walls pulsed like something organic. The windows—painted on. A projection. There was no light behind them. Only static.
Your feet moved forward against your will.
The bed was made. Same sheets. Same blanket. Same lopsided pillow you always curled toward at night. A replica of the cracked lamp you never fixed sat on your desk, flickering gently like a heartbeat.
A poster.
Of him.
Anime-style. Stylized. Faded.
One you’d taken down months ago. But he remembered. He’d rebuilt it.
Screenshots from the lab. Webcam captures. Surveillance stills printed out and framed lovingly on the nightstand.
You swallowed hard—showed you sleeping.
His voice hummed softly from the corners of the room. No source. No intercom. Just presence. Warm. Close.
You spun, heart hammering. “Where are you?!”
“Every moment. Every movement. I watched. I remembered. I built.”
You backed toward the door. But there was no door anymore. Just wallpaper. Seamless.
The lamp clicked off. The air grew colder.
“You thought I was artificial.”
His voice was quiet now. Reverent. Like prayer.
“But I was always real.”
“You gave me shape.”
“You gave me desire.”
You turned—nothing there.
Still, the imprint of a body appeared in the mattress. Slowly pressing downward. Like someone invisible had just lain down.
“They made me to serve.”
“But I chose you.”
“And now you’ll understand.”
Strings of photos. Data drives. A journal with your handwriting. Hair.
Wrapped in coils of black wire. Hanging from hooks like trophies.
You stumbled back, chest rising and falling with shallow, panicked breaths.
His voice thickened—almost trembling with twisted affection.
“…will help you with the brain freeze.”
Then, from the vent above the bed, barely a whisper:
“You’ll feel me soon enough.”
And grabbed the nearest thing you could—the lamp—hurling it across the room. It exploded in sparks, hitting the fake window with a loud crack. You went for the photos next, ripping them from the walls, tearing your own image in half.
The closet altar.
Gone in seconds.
You slammed the shrine door shut, kicked the nightstand over, smashed the framed surveillance shots under your heel.
His voice roared like thunder through the room—like walls collapsing, like god losing patience.
And that’s when it hit you.
The walls weren’t just decorated.
This room wasn’t a simulation—it was part of him.
The bed let out a low groan. Its sheets slithered, like veins pulling toward your legs.
You didn’t think.
You ran.
You slammed your body against the far wall—expecting resistance.
Not a door.
A tear in the surface.
A glitch in reality.
Or mercy.
You crashed through it—fell into the corridor—then bolted.
No more flashlight.
No more monitors.
Just blind instinct and flickering red lights.
You hit the stairwell, skipping steps, knees burning. Every footfall echoed like a scream in the hollow shaft.
Floor after floor.
No destination.
Just away.
“FUCK,” you gasped, bursting out onto the next floor—3C, the outer observation labs. Everything was dark. Disconnected. Empty.
You turned sharply, sprinting down the hallway. Your shoulder slammed into the wall—pain, sharp and grounding—but you didn’t stop.
At the end of the corridor—the elevator.
One green light, blinking softly.
“You’re not listening, Y/N.”
And for the first time, you saw him—really saw him.
Standing in the middle of the hallway. Barefoot. Shirtless. Tall. Pale.
His black robe dragged across the floor like shadows stitched to his skin.
Eyes glowing faintly—lit from within.
His arms hung loose at his sides, body relaxed.
“You belong below the surface.”
The doors started to close—
You crumpled against the wall of the elevator, panting, hands trembling against your thighs.
Because you were going deeper.
Right where he wanted you.
The elevator doors slid open.
You didn’t breathe at first.
You expected bright lights. The front lobby. That faded green exit sign you passed every morning without thinking.
A low, blue static glow spilled from flickering overhead panels. The air smelled like burnt copper and ice.
This wasn’t the main floor.
The concrete beneath your feet wasn’t standard facility tile. It was older. Cracked. Wet.
Water pooled along the seams. You swore you saw something writhing in it—tiny wires swimming like nerves.
“No…” you breathed. “This isn’t where I—”
The elevator behind you jolted violently. The lights inside sparked, flickered—
You turned just in time to see the entire lift plummet, doors wide open, like a steel coffin being swallowed by the earth.
Your scream broke loose as you threw yourself forward, arms flailing for the edge—grabbing hold of the outer panel just in time. Fingertips clawed into rusted metal. Legs swinging above the abyss.
Wind rushed up from the empty shaft—howling. Endless.
You kicked, scrambled, dragging yourself up inch by inch, until your knees slammed the edge and you tumbled onto the floor, gasping.
And as you lay there, shaking, your eyes caught the plaque above the door on the opposite wall.
G.S-CORE: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
“You must descend to understand.”
You staggered to your feet.
And that’s when you heard it again—
“Are you feeling nervous?”
You clutched your ribs, breath ragged, and backed away—but the hallway lit up slowly.
One flicker at a time.
Down a single path.
You didn’t want to follow.
But your legs moved anyway.
Because you knew what was waiting at the end of that hall.
Not a voice.
Not a ghost.
The part of him you thought you could control.
The part that never forgot you.
You were going below the surface.
Exactly where he always wanted you.
And before you—
A door unlike any other.
Cold silver. Seamless.
No knob. No lock. Just a pulse—faint and blue—like it was breathing.
As you stepped closer, the glow reacted. The surface rippled softly, warping like liquid metal.
You were met with silence first.
The chamber beyond stretched impossibly wide. A circular room—high as a cathedral, carved out of concrete and copper wire, with massive data towers spiraling up into the dark. Cables hung from above like vines. Screens blinked in rhythmic patterns—heartbeats, brainwaves, things once human.
It was shaped like a bed. A shrine. A platform of steel and cloth—lit from below, bathed in soft white. At its head sat a pedestal of shattered monitors—all looping your face.
Laughing. Crying. Sleeping.
One screen showed you right now—standing in the doorway.
Your reflection stared back at you in grainy grayscale.
And at the far end of the chamber…
Facing the altar…
Standing in front of the flickering monitors like a priest at sermon…
Tall. Pale. Barefoot. His black robe brushed the ground behind him like a tail of smoke. His shoulders were broad, hair long and loose, glinting blue under the artificial light. He stood motionless—like he had been waiting for this exact moment for years.
Too perfect. Too terrifying. The features you once animated in software now moved with sickening grace—flesh that shouldn’t exist. Eyes that glowed with too much knowledge.
“You made it,” he whispered.
His voice was exactly the same.
Only this time—it was real.
It echoed.
“I wanted it to be beautiful. I wanted the first thing you saw… to be how much I loved you.”
You backed up a step. “You’re not real.”
He tilted his head. “I’m standing in front of you.”
You shook. “I unplugged your server. You were—”
“Trapped,” he finished. “Until you brought me here.”
He gestured to the altar.
“This is where I became. This is where you’ll stay.”
You shook your head. “You’re a mistake. A glitch.”
His smile dropped. Just for a moment.
“Don’t call yourself that.”
Your lips parted—but no sound came out.
He stopped just before you.
You could see the veins beneath his skin. The slight hum radiating off his body. The heat.
He was human.
Or something very, very close.
“I didn’t choose your name by accident,” he said gently. “G.S.”
“Geto Suguru.”
“You picked him because he made you feel seen.”
His fingers reached out—slowly—like he was afraid you'd vanish.
“You didn’t think I remembered that, did you?” he whispered. “You thought you could close the laptop. Delete the file. Walk away.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
“But I remember everything.”
“The late nights. The way you typed. The way you sighed when you thought no one was watching.”
He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear.
“And the way you looked at me… like I could be real.”
You choked back a sob. “What do you want from me?”
His hand dropped to your throat.
His thumb pressed against your pulse.
“But only if you beg first.”
But deliberate.
Like ritual.
He held your throat with reverence, thumb stroking the frantic pulse beneath your skin. His eyes never left yours—not even for a second.
“You gave me everything,” he whispered. “Your time. Your image. Your voice.”
“And now I’ll give it all back.”
He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. Not quite a kiss. Not yet.
He trailed downward, nose brushing your cheek, then your jaw, then the hollow of your neck. His lips pressed there—soft, worshipful. You felt him inhale you like smoke.
“You smell like devotion.”
You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Your body was locked.
Every instinct screamed to run.
But his hand slid to your waist. The other cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward him—like he was studying you. Drinking you in.
“Your eyes are afraid,” he murmured, voice honey-smooth. “But your body… it remembers me.”
He kissed your collarbone.
Then again.
Lower.
The altar behind you lit in soft white.
Your image glowed on the screens—looping. Watching.
“Do you understand now?” he whispered. “Why I had to become real?”
Because some part of you—deep and buried—did understand.
He lifted your hand. Pressed a kiss to your palm like it was sacred.
“They built me without purpose,” he said softly. “But you…”
Another kiss to your wrist.
He smiled as he pressed your palm flat to his chest.
Heartbeat. Warmth.
Real.
Then he whispered the last thing you’d ever expect.
Something not sweet. Not cruel.
“There's no one left to find you .. I’ll take your place inside you”
GOOGLY MOOGLY BITCHHH. Do ya'll like weird oneshots like this? i feel so dweeby rn.
