bibistic

[bibistic]

Yandere Mortician (Sebastian Claude) x reader

syp. Sebastián wants to shoot his shot with you.

warn. Yandere themes, light stalking (?), uneducated Sebastian, uh he’s pretty weird, a little bit of Spanish

a/n: two done! might right some reactions and introduce another oc, who knows!

“Morning, Neighbor!” Your usual voice chirps as you wave to your neighbor that lives in the apartment right next to your own. It’s too early for this… The man thinks. His eye bags are noticeable even from a distance, though that doesn’t stray you from giving him your daily greeting. 

“…Morning.” Sebastian—who only woke up 30 minutes ago—gives you a half-assed greeting as he turns his back to you and heads to the elevator. It’s obvious to you that your neighbor isn’t a morning person. But your neighbor, you’re still unsure of what his name is after living here for a year, always leaves his room looking like he wants to set the entire complex ablaze.

He hears your pumps clack against the tiled hallway as you keep your pace behind him. Clicking the button to signal the elevator, his shoe taps against the floor impatiently. Like he does every morning. You give a smile as you pass by him before making your way down the stairs that sat next to the elevator. "Good exercise," you say when he gave you a look the first time you decided to use the stairs instead of the elevator. Humming a tune on your way down, Sebastian hears the melody. It’s the same song as usual. It’s the song you always hum every morning when you head to work.

Sebastián’s eyes scan over the numbers that appear above the metal doors of the elevator, going from 3 to 4, slowly making its way up to the floor he was on. He wonders, like most mornings, if your order at the cafe you frequent before heading to work is still the same. Did you try something new? What other things do you like?

The elevator dings, and the metal doors open. There were other people in the small, cramped space that he tried to fit into himself. Sebastian’s annoyed look and darkened eye bags are enough to keep the elevator quiet, and so is the fact that the other residents here know of his occupation and already consider him ominous and creepy because of it.

His mind wanders to the smell of your perfume, the way you looked in your uniform, and just you in general. Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll talk to her.

Over his black button-down he wears a white lab coat that ends just above his knees and blue latex gloves that reach close to the watch on his left wrist. A mask covers his mouth and nose to prevent him from inhaling any chemicals. With a practically graceful maneuver, Sebastian cuts through a corpse's body with a scalpel to remove the internal organs.

His mind is focused on his work, creating clean cuts to move the layers of skin out of the way, but it’s like something comes over him in that very moment. His foot taps rhythmically against the monochrome tiled floors, and he mindlessly hums the exact tune you were humming this morning. It takes him a few minutes before he even realizes what he’s doing, and when he does, he drops his scalpel on the metallic tray with wheels, eyes shut as he steps away from the body in front of him. One of his hands reaches up to his ivory hair, and he grumbles under his breath, though there’s no one around to hear anyways.

“What the hell am I doing?” This isn’t the first time his mind was plagued by you, no, but this is the first time his mind drifted to you while he was working. It’s getting too far; something has to be done. If he doesn’t have you soon, he’ll go crazy. It’s been an entire year of brushing you off, and now it’s time he advances. Ask her out to dinner or coffee before work?

He takes a seat at his desk in the room and grumbles, “How the hell am I going to do this?” Being socially deprived since a young age, Sebastian has never made romantic advances to anyone in his 25 years of living. He pulls down his facial mask and takes off his latex gloves and tosses them into a small trash bin on the side of his desk.

Logging into his computer, he pulls up the search bar and begins typing. How to ask someone out? His eyes look over the generated response.

1. Be suave and nonchalant, and build conversation.

2. Subtly ask if they’re busy.

3. Ask them out during their free time!

Easy enough, they made it seem so simple. He opens up another browser and types another question. How do you kiss someone?

Is it normal to be searching this, or is it all common knowledge? He curses his idiocy in these things.

1. Make eye contact with them.

2. Slowly lean in.

3. Make contact with their lips and sensually move your lips against their own.

… Simple enough.

His eyes dart back to the corpse lying back on the metal table, remembering that he actually has a job to do. He gets up and puts his mask back on and slips on a new pair of gloves. Tomorrow, he repeats to himself, I’ll make my move tomorrow.

The workday is finally over, and you finally arrive home from work. Unlocking your door and entering your small apartment, you slip off your pumps and hang up your sweater before locking the door behind you and slumping on your sofa. A loud groan escapes your lips from exhaustion. I work too much for what I’m being paid…

In your seat, you stretched your arms till they reached your head and exhaled loudly. You smacked your lips together, a newfound hunger taking over now that you were home and didn’t really eat anything because of your job.

You spend the next hour whipping yourself something to eat; you set a folded mini table in front of you and place your food on top. Grabbing the control and setting it to continue watching your show. Your apartment greatly embodied your personality. Despite it being tiny, you managed to make the space feel like home; it’s a makeshift until you actually manage to buy a home.

There are photos hung up on the walls of you, your friends, your family, and pets, and unbeknownst to you, half covered by a picture frame, is a tiny hole in the wall, one that Sebastian, your grumpy neighbor, can see you through.

…

It’s creepy, downright disgusting of him to be doing this, but he can’t stop. Sebastian’s body is pressed against the wall where the hole is, a painting he had covering it on his end long discarded on the ground. He puts it there so that if you do happen to notice the hole, it’ll be covered on his end, so you won’t get any suspicions that he was watching you.

It goes unnoticed by him, but his breathing is irregular, his eye that is looking through to your end is shot, mind not wanting to miss a single detail. He can feel himself going weak in the knees just from watching you eat. Everything you do is just ethereal…

Ring!

Shit! He curses as his phone rings loudly in his pocket. He can see that you heard the noise too and turned around to see what it was. He silenced his phone before looking back. You haven’t noticed the hole. Thank God.

The ring knocks him out of his trance, and he decides to cover up the peeking hole with a painting. He checks his phone, scanning over the missed call, and sees that it was his mom. Walking to his room, he shuts the door behind him and answers the call. “… Hola, mamá…”

Morning again, a repeat of the day before, and the day before that…

Like usual, with pep in your step from getting some well-needed sleep, you exit your apartment at the same time as Sebastian. Your head turns to face him as you lock your door. “Morning!”

And to your surprise, he responds with more than just his normal grumble. “Good morning. Uh, nice day today?” You let out a dry laugh. It’s a cloudy day.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

You’re about to turn to leave, thinking that all he was going to say to you, but his voice calls out.

“Wait,” his hand reached out to you, but he has yet to touch you. “I’ve been wondering. We’ve been neighbors for a while now, and I wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to get to know each other more? Over dinner?”

Your eyes widen in shock, astounded even. “Really? Sure! I’d love to! How about today at seven?” “Great, I’ll see you then.” Angels must be singing.

You wave to him walking down the hallway and round the corner in front of the elevator. Sebastian follows close behind you. Making it down one set of stairs, you realize Sebastian is standing at the top. “Do you mind if I walk with you today?”

You give him another smile, the same one he’s grown to yearn for every minute. “Not at all!”

He should’ve done this sooner.

[bibistic]

making out

warn. making out, poorly translated German, they are desperate, Sebastian is a loser

könrad jaeger

He has you pinned against the mattress. His palms holding you down by the shoulders as you attempt to hold his arms. Face glued to yours as he kissed you oh so deeply and passionately. “Liebst du mich?” Completely ignoring the fact that you can’t understand a word he says in German, he continues spitting out foreign words in a frenzy.

“Sag mir, dass… du es tust, ich muss… es von dir hören.” Gasps escape your lips, unable to keep up with him to make your lips move in sync. He removes one of his hands to pinch your side, making you yelp quietly. “Tell me… do you love me…?”

Too out of breath to speak, you nod your head, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy. He isn’t satisfied with that. He pinches your side again. Harder. His blue eyes staring endlessly into yours, waiting to give him the correct response he craves. “Say it. Bitte.”

“I love you, Könrad,” His name rolls off your tongue like it was meant to only be said by your lips, how it’s supposed to be, he thinks.

His hands now holding onto your jaw, pushing desperately against your lips into quick and fast pecks, “I know it, I know it, you love me back… Du liebst mich, du liebst mich, du liebst mich…”

Those words repeat like a mantra, and though you can’t exactly tell what they mean, you could already guess. He loved you, and you loved him.

sebastian claude

Entirely unskilled, and though it’s sad to say, a bit boring. You invited him over to watch a movie, but one thing led to another and you’re both locking lips. Or at least you think you are. Maybe…

All Sebastian does is press his lips against yours and expects that to be it. It’s boring. He thinks opening his eyes after kissing you because the website he read said it was romantic to close your eyes while doing so. But it doesn’t seem as exciting as it was told to be. What’s missing, what is he doing wrong?

“Sebastian?” His eyes meet yours and he can tell you too weren’t satisfied from the kiss. “Have you… ever kissed someone before? It’s totally okay if you haven’t! I won’t judge!” You wave your hands in front of you realizing what you said might’ve been embarrassing for him, but you’re shocked to see there’s not an ounce of shame in him when he confirms your assumption.

“No, I haven’t. That was my first ever kiss.” What a loser.

“That’s okay! If you want, I can show you how…” you don’t know why all of a sudden you feel embarrassed, you were both supposed to be making out in the first place, so why is your heart beating so fast?

“I don’t mind.” Show me how, show me how you want me to kiss you.

Your hands hold his face tenderly, leaning on close and slowly fluttering your eyes closed and make contact with his lips in a romantic manner. Your lips move sensually against his, though his lips aren’t moving at all, you’re doing all the work. His eyes are still opened, admiring how you’re teaching him how to kiss. He feels his cheeks flush as he finally decides to reciprocate your movements, closing his eye and kissing you back just as lovingly.

You pull away, looking at him with flushed cheeks, not saying word.

“Please,” he starts, hands now holding onto your waist, “please do that again.”

[bibistic]

making out

warn. making out, poorly translated German, they are desperate, Sebastian is a loser

könrad jaeger

He has you pinned against the mattress. His palms holding you down by the shoulders as you attempt to hold his arms. Face glued to yours as he kissed you oh so deeply and passionately. “Liebst du mich?” Completely ignoring the fact that you can’t understand a word he says in German, he continues spitting out foreign words in a frenzy.

“Sag mir, dass… du es tust, ich muss… es von dir hören.” Gasps escape your lips, unable to keep up with him to make your lips move in sync. He removes one of his hands to pinch your side, making you yelp quietly. “Tell me… do you love me…?”

Too out of breath to speak, you nod your head, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy. He isn’t satisfied with that. He pinches your side again. Harder. His blue eyes staring endlessly into yours, waiting to give him the correct response he craves. “Say it. Bitte.”

“I love you, Könrad,” His name rolls off your tongue like it was meant to only be said by your lips, how it’s supposed to be, he thinks.

His hands now holding onto your jaw, pushing desperately against your lips into quick and fast pecks, “I know it, I know it, you love me back… Du liebst mich, du liebst mich, du liebst mich…”

Those words repeat like a mantra, and though you can’t exactly tell what they mean, you could already guess. He loved you, and you loved him.

sebastian claude

Entirely unskilled, and though it’s sad to say, a bit boring. You invited him over to watch a movie, but one thing led to another and you’re both locking lips. Or at least you think you are. Maybe…

All Sebastian does is press his lips against yours and expects that to be it. It’s boring. He thinks opening his eyes after kissing you because the website he read said it was romantic to close your eyes while doing so. But it doesn’t seem as exciting as it was told to be. What’s missing, what is he doing wrong?

“Sebastian?” His eyes meet yours and he can tell you too weren’t satisfied from the kiss. “Have you… ever kissed someone before? It’s totally okay if you haven’t! I won’t judge!” You wave your hands in front of you realizing what you said might’ve been embarrassing for him, but you’re shocked to see there’s not an ounce of shame in him when he confirms your assumption.

“No, I haven’t. That was my first ever kiss.” What a loser.

“That’s okay! If you want, I can show you how…” you don’t know why all of a sudden you feel embarrassed, you were both supposed to be making out in the first place, so why is your heart beating so fast?

“I don’t mind.” Show me how, show me how you want me to kiss you.

Your hands hold his face tenderly, leaning on close and slowly fluttering your eyes closed and make contact with his lips in a romantic manner. Your lips move sensually against his, though his lips aren’t moving at all, you’re doing all the work. His eyes are still opened, admiring how you’re teaching him how to kiss. He feels his cheeks flush as he finally decides to reciprocate your movements, closing his eye and kissing you back just as lovingly.

You pull away, looking at him with flushed cheeks, not saying word.

“Please,” he starts, hands now holding onto your waist, “please do that again.”

[bibistic]

Your mortician is really really good. Please tell me, how would he react if yn was sick and didn’t meet him outside the doors one or two mornings?

He wouldn’t have any way to contact them. He would probably think they’re avoiding him.

Would he be good at caring for a sick yn?

I’m glad you liked Sebastián! He was inspired by some old black and white films I watched so coming up with ideas for him was extremely fun!

If darling was sick to the point of missing work and not leaving her apartment at all would cause concern for him. He wouldn’t assume you were avoiding him since you don’t know he’s stalking you, so his first assumption would be that you fell ill.

He’d peek through the hole to find you sitting on your couch eating chicken broth with a thick blanket wrapped around you. Seeing you sick would make him discover something about himself, you’re sick and frail, you’d be dependent on anyone who offered their help to you, but alas, he can’t do that. How on earth did he find out you were sick if you were locked inside the whole time?

So he’d go with his next option. A get well soon basket. But it’s not really all that… comforting? It’s all in a plastic bag and in it is cough medicine that tastes absolutely FOUL but it gets the job done. There’s food that he cooked himself, but he made it way too spicy. There’s tea in a thermo cup that has all of the herbs in it at the top of the tea… yeah he isn’t used to taking care of living people…

It’s the thought that counts though, so when you see the bad at your door you can’t help but thank the gesture.

There’s a note on the bag, I could hear you coughing from next door, take care of yourself. — S.C

Let him know if you liked the food please

[bibistic]

It’s been around half a year now that you were taken by Konrad, and to be frank, you did all you could to leave the assassin, yet nothing has worked.

You’d think that since you’re alone most of the time, it would be been easy to escape from him, but you were proven wrong, time and time again.

“Mein Herz,” he drawls, boots thumping against the wooden floors of the room as he heads towards you. His dirty blonde hair looks like it got wet and dried poorly, not to mention that his attire is covered in dust and blood that you’re confident isn’t his own, “We talked about this.” You’re not sure what he’s talking about until he’s at the foot of the bed, pointing at the rope tied around your legs and wrists. There are deep red marks where the rope is tied due to your constant thrashing around in an attempt to break free while Konrad was gone. “Are you doing this on purpose? Hast du nicht auf mich gehört?”

Pressing your legs close to yourself, resting your body against the wall, you sharpen your gaze at him. You never really understood him when he spoke in his native tongue, but you do know that despite him living away from Germany for many years, he still has trouble speaking English. “Of course I’m doing this on purpose! You really think I’d willingly stay here?”!

Piece by piece he removes his uniform so he’s only left his boxers and a white tank top, even so it’s still dirty from his mission. “No, but I thought you’d stop resisting by now. What is the word called… Stockholm-Syndrome? That is the word, yes?”

“… You’re unbelievable…”

“Danke.”

“I can’t understand it when you speak German! What are you saying?”

Konrad finally lays on the bed beside you, the mattress creaks under his weight. He doesn’t even bother to loosen or remove the ropes. His hands are folded underneath his head. “I think it’s time I teach you German.”

No, you don’t want to learn anything else about him. Learning his language would be another way of giving into your situation, and the last thing you want is for him to think you’re becoming comfortable with him. You already know more than you’re supposed too. He’s an assassin that has killed many people. It’s unimaginable to think of all the blood he’s spilt.

“I’d rather not. I’m not staying here for long.” Konrad laughs, body turning to its side to face you as his arms wrap around your waist. You’re still seated on the bed, but with his arms wrapped around you, you can feel him pulling you closer to him.

With his face pressed nearly against the side of your upper thigh, he inhales deeply, relishing in your natural scent.

“You’re funny.”

“Get away from me.” You urge, making an effort to scoot yourself, though not able to get far due to the rope.

His grip doesn’t loosen, arms still strong against your waist, face scrunched against your thigh. “Kämpfe nicht. Ich will dich nur halten.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying!” “Do not move. I do not hurt you. Let me hold you.”

A wave of exhaustion washes over you. Spending the entire day trying to leave, harshly tugging on the tight ropes against your skin burned, took a toll on you. With hesitation, your body reluctantly falls against Konrad in defeat. Your body sags down against the wall so you’re now laying next to him. His arms adjust themselves from your waist to your torso, guiding your body closer to press against him.

You can hear a sigh of relief from him, and if it’s possible, his grip got tighter. “Sehen? Entspannend, nicht wahr? Rest. We are both tired.”

Your eyes threaten to shut, fluttering from consciousness to not. It’s scary how comfortable he is. And warm. Extremely warm…

“Take a shower next time before you get on the bed… you stink… and you’re dirty.”

“Shhh,” He shushed you, “Schlaf. You tired yourself.”

[bibistic]

Your mortician is really really good. Please tell me, how would he react if yn was sick and didn’t meet him outside the doors one or two mornings?

He wouldn’t have any way to contact them. He would probably think they’re avoiding him.

Would he be good at caring for a sick yn?

I’m glad you liked Sebastián! He was inspired by some old black and white films I watched so coming up with ideas for him was extremely fun!

If darling was sick to the point of missing work and not leaving her apartment at all would cause concern for him. He wouldn’t assume you were avoiding him since you don’t know he’s stalking you, so his first assumption would be that you fell ill.

He’d peek through the hole to find you sitting on your couch eating chicken broth with a thick blanket wrapped around you. Seeing you sick would make him discover something about himself, you’re sick and frail, you’d be dependent on anyone who offered their help to you, but alas, he can’t do that. How on earth did he find out you were sick if you were locked inside the whole time?

So he’d go with his next option. A get well soon basket. But it’s not really all that… comforting? It’s all in a plastic bag and in it is cough medicine that tastes absolutely FOUL but it gets the job done. There’s food that he cooked himself, but he made it way too spicy. There’s tea in a thermo cup that has all of the herbs in it at the top of the tea… yeah he isn’t used to taking care of living people…

It’s the thought that counts though, so when you see the bad at your door you can’t help but thank the gesture.

There’s a note on the bag, I could hear you coughing from next door, take care of yourself. — S.C

Let him know if you liked the food please

[bibistic]

masterlist

introductions

floral bag - könrad jaeger

hole in the wall - sebastian claude

untitled - eiden greves

untitled - aleksia

untitled - loraine parker

untitled - valentina moreno

oneshots

drabbles

comfort - könrad jaeger

headcannons

making out - könrad + sebastian

[bibistic]

Yandere Mortician (Sebastian Claude) x reader

syp. Sebastián wants to shoot his shot with you.

warn. Yandere themes, light stalking (?), uneducated Sebastian, uh he’s pretty weird, a little bit of Spanish

a/n: two done! might right some reactions and introduce another oc, who knows!

“Morning, Neighbor!” Your usual voice chirps as you wave to your neighbor that lives in the apartment right next to your own. It’s too early for this… The man thinks. His eye bags are noticeable even from a distance, though that doesn’t stray you from giving him your daily greeting. 

“…Morning.” Sebastian—who only woke up 30 minutes ago—gives you a half-assed greeting as he turns his back to you and heads to the elevator. It’s obvious to you that your neighbor isn’t a morning person. But your neighbor, you’re still unsure of what his name is after living here for a year, always leaves his room looking like he wants to set the entire complex ablaze.

He hears your pumps clack against the tiled hallway as you keep your pace behind him. Clicking the button to signal the elevator, his shoe taps against the floor impatiently. Like he does every morning. You give a smile as you pass by him before making your way down the stairs that sat next to the elevator. "Good exercise," you say when he gave you a look the first time you decided to use the stairs instead of the elevator. Humming a tune on your way down, Sebastian hears the melody. It’s the same song as usual. It’s the song you always hum every morning when you head to work.

Sebastián’s eyes scan over the numbers that appear above the metal doors of the elevator, going from 3 to 4, slowly making its way up to the floor he was on. He wonders, like most mornings, if your order at the cafe you frequent before heading to work is still the same. Did you try something new? What other things do you like?

The elevator dings, and the metal doors open. There were other people in the small, cramped space that he tried to fit into himself. Sebastian’s annoyed look and darkened eye bags are enough to keep the elevator quiet, and so is the fact that the other residents here know of his occupation and already consider him ominous and creepy because of it.

His mind wanders to the smell of your perfume, the way you looked in your uniform, and just you in general. Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll talk to her.

Over his black button-down he wears a white lab coat that ends just above his knees and blue latex gloves that reach close to the watch on his left wrist. A mask covers his mouth and nose to prevent him from inhaling any chemicals. With a practically graceful maneuver, Sebastian cuts through a corpse's body with a scalpel to remove the internal organs.

His mind is focused on his work, creating clean cuts to move the layers of skin out of the way, but it’s like something comes over him in that very moment. His foot taps rhythmically against the monochrome tiled floors, and he mindlessly hums the exact tune you were humming this morning. It takes him a few minutes before he even realizes what he’s doing, and when he does, he drops his scalpel on the metallic tray with wheels, eyes shut as he steps away from the body in front of him. One of his hands reaches up to his ivory hair, and he grumbles under his breath, though there’s no one around to hear anyways.

“What the hell am I doing?” This isn’t the first time his mind was plagued by you, no, but this is the first time his mind drifted to you while he was working. It’s getting too far; something has to be done. If he doesn’t have you soon, he’ll go crazy. It’s been an entire year of brushing you off, and now it’s time he advances. Ask her out to dinner or coffee before work?

He takes a seat at his desk in the room and grumbles, “How the hell am I going to do this?” Being socially deprived since a young age, Sebastian has never made romantic advances to anyone in his 25 years of living. He pulls down his facial mask and takes off his latex gloves and tosses them into a small trash bin on the side of his desk.

Logging into his computer, he pulls up the search bar and begins typing. How to ask someone out? His eyes look over the generated response.

1. Be suave and nonchalant, and build conversation.

2. Subtly ask if they’re busy.

3. Ask them out during their free time!

Easy enough, they made it seem so simple. He opens up another browser and types another question. How do you kiss someone?

Is it normal to be searching this, or is it all common knowledge? He curses his idiocy in these things.

1. Make eye contact with them.

2. Slowly lean in.

3. Make contact with their lips and sensually move your lips against their own.

… Simple enough.

His eyes dart back to the corpse lying back on the metal table, remembering that he actually has a job to do. He gets up and puts his mask back on and slips on a new pair of gloves. Tomorrow, he repeats to himself, I’ll make my move tomorrow.

The workday is finally over, and you finally arrive home from work. Unlocking your door and entering your small apartment, you slip off your pumps and hang up your sweater before locking the door behind you and slumping on your sofa. A loud groan escapes your lips from exhaustion. I work too much for what I’m being paid…

In your seat, you stretched your arms till they reached your head and exhaled loudly. You smacked your lips together, a newfound hunger taking over now that you were home and didn’t really eat anything because of your job.

You spend the next hour whipping yourself something to eat; you set a folded mini table in front of you and place your food on top. Grabbing the control and setting it to continue watching your show. Your apartment greatly embodied your personality. Despite it being tiny, you managed to make the space feel like home; it’s a makeshift until you actually manage to buy a home.

There are photos hung up on the walls of you, your friends, your family, and pets, and unbeknownst to you, half covered by a picture frame, is a tiny hole in the wall, one that Sebastian, your grumpy neighbor, can see you through.

…

It’s creepy, downright disgusting of him to be doing this, but he can’t stop. Sebastian’s body is pressed against the wall where the hole is, a painting he had covering it on his end long discarded on the ground. He puts it there so that if you do happen to notice the hole, it’ll be covered on his end, so you won’t get any suspicions that he was watching you.

It goes unnoticed by him, but his breathing is irregular, his eye that is looking through to your end is shot, mind not wanting to miss a single detail. He can feel himself going weak in the knees just from watching you eat. Everything you do is just ethereal…

Ring!

Shit! He curses as his phone rings loudly in his pocket. He can see that you heard the noise too and turned around to see what it was. He silenced his phone before looking back. You haven’t noticed the hole. Thank God.

The ring knocks him out of his trance, and he decides to cover up the peeking hole with a painting. He checks his phone, scanning over the missed call, and sees that it was his mom. Walking to his room, he shuts the door behind him and answers the call. “… Hola, mamá…”

Morning again, a repeat of the day before, and the day before that…

Like usual, with pep in your step from getting some well-needed sleep, you exit your apartment at the same time as Sebastian. Your head turns to face him as you lock your door. “Morning!”

And to your surprise, he responds with more than just his normal grumble. “Good morning. Uh, nice day today?” You let out a dry laugh. It’s a cloudy day.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

You’re about to turn to leave, thinking that all he was going to say to you, but his voice calls out.

“Wait,” his hand reached out to you, but he has yet to touch you. “I’ve been wondering. We’ve been neighbors for a while now, and I wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to get to know each other more? Over dinner?”

Your eyes widen in shock, astounded even. “Really? Sure! I’d love to! How about today at seven?” “Great, I’ll see you then.” Angels must be singing.

You wave to him walking down the hallway and round the corner in front of the elevator. Sebastian follows close behind you. Making it down one set of stairs, you realize Sebastian is standing at the top. “Do you mind if I walk with you today?”

You give him another smile, the same one he’s grown to yearn for every minute. “Not at all!”

He should’ve done this sooner.

[bibistic]

Yandere Assassin (Konrad Jäger) x reader

syp. Injured during a mission, Konrad is helped by a stranger or an introduction for my first oc (five more to go!) 1.4k

warnings. Yandere (a teeny tiny bit, this is just an intro), blood, a knife, I did my best to translate German I’m sorry if it’s wrong, lmk if i missed anything

“Die Aufgabe... muss abgeschlossen sein... Die Aufgabe muss... abgeschlossen sein…” The words repeat like a whispered mantra, one that he was trained to remember through acts of violence.

A failed mission, one that should’ve succeeded, replays in the soldier's mind, recounting every step that led up to this point and what he could’ve done to prevent his current situation. Sat against a tall concrete building hidden away in an alley as his gloved hand holds the bloodied gunshot wound. His mind still can’t comprehend why or how his targets were able to get the upper hand on him; it should’ve been an easy kill: come in, come out. 

Perhaps this was planned. Maybe they didn’t have a use for him anymore. Someone a bit younger, someone with a fresh mind to corrupt— it’s possible they needed someone that wasn’t an empty shell of what they used to be. Now he has to sit on top of crumbled concrete with the strong, pungent smell of the nearby garbage bin that had flies roaming above it. 

Is this really how he goes? A trained assassin who has spilled more blood than he has in his own body, dying in a crappy alleyway. “Die Aufgabe muss abgeschlossen sein…” Dammit. Not even as I die can I escape the torment. 

“Konrad, komm und iss, du hast genug mit deinen Cousins gespielt.” He can hear his mother calling at the back of his head as that day replays in his mind. Is this what they call your life flashing before your eyes? He hates it. Out of everything, he has to remember that. Sie können alle in die Hölle fahren. They don’t deserve to breathe. Not for what they did. His crystalline blue eyes flutter as he attempts to fight off the wave of drowsiness that hits him harder than a train, and a voice that calls out succeeds in doing so.

“Sir?! Crap—you’re bleeding out! Let me—” With all the strength he can muster, he takes out a long dagger attached to his belt and points it at you. His eyes glare sharply at you as if to dare you to take another step. “W-what are you…?” 

You take note of his appearance; he wears a long black sleeve shirt with baggy pants to match. A large bulletproof vest covers his chest and has a yellow snake design on it. His face is covered with a dark powder, set to be perceived as a makeshift mask to conceal his identity— not that it mattered; you didn’t know who this man was to begin with. “Don’t take another step. Abschied.” His voice is cold, frosted to the touch. 

“Sir,” you swallow thickly, slowly leaning down on your knees, holding your hands up to show him you mean no harm to him, “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re bleeding a lot; I can tell you’re bleeding.” You fish through your bag, which makes Konrad quirk a brow at you and raise his blade higher at you. I have nothing dangerous on me, you remind him, but that doesn’t seem to make him lower his weapon.

From your pockets you reach out a small medkit; it has needles, thread, bandages, and alcohol wipes— anything to help. You lightly toss it at him. “If you don’t want me to help you, that’s fine. Just please, help yourself.” Konrad has yet to reach for it, still pointing his blade at you. You stand up, dusting your pants. “I’ll—I’ll go. You don’t have to return it. Goodbye.”

Scurrying off, you head away from the dusty alleyway. Konrad’s eyes rake over the little bag you left for him. His blade falls to the ground, reaching over to pick up the medkit. It’s patterned. Floral. Suiting for someone like yourself. He doesn’t know whether to call you kind or dumb for helping someone like him.

“Nachtstalker. Missionsbericht.” His body tensed, now away from the public streets, now lying on a medical table as the man before him began prepping his materials to fix his wound. Turning his focus to the open stab wound, his brow lifts at the sight of a poorly sewn cut. “Was ist das? Hast du das gemacht? Woher hast du die Materialien?” There’s a sternness in his voice, authoritative. No soldiers are given medical supplies. The Schlangen do this to make the soldiers dependent on them.

“Jemand—”

“Englisch.”

“A… civilian helped me.”

“Ein Zivilist? Lüg nicht. Die Leute würden einem Mörder wie dir nicht helfen.”

“I thought so,” his eyes darted over the bright fluorescent light that shines above him on the surgical table, “but she did.” His German accent is heavy, forming sentences in a foreign language he’s still getting accustomed to speaking.

���Sie?” He nods his head. The doctor lets out an airy laugh, using scissors to snip through the poorly sewn stitches Konrad gave himself and begins fixing him up himself. “Die höheren Stellen werden nicht glücklich sein zu wissen, dass die Mission gescheitert ist. Ich sollte Sie auch melden, weil Sie medizinische Geräte bei sich haben.”

Konrad bites his gum as his eyes dart to the doctor. His expression is dull, yet his eyes show fear. “I understand, any p–punish… Bestrafung you hand, I will accept.”

“Ausgezeichnet. Wenn ich fertig bin, wirst du als Trainingsdummy für die anderen benutzt. Scheitern Sie nicht bei der nächsten Mission, Nachtstalker.”

There’s a question that’s itching to be asked that sits on the back of his throat. He has to ask. “Doctor. Was I being… replaced?”

“Nein. Aber wenn du wieder scheiterst, wirst du es sein.”

It’s been two weeks since you spotted the odd man bleeding out in the alleyway, and your mind has not once stopped thinking about him. You wished nothing but for the man to be okay after the state you found him in. But… How did he get an injury like that? Sure, people are crazy nowadays, and one of them probably stabbed him, but he didn’t look like a normal person.

You remember the look on his face more clearly than anything from that day. Aside from the crimson color of his blood that you saw puddled on the floor. His blue eyes went deeper than any ocean, as if they held truths to unknown mysteries. His blonde hair was tussled, though the apparent lasting gel in his hair argued that usually it was kept up nicely. His uniform, that to this day and can’t tell what organization or military regiment it belongs to.

It's okay, he’ll be fine… maybe if I check the alleyway, I can reassure myself that maybe he got helped. You got up from your seat at a cafe, giving your thanks to the barista for your drink before leaving.

It’s been some time since you last saw him, so it’s unlikely he’d still be there… or he’s possibly still there, rotting. You shake the thought away.

You take a couple of turns, until you reach the spot where you last saw him. There’s obviously still people walking the streets, though it’s not as populated as the rest of the city.

Taking a deep breath, you take slow steps as you make it deeper into the alleyway. Weeks before when you spotted the man, you couldn’t see his body despite his shoes that weren’t hidden by the large dumpster beside him. Now, you couldn’t see that. Now with hurried steps, you jog towards the same dumpster he was hidden behind only to see nothing there.

You would’ve let out a sigh of relief, and maybe you did without realizing, but something concerned you. The man’s body wasn’t there, but there was not any blood in sight. Not even dried up blood. It’s as if the man wasn’t there to begin with! Was I imagining it? No… it was all real, it happened!

Two weeks is a long time, it’s possible someone washed it off, but it’s very unlikely.

Right after inspecting the alley, you decided it’d be best if you went back to your apartment. You’ve been out all day, and with what you found today, it’d be better for you to just rest instead of worrying.

As you walked up the stairs, you searched through your bag for your keys and when you arrived at your door, you tripped over something.

Looking down to what it was, it answers any of your previous suspicions. Your floral medkit bag.

[bibistic]

Yandere Assassin (Konrad Jäger) x reader

syp. Injured during a mission, Konrad is helped by a stranger or an introduction for my first oc (five more to go!) 1.4k

warnings. Yandere (a teeny tiny bit, this is just an intro), blood, a knife, I did my best to translate German I’m sorry if it’s wrong, lmk if i missed anything

“Die Aufgabe... muss abgeschlossen sein... Die Aufgabe muss... abgeschlossen sein…” The words repeat like a whispered mantra, one that he was trained to remember through acts of violence.

A failed mission, one that should’ve succeeded, replays in the soldier's mind, recounting every step that led up to this point and what he could’ve done to prevent his current situation. Sat against a tall concrete building hidden away in an alley as his gloved hand holds the bloodied gunshot wound. His mind still can’t comprehend why or how his targets were able to get the upper hand on him; it should’ve been an easy kill: come in, come out. 

Perhaps this was planned. Maybe they didn’t have a use for him anymore. Someone a bit younger, someone with a fresh mind to corrupt— it’s possible they needed someone that wasn’t an empty shell of what they used to be. Now he has to sit on top of crumbled concrete with the strong, pungent smell of the nearby garbage bin that had flies roaming above it. 

Is this really how he goes? A trained assassin who has spilled more blood than he has in his own body, dying in a crappy alleyway. “Die Aufgabe muss abgeschlossen sein…” Dammit. Not even as I die can I escape the torment. 

“Konrad, komm und iss, du hast genug mit deinen Cousins gespielt.” He can hear his mother calling at the back of his head as that day replays in his mind. Is this what they call your life flashing before your eyes? He hates it. Out of everything, he has to remember that. Sie können alle in die Hölle fahren. They don’t deserve to breathe. Not for what they did. His crystalline blue eyes flutter as he attempts to fight off the wave of drowsiness that hits him harder than a train, and a voice that calls out succeeds in doing so.

“Sir?! Crap—you’re bleeding out! Let me—” With all the strength he can muster, he takes out a long dagger attached to his belt and points it at you. His eyes glare sharply at you as if to dare you to take another step. “W-what are you…?” 

You take note of his appearance; he wears a long black sleeve shirt with baggy pants to match. A large bulletproof vest covers his chest and has a yellow snake design on it. His face is covered with a dark powder, set to be perceived as a makeshift mask to conceal his identity— not that it mattered; you didn’t know who this man was to begin with. “Don’t take another step. Abschied.” His voice is cold, frosted to the touch. 

“Sir,” you swallow thickly, slowly leaning down on your knees, holding your hands up to show him you mean no harm to him, “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re bleeding a lot; I can tell you’re bleeding.” You fish through your bag, which makes Konrad quirk a brow at you and raise his blade higher at you. I have nothing dangerous on me, you remind him, but that doesn’t seem to make him lower his weapon.

From your pockets you reach out a small medkit; it has needles, thread, bandages, and alcohol wipes— anything to help. You lightly toss it at him. “If you don’t want me to help you, that’s fine. Just please, help yourself.” Konrad has yet to reach for it, still pointing his blade at you. You stand up, dusting your pants. “I’ll—I’ll go. You don’t have to return it. Goodbye.”

Scurrying off, you head away from the dusty alleyway. Konrad’s eyes rake over the little bag you left for him. His blade falls to the ground, reaching over to pick up the medkit. It’s patterned. Floral. Suiting for someone like yourself. He doesn’t know whether to call you kind or dumb for helping someone like him.

“Nachtstalker. Missionsbericht.” His body tensed, now away from the public streets, now lying on a medical table as the man before him began prepping his materials to fix his wound. Turning his focus to the open stab wound, his brow lifts at the sight of a poorly sewn cut. “Was ist das? Hast du das gemacht? Woher hast du die Materialien?” There’s a sternness in his voice, authoritative. No soldiers are given medical supplies. The Schlangen do this to make the soldiers dependent on them.

“Jemand—”

“Englisch.”

“A… civilian helped me.”

“Ein Zivilist? Lüg nicht. Die Leute würden einem Mörder wie dir nicht helfen.”

“I thought so,” his eyes darted over the bright fluorescent light that shines above him on the surgical table, “but she did.” His German accent is heavy, forming sentences in a foreign language he’s still getting accustomed to speaking.

“Sie?” He nods his head. The doctor lets out an airy laugh, using scissors to snip through the poorly sewn stitches Konrad gave himself and begins fixing him up himself. “Die höheren Stellen werden nicht glücklich sein zu wissen, dass die Mission gescheitert ist. Ich sollte Sie auch melden, weil Sie medizinische Geräte bei sich haben.”

Konrad bites his gum as his eyes dart to the doctor. His expression is dull, yet his eyes show fear. “I understand, any p–punish… Bestrafung you hand, I will accept.”

“Ausgezeichnet. Wenn ich fertig bin, wirst du als Trainingsdummy für die anderen benutzt. Scheitern Sie nicht bei der nächsten Mission, Nachtstalker.”

There’s a question that’s itching to be asked that sits on the back of his throat. He has to ask. “Doctor. Was I being… replaced?”

“Nein. Aber wenn du wieder scheiterst, wirst du es sein.”

It’s been two weeks since you spotted the odd man bleeding out in the alleyway, and your mind has not once stopped thinking about him. You wished nothing but for the man to be okay after the state you found him in. But… How did he get an injury like that? Sure, people are crazy nowadays, and one of them probably stabbed him, but he didn’t look like a normal person.

You remember the look on his face more clearly than anything from that day. Aside from the crimson color of his blood that you saw puddled on the floor. His blue eyes went deeper than any ocean, as if they held truths to unknown mysteries. His blonde hair was tussled, though the apparent lasting gel in his hair argued that usually it was kept up nicely. His uniform, that to this day and can’t tell what organization or military regiment it belongs to.

It's okay, he’ll be fine… maybe if I check the alleyway, I can reassure myself that maybe he got helped. You got up from your seat at a cafe, giving your thanks to the barista for your drink before leaving.

It’s been some time since you last saw him, so it’s unlikely he’d still be there… or he’s possibly still there, rotting. You shake the thought away.

You take a couple of turns, until you reach the spot where you last saw him. There’s obviously still people walking the streets, though it’s not as populated as the rest of the city.

Taking a deep breath, you take slow steps as you make it deeper into the alleyway. Weeks before when you spotted the man, you couldn’t see his body despite his shoes that weren’t hidden by the large dumpster beside him. Now, you couldn’t see that. Now with hurried steps, you jog towards the same dumpster he was hidden behind only to see nothing there.

You would’ve let out a sigh of relief, and maybe you did without realizing, but something concerned you. The man’s body wasn’t there, but there was not any blood in sight. Not even dried up blood. It’s as if the man wasn’t there to begin with! Was I imagining it? No… it was all real, it happened!

Two weeks is a long time, it’s possible someone washed it off, but it’s very unlikely.

Right after inspecting the alley, you decided it’d be best if you went back to your apartment. You’ve been out all day, and with what you found today, it’d be better for you to just rest instead of worrying.

As you walked up the stairs, you searched through your bag for your keys and when you arrived at your door, you tripped over something.

Looking down to what it was, it answers any of your previous suspicions. Your floral medkit bag.

[bibistic]

──★ ˙🍎 ̟ !! Bibi minor (17) ,, lesbian (yandere blog)

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