#Laszlo kreizler fanfic

[andy-15-07]

The News

Summary:Y/N anxiously prepares for Helmut Zemo’s return, holding a secret—she’s pregnant. When he arrives, they share an emotional reunion, and he’s overjoyed at the news of their growing family.

Paring: Baron Helmut Zemo x reader

Words count: 2594

Daniel Brühl Masterlist | Masterlist

The soft hum of the rain tapping against the windows filled the quiet apartment, adding to the warm, cozy atmosphere Y/N had tried to create all day. She had spent hours preparing for this moment—cleaning, cooking, and nervously adjusting everything in the living room a dozen times.

The smell of dinner—a mix of Zemo's favorite dishes—lingered in the air, and soft music played in the background, trying to mask the excitement and nerves building within her. Y/N checked her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her eyes darting to the time.

He should have been home by now.

Helmut had been away on a mission for weeks, leaving her with nothing but sporadic, cryptic messages that barely hinted at when he might return. But today was different. Today, she was certain he'd be home. She had received a brief text earlier that morning, "Coming home tonight. Don't wait up."

Of course, she couldn’t just go to bed, not with the news she had been holding close to her heart, a secret she had been dying to share with him. She glanced down at the little box in her hands, flipping it open and shut nervously. Inside was a tiny pair of baby shoes—white and soft, with delicate lace around the edges. She smiled softly to herself, a rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

She had found out a few days after he had left. The initial shock had been overwhelming, but the idea of them starting a family had slowly taken root, filling her with a joy she hadn’t expected. Y/N could already imagine Helmut’s reaction, the way his eyes would light up, the way he’d pull her into his arms, overjoyed at the news.

The rain picked up, drumming harder against the window, and she glanced outside. The city was dark, a few lights flickering through the sheets of rain, but there was no sign of him yet.

Minutes felt like hours, and the worry she had tried to suppress started to creep in. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was hurt? But no, she pushed those thoughts away. Helmut was too skilled, too careful. He always made it back to her, no matter what.

She placed the baby shoes back in the box, setting it on the coffee table and rubbing her hands together nervously. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm glow over the room, but it did little to soothe her nerves.

Then, finally, she heard it. The unmistakable sound of keys jingling at the door, followed by the soft click of the lock turning. Her heart leapt into her throat as the door slowly creaked open, and there he was—Helmut Zemo, soaked from the rain, his hair tousled, but very much alive and home.

“Helmut!” Y/N exclaimed, rushing to him before he could even close the door behind him. She threw her arms around him, ignoring the dampness of his clothes as she buried her face in his chest.

“Schatz…” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his tone as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, as if grounding himself after weeks away.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She had missed him terribly, every moment he was away felt like an eternity.

“And I missed you,” he replied, pulling back slightly to look at her. His dark eyes were tired but filled with love as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, meine Liebe.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection for this man she had chosen to spend her life with. But she could see the weariness in his expression, the way his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of whatever he had gone through. She knew better than to ask about the mission, not right away. There would be time for that later.

“You’re soaked,” she said, her voice tinged with concern. “Come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

He nodded, allowing her to guide him toward their bedroom. She helped him out of his coat and boots, and then he peeled off his wet shirt, tossing it aside. His body was as strong and lean as ever, though she couldn’t help but notice a few new bruises marring his skin.

Y/N frowned, reaching out to touch one gently, but Helmut caught her hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

“It’s nothing,” he assured her, his voice low. “Just a few scratches.”

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed with worry, but he gave her a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was trying to protect her, as always, but she could see through the façade. He was tired—emotionally and physically—but he was here, and that was what mattered most.

“Come on,” she whispered, tugging him toward the bathroom. “A hot shower will help.”

Helmut didn’t argue, and soon the sound of water filled the space as steam began to rise around them. Y/N stayed by his side, helping him rinse off the grime of whatever battle he had been through. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as she ran her fingers through his wet hair, massaging his scalp gently.

They didn’t speak, the silence between them comfortable and intimate, a reminder of how connected they were, even after all these years.

Once he was clean, she handed him a towel, watching as he dried off and wrapped it around his waist. His gaze softened as he looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he pulled her into his arms once more.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, his voice filled with a deep, unspoken gratitude.

Y/N smiled against his chest, her heart fluttering with love for this man who was always so strong, so capable, and yet so vulnerable in moments like these. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him.

“I made dinner,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Your favorite.”

His eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “You spoil me, Schatz.”

“Only because you deserve it,” she teased, leading him back into the living room where the food was waiting.

They settled on the couch, plates in hand, and for a while, they just enjoyed the meal in comfortable silence. But Y/N could feel the weight of the secret she was holding, the news she was so eager to share. She glanced at the small box on the coffee table, her heart pounding in her chest.

Helmut noticed the shift in her demeanor, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is something on your mind, Y/N?” he asked, setting his plate aside.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. But then she took a deep breath, reaching for the box and holding it out to him.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Helmut’s eyes widened in surprise as he took the box from her hands, his expression curious as he opened it. His gaze softened instantly as he saw the tiny baby shoes nestled inside, his breath catching in his throat.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he looked up at her, his eyes searching hers for confirmation.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m pregnant, Helmut. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, as if trying to process the words. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a smile so full of joy and love that it took her breath away.

“Meine Liebe…” he murmured, setting the box aside and pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped the back of her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she clung to him, feeling his love and warmth enveloping her completely. “I was so nervous,” she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands and looking into her eyes with a seriousness that made her heart skip a beat. “Y/N, there is nothing in this world that could make me happier than this news,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “You and our child…you are everything to me.”

She smiled through her tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his love. “I love you, Helmut,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“And I love you, more than anything,” he replied, pressing his forehead against hers. “Thank you…thank you for this gift.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other close, their hearts beating in sync. The rain outside had slowed to a gentle drizzle, the soft patter against the windows a soothing backdrop to the moment they were sharing.

Finally, Helmut pulled back, a playful glint in his eyes. “I suppose I’ll have to be extra careful on my missions from now on,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “I have more than just you to come home to now.”

Y/N chuckled, wiping away her tears. “Yes, you do. And you’d better keep that in mind.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly, his lips lingering against hers as if savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

“We’re going to be a family,” he repeated, his voice filled with awe as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. His hand moved gently to rest on her stomach, his thumb tracing small, tender circles over the place where their child grew.

Y/N placed her hand over his, the warmth of his touch sending a wave of comfort through her. “Yes, we are,” she whispered, her voice full of love and certainty. “Our little family.”

Helmut’s eyes shone with emotion as he stared down at her, his usually composed demeanor softened by the weight of this new reality. He had faced countless challenges, confronted the most dangerous of foes, and yet, this moment—this simple, beautiful moment—was enough to bring him to his knees.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family of my own… I never thought it would be possible after everything that’s happened. And now, here we are…”

Y/N smiled, her heart breaking and healing at the same time. She knew his past was riddled with pain and loss, and she understood how much this meant to him. “You deserve this, Helmut. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

He shook his head slightly, his expression one of disbelief. “I don’t know if I deserve it, but I’m not foolish enough to let it slip away. You and our child…you’re my future now. My purpose.”

She could see the determination in his eyes, the promise that he would do everything in his power to protect them, to give them the life they deserved. It was a vow unspoken, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being.

Helmut gently pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered again, the words heavy with gratitude. “Thank you for giving me this gift, for giving me hope.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with love for him, a love that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. “You’ve given me so much, Helmut,” she replied softly, her fingers threading through his as they rested on her stomach. “This is our gift to each other.”

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the reality of their future slowly sinking in. It was a future filled with the unknown, but for the first time, they faced it together, not just as partners, but as a family.

After a while, Y/N broke the comfortable silence, her tone laced with playful curiosity. “So… have you thought of any names yet?”

Helmut chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, breaking through the seriousness of the moment. “Already? You’ve only just told me!”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and full of joy. “Well, we should get a head start, don’t you think? We need to be prepared.”

Helmut’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he considered her words. “True. But I think we should take our time. We have many months ahead of us to decide.” He paused, his gaze turning thoughtful. “But if I had to choose… something traditional, perhaps. Something with meaning.”

Y/N nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. “Something that honors your heritage, maybe? A name that connects our child to their roots.”

Helmut’s expression softened, a deep pride flashing in his eyes. “Yes,” he agreed, his voice low and serious. “Something that carries the weight of history, but also the promise of a new future.”

She could see how much this meant to him, and it warmed her heart to know that he was already thinking of their child’s legacy. “We’ll find the perfect name,” she assured him, leaning into his embrace. “One that represents everything we’ve been through, and everything we’re going to build together.”

Helmut kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering there as if sealing a promise. “We will,” he agreed. “And no matter what name we choose, our child will know they are loved. That is the most important thing.”

Y/N sighed contentedly, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. This was what she had always dreamed of—a life filled with love, a future full of hope. And now, with Helmut by her side, that dream was finally becoming a reality.

As the evening wore on, they talked about their plans for the future—the changes they would need to make, the things they would need to prepare for. They discussed where the nursery should be, what color to paint the walls, and how they would balance their new responsibilities. It was a conversation filled with excitement and a little bit of fear, but most of all, it was filled with love.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day caught up with them, and they found themselves curled up on the couch together, the warmth of the fire lulling them into a comfortable drowsiness. Helmut held her close, his arms wrapped around her protectively, his hand resting on her stomach as if to keep their child safe even in his sleep.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart swelling with love as she watched him drift off. There was a contentment in his expression that she hadn’t seen in a long time, a peace that came from knowing they were finally moving forward together.

And as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his chest, she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—united by the love they had for each other, and for the family they were about to start.

In that moment, Y/N realized that the future was no longer something to be feared. It was something to be embraced, something to be cherished. And with Helmut by her side, she knew they would create a life filled with happiness, love, and endless possibilities.

As sleep finally claimed her, Y/N’s last thought was of the tiny heartbeat growing inside her, a new life born out of the love she shared with Helmut Zemo—a love that would carry them through anything.

The rain outside had stopped, leaving the night quiet and still. And in the warmth of their home, their hearts beat as one, full of love, hope, and the promise of tomorrow.

[nocapesdahling]

Put that Pen Away

Laszlo Kreizler x GN! Reader

My Masterlist

Summary: You come across a man writing in books in your bookstore and have to put a stop to it. Yet you can’t help but think he looks familiar and for a book vandal, he’s surprisingly charming. 

Warnings/Tags: Fluff; Modern Laszlo Kreizler; Featuring Laszlo’s glasses

Word Count: 667

A/N: This one is a bit short, but I’m very excited to be dipping my toes back into writing and a sweet and silly fic featuring Modern Laszlo seemed like a perfect place to start. Hope you enjoy!

You were walking the aisles of the store to see if anyone needed help and to make sure no books were out of place when you saw him. You first noticed his profile, bearded with a lovely nose, his neck wrapped in a scarf and a pair of clear circular glasses rounding out the look. What really made you stop however was not the fact that it was a handsome profile, but that he seemed familiar somehow.

As you gathered yourself and walked closer, the next thing you noticed was he had one of the books out open on one of the tables as he leaned over it. And he wasn’t reading it. Oh no, he was writing in it. Writing in one of your store’s books. That was unacceptable, it was defacement of the highest order. That poor book. Handsome familiar profile or not, you couldn’t let that stand.

“Excuse me, sir. You can’t write in the books. Please don’t do that.”

He sighed and it sounded world weary, like he’d been caught writing in books before and he was tired of people stopping him. Well good, he should be. He should have learned his lesson the first time.

He had the audacity to finish whatever it was he was writing before gently closing the book and sliding it back onto the shelf. You made a note of where it was for its later removal and held in a shudder at the thought that he might have written in others.

He turned to you and you moved your eyes away from the books to take in his face. The gasp you let out was hopefully inaudible. It was Laszlo Kreizler. The Laszlo Kreizler. The author whose books you’d devoured since he published his first Alienist novel, reading them again and again, and the man you’d had a slight crush on ever since seeing his author photo at the end of book one. Well if you were being honest with yourself, it was a little more than a slight crush. However, it was nice to fantasize about people you’d never meet, and a famous author was a harmless person to have a crush on. It’s not like you ever thought you’d meet him in real life. Your favorite author was here in your store, and even more handsome in person. Somehow. And he was writing in books?!

“Can I do it if I’m signing my own books?”

You then realized what aisle you were in. Mystery and Thriller in the K’s. He’d been signing his own books. He hadn’t been defacing anything after all. You were giddy in your relief and smiled at him without thinking.

He was patiently watching you. His dark brown eyes behind his glasses were piercing and seemed to take in every detail as he analyzed your face and expressions. At your smile, his cheeks reddened slightly and he glanced away.

“Yes, that’s okay Dr. Kreizler. That’s wonderful. It’ll be such a nice surprise for buyers. I may have to ask you to sign mine while you’re at it.”

His blush was impossible to hide now and he cleared his throat, his accented voice hesitant. “You know of me? You’ve read my novels?”

You smiled again and gave him a once over. His author photo really didn’t do him justice. “I’ve read all of them multiple times. They’re some of my favorites.”

“Oh… well, it’s nice to meet a fan.” He looked down for a moment before making eye contact again and smiling back hesitantly.

“It’s even nicer to meet you, Dr. Kreizler. Do you do this sort of thing often? Come to bookstores and sign your books?”

“Yes, I have been doing it for years now though I am not often caught.”

“Really? That’s amazing. I’d love to hear more about it and any of your other signing misadventures over coffee. What do you say, Dr. Kreizler?”

“Coffee sounds lovely. On one condition.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“That you call me Laszlo.”

Reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!

A/N: This is the first fic I’ve posted in ages, so I hope you all liked it and please let me know if you did! 

If inspiration strikes, then I might end up writing a sequel to this about their cozy coffee date because I love the idea of drinking a hot beverage and talking about books with Laszlo. 

My Masterlist

[phoenix--quill]

Prompt 1: Morning sex

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler/you

Rating: E (minors DNI)

Warnings: unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie

Length: ~1.400 words

Summery: Lazy summer morning with Laszlo

Notes: See? A bed, just two people having sex and not a table in sight, I knew I could do it, lol. On a serious note, I’m currently house/cat-sitting and they’re driving me insane so entries will probably come a little slower than before but we persevere.

AO3

A small beam of summer sun had managed to find its way through the heavy curtains of Laszlo and yours shared bedroom, waking you up slowly despite the silence of the early morning. You rolled over languidly and was met with the sight of your husband’s soft back and shoulders, still rising and falling gently as he slept.

For a few minutes you simply lay there, basking in the warmth of your bed and the gentle sound of Laszlo’s breathing. Then temptation won out in your mind and you risked waking him up to snuggle up against his back, breathing in the smell of his skin and hair. You thought you might never tire of this, the feel of his skin against your lips as you gently kissed along his shoulders, the scent so uniquely him that you would recognize it anywhere – a mixture of the oil he favoured for his beard and hair, old books and just simply him.

You felt him wake up as you continued your gentle exploration of his shoulders and back and he groaned in what could be only be described as contentment.

“Morgen,” he said lowly, his voice still gravely with sleep.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you whispered with a gentle laugh and planted a kiss on his arm, “you just looked too tempting,”

He let out another rumble and turned to lie on his back, giving you the opportunity to continue your trail of kisses along his chest. You slowly wound your way along his collarbone and up his neck before stopping just shy of his lips. Your eyes met his for the first time of the day and you hoped his always piercing gaze could see your love and affection for him; though you suspected desire was dancing in there too.

He smiled up at you, brushed a lock of hair out of your face and gently cupped your face, running his thumb over your soft lower lip. Always so soft, your Laszlo; always so afraid to hurt you, one way or another. He drew in a sharp breath as you kissed the slightly rough pad of his finger and you gave it a few small licks to see if you could replicate the response. Instead he groaned as he pulled your face to his, easily capturing your lips and taking your breath away.

While his hand had stayed on your jaw, yours wouldn’t stay still and you stroked up and down his chest, running your fingers through his sparse chest hair and lightly brushing over his nipple. He broke the kiss to let out another deep groan and then another sharp breath through his nose when you brushed passed it again. He was never more beautiful than this: his lips red and slightly swollen, his cheeks flushed and his already dark eyes looking like the very void.

You sighed his name against his lips as you leaned back down to kiss him again, running your tongue along his lip, begging for entry. He granted it, of course, running his tongue against yours as his hand found its way into your still sleep-rumpled hair.

As the kiss continued you leaned further over him until you had to put your hand down beside his head to keep yourself up. You broke the kiss with a breathless laugh and looked him deep in the eyes as you swung one leg over his waist and made yourself comfortable in his lap.

Except from the thin blanket that covered his legs, the both of you were still naked from the previous night’s activities and, as you sat up, you could practically feel his eyes roaming your bare breasts. He didn’t seem to be able to stop himself reaching up and cupping one, massaging it gently before flicking his thumb over your nipple.

You whined softly and ground your hips against his soft stomach, feeling the slightly coarse hair that trailed below his navel against your nether lips.

His other hand, which had previously been lying uselessly against his side, came up and gently squeezed your thigh, encouraging you to keep up your motions against him. Between that, Laszlo’s good hand continuously going between massaging your breast and pinching your nipple and the heated expression on his face, you could feel your wetness starting leak down your thighs and pool on his abdomen.

“Laszlo,” you whimpered as you angled your hips slightly to rub your clit more directly against him.

“I am here, my love,” he whispered, his breathing just as heavy as your own.

With one hand on his chest to support you, you reached around to find his manhood already lying heavy against his leg, precum leaking into the sheets beneath him. The both of you moaned in unison as your hand closed around him, giving him a few pumps and you revelled in the feeling of his silky hardness against your hand.

You rose up on your knees to slide back slightly, manoeuvring his hardness in between you legs and rubbed your wetness against him, soaking him in seconds. He gave another throaty moan and you whimpered again at the combination of the sound and feeling of him.

His hand switched to your other breast and with a particular hard tug against your nipple, your body acted on its own accord and you sank down on him, your walls stretching as you bottomed out all at once. Something between a moan and a shriek ripped itself from your throat and mingled with his own sounds. You had to hold still for a moment, the feeling of his thick member inside of you threatening to overwhelm you.

“So good; always so good,” you babbled as you leaned down to kiss him again, locking your lips as you began to move against him, each of you swallowing the other’s noises as pleasure rippled through you both. You rose up on your knees only to slam your hips down, again and again, enjoying the stretch of him inside you and the feeling your nipples brushing against his chest with every bounce.

You could feel his weak hand twitching against your thigh while the other came up to once again tangle in your hair and you decided to mirror him, tangling your own fingers with his against your leg while the other went to his jaw.

“Laszlo, please,” you whimpered against his lips as you felt you thrusts starting to falter and become uncoordinated. “I can’t,” another whimper escaped you and words became harder as you mind clouded over.

You felt him move his legs slightly and then angle his hips before starting to thrust up, immediately hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars. Both your arm and legs shook and threatened to give out as he continued his heavy thrusts and your throat felt sore as deep moans continuously fell from your lips.

“So close, please, my love,” the words fell from your lips without you even being fully aware of them and you started to pepper his chest with small kisses and licks, the need to feel him all around you was the last and only thought in your mind.

“Come for me, my heart; just let go,” he whispered almost pleadingly against your hair, his breathing coming out in hard puffs as he tried to hold back his own climax. He slipped his hand down between your legs, finding your clit immediately. You would never be able to replicate the feeling of Laszlo’s slender fingers against your most intimate parts and he did not disappoint now, as with only a few flicks and an especially deep thrust he made you climax so hard you thought you might pass out.

You felt your whole body tighten as waves upon waves of pleasure rolled through you; a scream forever lost in your throat as seemingly no air could escape you. Then you felt it, the warm feeling of Laszlo’s seed filling you as he arched up beneath you, finding his own climax. Your limbs finally gave out and you collapsed against his sweaty, still heaving chest.

Silence once again filled your bedroom as the two of you came down from your high, your breathing slowly returning to normal. You rolled off of him after only a moment to lay beside him instead – the exertion coupled with the quickly rising summer sun had made his skin too hot to bear for long.

You opened your mouth, about to ask for the time, when you heard the distant sounds of your maid roaming around the house and blushed at the thought of her hearing what had transpired mere minutes ago.

[lorna-d-m]

Gingerbread

Word Count: 4,870

Rating: E

Warning: wine drinking, swearing, breast play, some dry humping

Author's Note: happy thanksgiving! Now that it's passed I can officially say: Merry Christmas y'all! Timeline wise, this takes place between chapters six and seven.

Alice missed the days of elementary school when the last day before winter break was reserved for nostalgic movies, hot chocolate, and wearing your pajamas to school. Instead, students completed their end-of-term exams. Instead of relaxing, kicking up her feet and putting on a movie, she graded first periods’ exams during second, and so on and so on. Those who finished before the end of the period could read or study for another exam. 

Stevie approached her desk, and she looked up assuming he had a question about the exam. Instead, he handed her a small envelope and whispered so quietly she could hardly hear him, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Greene”. Stevie turned on his heels and returned to his desk.

Curiosity piqued, Alice examined the envelope. She would recognize Stevie’s handwriting, so she assumed it must be Laszlo who scrawled her name on the front of the envelope. Alice noted the fancy stationery: the thick off-white envelope with a red wax seal. 

It was a simple but elegant Christmas card depicting a winter scene. Before she read it, she looked at the gift card tucked inside. It was for her favorite coffee chain and $15, plenty for two drinks or a drink and a snack. Inside the card, Laszlo wrote a brief thank you, Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays. He signed, as well as Stevie. 

Stevie watched her open the card. Not wanting to distract any students or draw too much attention, Alice mouthed thank you to him. She wondered if any other of Stevie’s teachers received a card. When she checked her phone at lunch, Bits answered her question. 

Nice Christmas gifts from the good doc 🎄🎁 I’m assuming you’ll get more than a card from him? 😏😉

Alice chuckled, knowing all the innuendos Bitsy meant with a simple wink and smirk emoji combination. They made plans for Saturday when Stevie was supposed to be hanging out at a friend’s house.

Oh hush you 🤫A lady doesn’t kiss and tell

She went back to grading, worrying if the gifts she bought him were enough. Saying he was difficult to shop for felt like a lame excuse, but Alice couldn’t think of anything else to get him. Unless… well she supposed it was more of a purchase for her, but he would certainly appreciate it.

Laszlo deliberated for two days about what to cook for dinner. It was not his first time cooking for Alice, but it was his first time in his kitchen amongst all his tools and familiarity. The expectations were higher. He wanted to do something delicious for her, showing her how much he cared for her. Once decided, he went to the markets in the morning. It was his guilty pleasure. Laszlo enjoyed carefully perusing all his options and leisurely strolling around. He could never stick to a list; he always bought things he didn’t need but decided at the moment he wanted. 

He returned, carefully holding a brown paper grocery bag to his chest. Stevie stood over the stove, cooking a late-morning breakfast of eggs and toast. Laszlo had to tease him as he slipped into a winter break sleep schedule. 

“Good morning. Any later and I would tell you good afternoon.” 

“Ha ha,” Stevie laughed dryly. “I’ve never heard that one before.” 

Laszlo unpacked his groceries and handed a party-size bag of chips to Stevie. “For tonight,” Laszlo thought it rude to go to someone’s house emptyhanded. “Do you need a ride or is Jake picking you up?”

“He said he’d pick me up at like four, and then…” Stevie trailed off, but Laszlo waited expectedly. “I was going to ask you how late I could stay.”

Curfew was, Laszlo didn’t like to call it a debate, but a matter of discussion. On school nights Laszlo stuck to 9:30, wanting Stevie home at a reasonable time. On weekends, however, he was more flexible. So long as Stevie was transparent about his plans, telling him where he wanted to go and who he would be with, Laszlo was willing to adjust the time. 

Laszlo trusted Stevie and he had yet to disappoint him, but for emergencies and peace of mind, they had each other’s location shared on their phones. It went both ways, Laszlo could see if Stevie was at school, home, or a friend’s house, and Stevie could see if he was at the university, the Institute, the police station, or the courts. As a show of faith, Laszlo told him he would only check if he had a legitimate concern or cause. He had yet to check, knock on wood. 

And of course, if Laszlo coincidentally had plans with Alice the same night, then perhaps Stevie could stay with his friends a bit longer.

“That depends,” Laszlo huffed a sigh in thought, “Will he be dropping you off, or will I pick you up?” 

Stevie didn’t bother to plate his food or sit at the table. He stood at the counter, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a piece of sourdough toast with his wooden spoon. At least he didn’t create many dishes… Stevie answered with a mouthful, “He can drop me off.” 

Perfect. “How does eleven sound then? Take it as an early Christmas present.” Then Laszlo could enjoy more time with Alice. “And text me when you’re on your way back.” That way they had a reminder when she needed to leave. 

“Thanks!” Stevie was a quick eater, a result of his childhood, and already he finished his breakfast. After cleaning the few dishes he used, he went back to his room.

Alice pressed her lips into a thin line in focus. It was an unconscious habit as she piped details on gingerbread cookies in royal icing: delicate buttons to the little men, twinkling lights on the trees, and fine lines on the snowflakes. Flour and icing smeared her cheek and dusted her clothes, and she was sweating from the residual heat of the oven. 

The timer on her phone startled her, making her smear the line of the snowflake. She cursed and set the cookie aside. Alice didn’t want to give Laszlo an ugly cookie. And, she sighed while brushing away an errant lock of hair, she didn’t want to look like an ugly cookie either. The timer reminded her to step back and start getting ready.

After hearing Laszlo had no Christmas plans, other than little celebrations with Stevie since John and Sara were on a much-needed vacation, Alice wanted to make sure their night was perfect. She debated what to wear, settling on a red low-cut sweater and a tight skirt. Classic, but enticing, and she could show off one of her gifts for Laszlo.

***

Alice parked on the street and waited in her toasty car. It was her first time visiting Laszlo’s house. She pulled out her phone, and rather than text Laszlo that she arrived, she typed a message for Bitsy.

Oh shit. He’s rich rich 💰

Bitsy responded quickly. oh??? 👀👀That’s good because you need to marry rich you’re a teacher

She took a picture of the front of the brownstone house and sent it. That should tell Bitsy all she needed to know. Then, she texted Laszlo that she had arrived. Taking a deep breath in, she left the coziness of her car and braved the cold night air. 

The front door was off street level; it was up a set of stairs. Alice was careful, her hand gliding over the railing as she ascended them. The last thing she wanted was to slip on icy steps: embarrassing herself and ruining her hard work that afternoon or Laszlo’s gifts. Before she could knock on the old brass knocker or ring the decorative doorbell, Laszlo opened the door. 

He radiated warmth, and not just because of the heat escaping the house. Laszlo wore a white apron over his clothes, a lock of hair fell across his forehead, his sleeve was rolled up, and he smelled like the delicious food he cooked. It made Alice’s stomach growl and her heart flutter. 

“Please, come in. You can put your coat there,” he gestured to a coat rack in the corner of the vestibule and took the platter of cookies from her hands, “and I can take these to the kitchen.”

He had a vestibule and a foyer beyond that. Alice knew he had money, but she did not realize how much until she saw his home. She shed her coat, and she caught Laszlo’s eyes appreciating the neckline of her sweater just as she intended. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished, but please, feel free to wait in the parlor and nibble on the cheese board while I return downstairs.”

“Your kitchen is downstairs?” Alice almost asked “you have a parlor?” but that was a less pressing matter.

Laszlo chuckled. “Yes, it’s an old house, so the garage, kitchen, and ironically Stevie’s room are all street level. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Good,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m hungry and I’ll miss you.” 

His cheeks flushed, and he kissed her properly. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.” He disappeared down the stairs, readjusting the apron tied around his waist. Alice admired his ass as he left. 

Alice did as Laszlo suggested and wandered to the parlor. She nibbled on a cracker with brie and thinly sliced apple while she surveyed the room. A heavy, ornate fireplace warmed the room, and she relished its heat. Her sweater and skirt did little to keep her warm. Alice noticed there were no pictures on the mantle, just a television mounted on the wall. It was one of the fancy ones disguised as a landscape painting, complete with a gilded frame. 

Two bookshelves bookended the fireplace, and Alice skimmed through the titles. Some she recognized, like classic novels, whereas the psychological essays and journals were far from her realm of familiarity. Where did he find the time to read, she mused. A record player nestled in the corner, made to look like a vintage gramophone, filled the room with traditional Christmas music. Alice hummed along to the familiar song. Laszlo was a maximalist, filling his home with as much as he could in his eclectic style.

Alice heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so she went to the formal dining room. As she wondered how often Laszlo and Stevie ate there, he answered her silent question.

“We rarely use it, but I wanted tonight to be special.” 

“Please, let me help you,” she offered. Laszlo held a heavy tray laden with plates and bowls with one hand.

“There’s no need,” he insisted, setting it on the table.  “It’s part of why we don’t use the dining room very often.”

“I can imagine, but it looks lovely, Laszlo.” He dressed up the space with formal dinnerware and linens. He lit a candelabra on the table, and pitchers of water and bottles of wine waited to be poured. 

“Thank you.” He blushed again, clearly unused to praise. Alice wanted to make the tinge of pink darker. 

“You’ve put in so much effort, and I appreciate it. You’ve made tonight special and memorable, and we’ve barely begun.” 

Laszlo returned downstairs for the rest of the meal, and Alice stole a glance at what he brought up already. A basket of dinner rolls, small bowls of soup, and salads. This was meant to be the appetizer, and she wondered eagerly what the main course could be. With perfect timing, he brought the entrée: roasted vegetables, seared duck breast with a red wine sauce, and creamy mashed potatoes. 

Once everything was settled on the table, Laszlo could settle himself. He removed his apron revealing a white button-up and a Christmas-themed waistcoat: dark green with white detailing and gold buttons. Laszlo pulled out her seat for her, and then he poured them both a glass of water and a glass of red wine.  

“Please, enjoy. There’s plenty.” He offered her the basket of warm dinner rolls glistening with butter.

Laszlo was an excellent cook, and she was excited to try it. He waited until she tasted it and smiled before he ate anything.  

Over dinner, they reminisced on past Christmases: best presents, worst presents, family drama, vacations. Alice thought long and hard about the best present she ever received and decided it must have been when she got a Barbie dreamhouse. She knew what it was as soon as she saw the gigantic wrapped box by the tree, but her parents made her wait until the end to unwrap it. Laszlo smiled saying he had something similar happen when his parents bought the baby grand piano for the parlor.

“Do you play?” She noticed it, but the keys were covered and the music books were nowhere in sight. If he did, he left no clues. 

“No,” he frowned, “not since I was a young boy.”

Alice didn’t want to upset him, so she did not press it. She found it odd since he was the one who mentioned the piano, to begin with, but this was a happy night. From then on, Laszlo was more inclined to listen to her than share his memories. 

Alice insisted upon helping him clean up after the meal, and Laszlo found it hard to refuse her. He enjoyed simply being near her, and he admitted it was easier with an extra set of hands. Laszlo rinsed the dishes from dinner while Alice unloaded the dishwasher. 

“I wasn’t sure about making Christmas cookies,” Alice confessed.

Laszlo raised an eyebrow in playful alarm. “Why ever not? Your cookies are delectable.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a one trick pony. You’ve had my cookies before at open house and the conferences, so I thought I should show you something new.”

“But they’re delicious, and I presume gingerbread to fit the season. I’ve not tasted those.”

“Which is why I went with it. You can really only do gingerbread this time of year. But I think next time, I’ll make something totally different.”

“I look forward to it.” Since his hands were covered with soapy water, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Speaking of dessert, do you want it now or do you want to wait?”

Alice smirked. “Well, if dessert is a real kiss, I want it now.” 

How could he refuse? Laszlo kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Alice pinned him against the counter, and since her hands were dry she ran them through his hair and rested them at the back of his neck. Laszlo leaned into her touch.

Abruptly, Alice ended their kiss. She stayed close to him, pressed to him. “But if dessert is the cookies, they can wait until we’re watching a movie on the couch.” Laszlo hardly understood what she said. He was too distracted by the way Alice kissed him. She giggled, clearly amused by his love-drunk expression, and smiled. “Come on,” she teased, “let’s finish this up.” Laszlo did not need any more encouragement. 

***

They set out all their gifts on the coffee table along with the platter of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Laszlo insisted on preparing it for them, his recipe using dark chocolate and rich milk to create the most decadent drink. Stevie preferred the instant Swiss Miss powder, no doubt due to his unrefined palette, and Alice surprised Laszlo by asking for a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. Curious, he had to try it for himself.

Alice shivered once on the couch, so Laszlo found the red knit blanket he kept in the living room and draped it over her shoulders. She looked comfortable like she belonged there.

“Can I go first?” Alice volunteered, “My gifts for you require a little bit of explanation.”

“Well now you must. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

She handed him one slim box, one wrapped present that could only be a book by its shape and size, and a flat, rectangular box. All were wrapped in delicate blue and white snowflake wrapping paper and finished with silver bows. Laszlo reached for the smallest box first. He tore the paper at the tape and lifted the lid from the box. It was a black and gold fountain pen, weighted in his hand.

“It’s supposed to be smear proof. All the reviews said it was left hand certified.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He reached for the book next, sliding his thumb under the edge of the wrapping paper. It was a well-read, well-loved paperback copy of her favorite book. Laszlo glanced at her before skimming through the pages. 

“We talked about books before, and how a person’s favorite book can tell you a lot about them, so I thought I would give you my favorite filled with all my thoughts and annotations.” It was a deeply personable gift. Laszlo was shocked, and he immediately tried to give it back to her. “I already bought myself another copy, please, keep it.”

The final present was a rich golden-colored cable knit sweater. Laszlo held it up, modeling what it would look like, and he saw her eyes light up. He would have to wear more gold…

“I had to guess your size, so I put the receipt in the box in case you need to return it or exchange it. But I thought the gold would suit you, and I see I was right.”

“Thank you, darling.” He kissed her cheek again. Laszlo enjoyed seeing her cheeks flush whenever he did. “It’s all so thoughtful.”

“Technically,” Alice said with a sly grin, “there’s one more gift, but you’ll have to wait to unwrap it.”

“Oh?” Laszlo checked the coffee table wondering how he missed it. Alice nodded, removed the blanket from her shoulders, and sat up straight, pushing her plentiful chest out. “Oh!”

Intentionally, her sweater slipped off her shoulder exposing a touch of lace. His eyes followed the movement. “It’s more of an investment, I think, but mutually beneficial.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, unconsciously licking his lips. 

“But not yet.” Alice fixed her sweater and re-wrapped the blanket. Laszlo blinked twice, refocusing on the moment. She knew how to tease him, draw him in, and turn his head all around. It was maddening and enthralling. He thought carefully about the order in which to give his gifts to her. Start small.

“The poinsettias on the table are yours to keep, so long as you keep them away from Georgie. I read they’re not good for cats, so put them somewhere high and out of reach for him.”

“They’re gorgeous, Laszlo, and I appreciate the research. All the other flowers you’ve given me have been Georgie safe, so I’ll have to find somewhere special for these.”

Next was a little gift bag filled with imported German chocolates, the best in his opinion, and cat treats for Georgie. Treats for both of them, he explained, with a sheepish smile at the pun. These were all small gifts, trivial really, but they all brought a smile to her face. It was time to step it up. He handed her a slim, unmarked envelope with two tickets to the Nutcracker, on Christmas Eve no less. 

Alice’s eyes glittered. “I thought this had been sold out for months! How did you get these?”

“I have a box, so I get the first pick of any tickets…” he trailed off. He always bought at least two tickets. In years past, he would take John, Stevie, or John and Sara and play the third wheel. This year, Laszlo would have a date. 

“Fuck off,” Alice said indelicately, but still alluringly to him. “You have a box?”

“I do,” he snickered, “It was my family’s before it became mine.”

“That’s incredible.” She still held the tickets in her hand, looking them over and over. His eyes met hers, a silent question. What are you thinking? “Honestly, I’m trying to think if I have an outfit worthy of this.”

“Whatever you wear, I’m sure it will be divine, and I hope you pair it with this.” He slid his final present over to her: a small jewelry box. 

Tentatively, she set the tickets down and picked up the box. It wasn’t wrapped; Laszlo thought the black velvet spoke for itself. Now he feared it was too much too soon. Jewelry set certain expectations. It announced intention. 

“Oh, Laszlo.” Her thumb rubbed along the edge of the box, and she tilted the necklace and earrings toward the light. “It’s- I don’t know what to say other than thank you.” Alice’s wide eyes met his, and he thought he saw the shadow of a tear.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” The troublesome tear slipped down her cheek when he asked, and more threatened to follow. Given the nature of his work, Laszlo was accustomed to tears, but he did not know what to do when Alice cried.

“You’ve done so much and given me such wonderful gifts,” she tried to steady her voice but was unsuccessful, “and I’m worried I didn’t do enough.”

“Don’t say that,” he rushed to assure her. In the unspoken silence, Laszlo sensed her true fear was that she wasn’t enough. He struggled for words, so he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You have given me plenty.”

Alice smiled, tears still in her eyes, and nodded to herself. “Thank you, Laszlo, just-” she paused again, registering her hand in his, “Thank you.”

After Alice dried her tears, embarrassed she cried but comforted by Laszlo’s words, they dimmed the lights and turned on a movie. All playful bickering about what to watch stopped when Alice spotted an old stop-motion classic about the year without Santa Claus. She had not seen it in years, but she vividly remembered the song with heat miser and snow miser. Laszlo chuckled and indulged her, selecting the movie and letting the opening credits play. 

She cuddled up next to Laszlo, his arm across her shoulders, and she shared her blanket with him. Alice leaned her head on his chest, and he rested his chin at the top of her head. She was comforted by his slow and steady breathing. Laszlo was a rock: steady and reliable under her. 

Both their hands wandered, appreciative and lingering touches, until the movie was forgotten and Laszlo encouraged her to sit on his lap. Alice hesitated, biting her tongue at a quip about being more than he could handle, but he was insistent and unflinching. She straddled his lap, her already short skirt rising up even further, teasing him with the tops of her thighs. 

“There you are,” Laszlo crooned. He looked less perfect and more like a person. Toussled hair, pink cheeks, sly smile. Alice adored him like this. His hand circled her waist and pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them. His kiss tasted of their drink, rich chocolate with a touch of spice. Alice melted into his touch. Laszlo panted, whining into her mouth as he felt her chest pressing against him.

His hand slipped under the knit of her red sweater and traced the skin underneath. His fingers danced over the clasp of her new bra, her gift just for him to unwrap, asking her permission before advancing any further. She broke their kiss and nodded, a quiet “I want this” escaping her lips. Laszlo needed no more encouragement, and he deftly undid the clasp. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Her nipples pebbled in the sudden chill, and Laszlo was quick to latch himself to her. 

He took one into his mouth, lavishing it with attention, while he cupped her other breast with his hand. Laszlo did not want it to feel unappreciated as he nipped, licked, and pinched. Alice moaned his name and wriggled her hips against him, craving more in the heady heat of the moment. “I want to see you,” she huffed. 

Laszlo paused and drew back. A trail of saliva connected them, and Alice brushed it away with her thumb. “I’m all yours,” he murmured.

Alice hastily unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt, cursing him for wearing so many layers, but grateful for them too. Laszlo looked good in his layers, coordinated and well-put-together, but she wanted to see underneath his careful clothing choices.  Alice feasted her eyes on a broad chest, dusted with coarse hair and fine freckles, leading down to his soft stomach. Laszlo tipped his head back and groaned when she trailed her hand down his chest.

“Much better.” Pleased, Alice touched Laszlo’s chin and brought his attention back. His eyes were hazy, as if he’d drunk more than a glass of wine, as he studied her form. Laszlo ran an appreciative hand across her body: cupping her breast, holding her waist, and resting on her ass. He kissed her again, his lips wandering from her lips to her jaw, and her collarbone. 

“Laszlo, I-” His phone, forgotten on the coffee table, rang and interrupted her. She turned, glancing at the caller ID, and handed it to him. “It’s Stevie, he’s probably on his way home.”

Laszlo answered and held the phone to his ear. Alice was somewhat relieved he called. She wasn’t sure how much further they were going to go, and she was nervous to broach the topic. This was a natural end to the evening. When she went to move off his lap, he held her there with his right hand. Not firmly, but the surprising and warm touch was enough to keep her there. She slipped her hand over his.

Alice waited until he hung up to speak. “I think it’s time for me to go, Las.” 

“Please, darling, five more minutes.” His hips ground against hers, and his voice was as enticingly sweet as honey. 

“Five minutes, my final Christmas present for you,” she teased.

His lips reattached to hers, and his hand groped her breast. Her hips continued above him, and Laszlo followed every one of her movements. 

Hindered by Laszlo’s request, but hastened by his assistance to redress, Alice left without issue. She promised to text him when she arrived home safe and sound, and he reminded her what time they would leave for the Nutcracker. Laszlo waited for Stevie to return in the kitchen, hoping to ask about his evening before locking the front door and going to bed. 

“Hey,” Stevie entered through the more hidden ground-level door that connected through the garage. He preferred the direct access rather than messing with the front door. It was part of why he chose to live downstairs.

“How was it?” 

“Good,” he shrugged, “Caleb got a new game for us to play, so it took a while to figure out the rules, but it was fun.”

“Did they enjoy the chips?”

“Yeah, yeah, they did.” Stevie glanced at the sink, empty apart from two mugs of hot chocolate. “How was your evening?” 

One mug was still smeared with lipstick, and panic shot through Laszlo. Did he have any of her lipstick on his face? He wished he checked a mirror instead of presuming he looked okay. Laszlo flustered, thinking on the spot.

“Fine. Some people from the psychology department came over for dinner, part of a new tradition they’re trying to start.”

Stevie poured himself a glass of water and stood in front of the fridge. “That’s cool. Any leftovers? ”

“What? They didn’t feed you over there?” Laszlo chuckled, relieved by the change in subject.

“They did, but I’m still hungry. Growing boy and all.” Stevie ate a dinner roll without bothering to microwave it. 

Laszlo rolled his eyes. Ah, the youth. “Goodnight, and don’t forget to lock up.”

“Already did.”

Laszlo meant it when he said, “Good kid.”

***

Two days later, Laszlo picked Alice up from her apartment with a bouquet of pale pink roses. She wore a simple, elegant black dress and shawl. Underneath her silver shawl, Laszlo spotted the simple necklace he gave her and more than one purple hickey. He felt a sense of satisfaction seeing his work.

They arrived early to the theater and worked slowly through the crowds. People acknowledged him — former clients or students — and he stopped for a moment to chat with some of them. His chest puffed up with pride, talking to them with a woman as wonderful as Alice on his arm. She shimmered under the chandeliers.

Finally, Laszlo brought her to his box on the upper level. Alice whispered in his ear she always wondered what the view from the boxes was like rather than general admission. Laszlo promised to take her to more shows in the coming year. They enjoyed the show, her hand clasped in his, and her shawl slipping off her shoulders.

Laszlo asked if she was hungry, too, when they left the theater. Sheepishly, Alice confessed she was. He swung by a fast-food joint, one of the only things open at the late hour on Christmas Eve, and ordered fries and milkshakes. After their midnight snack, they made out like teenagers in the front seat. It was a complete contrast to the formality of their evening, but it was the perfect way to end the night.

taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker

[valquiria3000]

I was reading this in class and to tell you just how much effort I had to put on not laughing while reading this, I LOVED THIS, the modern AU fic I didn’t know I needed ❤️❤️❤️

WC: 1829

Rated: M

Tags: humor, adult and sexual humor, detailed descriptions of male genitalia, fluff, married life

A/N: I saw a commercial for this on Facebook and thought it was a joke but it's not apparently. And then I got to talking with @lorna-d-m …. Anyways :)

🩲

The front door shuts and locks with a soft click. You drop your luggage next to the side table, letting out a sigh as you stretch and crack the joints in your stiff neck. After an almost 6 hour flight, plus a 3 hour delay due to bad weather, you were finally back in New York. The townhouse you share with your husband is quiet, dark. Only the soft sounds of Tchaikovsky can be heard wafting from the upstairs home office, leading you to where your Laszlo must be. Looking at your cell phone's clock you see it's nearly 10pm; you know he's eaten dinner by now and is likely just waiting for your impending arrival.

Climbing the stairs you stop and lean on his door frame. Laszlo is concentrated on a book, his brows scrunched and round glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He gives a tiny grunt before writing something in one of his many notebooks.

"Find anything interesting?"

His face pops up from the tome. "Ah! Bärchen, I didn't hear you come in." He marks his page before standing and walking over to you. Laszlo's kiss is warm and comforting, welcoming you home after nearly a week away. His hands find purchase on your waist. "Your flight was smooth I trust?"

"A little turbulence but otherwise it was fine, yeah."

"And the conference?"

"A lot of fun - I'll have to take you with me next year. I'm sure you'll get a kick out of some of the lecturers and their crazy ideas about collective psyche and social movements." You roll your eyes in good humor.

Laszlo leans in once more, his lips brushing delicately against yours. He quickly deepens the kiss. You can feel the way his body presses closer to you, a subtle firmness along your hip. Before things can get too heated you break away to look into his amber eyes. "As much as I would love to... make up for lost time," you give him a pout, "I'm exhausted and just want to shower and go to bed." You level him with your best puppy dog look as a means to apologize for killing the moment.

Laszlo chuckles. "There is nothing to apologize for, my dear. Having you back in my arms is more than enough for me." He steps back, using his left hand to gently guide you from where you lean and into the hall towards your bedroom. You beeline for the ensuite bathroom, your husband a few steps behind in the bedroom finding you something clean to change into. "Have you had a chance to eat something?" he calls to you.

His question reminds you that in your desperation to return to your loving husband and wash off the day you neglected to actually eat more than the paltry bag of airplane pretzels. As if on cue your stomach growls. You lean your head back towards the bedroom as you pull a fresh towel from the closet. "No, I figure I'll shower and then whip up a little something before bed."

"Allow me."

You turn to look back at him as you continue to set up the shower, removing your traveling clothes in the process. "Oh no Laz it's okay, I can do it-"

He levels you with a look before cutting you off "-and I, your husband, am offering to make dinner for my wife, whom I love."

Clicking your tongue against your cheek you simply nod in acquiescence.

The hot spray loosens your tense muscles. Next time you had to fly out any longer than 2 hours you were definitely going to take up your husband’s suggestion to fly first class. He'd offered you the upgrade when you first planned your trip, but you'd simply shrugged and said it wasn't necessary, that you'd rather him spend the money on treating you to a nice date when you got home instead. Boy how your body hated you for that now...

You wash away the day of traveling and quickly follow with your usual skin care routine after. The steamy room keeps you warm under your fluffy towel, but all you want is to throw on one of his old t-shirts and slide under the silk sheets of your shared bed.

Opening the door you spot a plate of grilled cheese waiting for you on the bed. You waste no time making yourself comfortable on the end of the bed and digging in to the crispy, gooey, buttery sandwich. Moaning around the bite you shovel as much as you can fit into your gullet the second go. Laszlo isn't here as you finish the first sandwich.

Three bites into the second grilled cheese he enters the room. Holding your hand to cover your mouth you mumble out "thank you." His answer is a kiss to your head. You swallow. "You know I'll never figure out how you learned to make the perfect grilled cheese?" You tear off a chunk to pop in his mouth as he stands before you.

"A secret I'll never tell," he winks, leaving you to go change for bed.

You grin around a mouthful. "Well as long as you keep making them for me I'll be perfectly content to never know."

Laszlo exits the closet in his dark robe, the ties undone and the glorious expanse of his chest and abdomen on display for your wandering eyes. Gaze trailing along the line of chest hair from top to bottom you stop in your tracks when you reach his shorts. A pair of obnoxiously plaid boxer briefs hug his hips and thighs. What really gets your attention as he walks past you? What sticks out between his legs.

For fucks sake you had to be imagining things.

You blink quickly. You knew Laszlo was gifted, so to speak. He was the biggest you'd ever been with by far. There were no complaints from you; above average size and he knew how to use it? A+, top of the class. But the absolutely massive bulge that protrudes from his crotch currently?

It's obscene.

There's no way you're seeing clearly! Maybe you just forgot what his dick looks like? How long were you away for? Did he take something? Are you jetlagged? Is it possible to forget the size of your husband’s penis if you go too long without seeing it? Your mind races as it tries to piece together what you think you just saw.

You must be making quite the face, as the next thing you know Laszlo is looking down at you with concern. "- are you alright?" He waves his fingers in front of your slackjawed face.

Starting blankly at him for a second you finally reply with an extremely eloquent "... what?"

"You don't look well, are you alright?"

Oh. Right.

"Uh…." You gather your wits, looking back at his boxers as he stands before you. Not only are they plaid, but right on said crotch is a picture of mistletoe - if you weren't in such a state of confusion you would've found the pun to be funny. "What the fuck are you wearing and why is your dick so big?!" blurts out before you can stop yourself. Your hand claps over your mouth.

You both immediately share a look; eyebrows to your hairline as if to say 'wow I can't believe what you just said'. With a blink he looks down at himself and proceeds to give a soft "oh".

"I'm so sorry I don't... uh…" your voice gives out on its feeble explanation. What a thing to say to your husband, questioning the size of his manhood, you lament at your awkwardness. Then it clicks. You've seen those before, several months ago. "Wait wait wait…. are those the-" your words are cut by a small giggle "- are those the gag gift I got you for Christmas last year with the little-?" you hold your hand up to mimic a cupping motion.

You had seen the underwear on Facebook and thought the whole concept was some sort of joke; boxer briefs with a built in "hammock" that held everything up like a "push-up bra for your jingle balls" the ad proclaimed. The whole thing was too hilarious, so naturally you bought a pair for your husband as a joke knowing he would never wear them. And so to the back of the closet they went, until now that is.

"Ah….well," he clears his throat. His left hand comes to scratch along his bearded jaw. Laszlo meets your eyes finally, his cheeks redder than a tomato; "I fell behind on laundry while you were away."

You bite your lip to stifle the smile threatening to break your face. "So instead of doing laundry you dug those out? Laz oh my god! They have mistletoe right on your-"

"- Yes I know," he finishes for you. "If I recall it was you that bought them to begin with."

"Yeah but I just wanted to see you blush, I didn't think you'd actually wear them ever!" Pulling him closer you stand him between your legs from where you sit. The material is soft. With a finger you push just under the waistband, pulling back and letting it snap against his hip. He gives a soft grunt.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

You raise a single eyebrow at him. "How do they feel? You know," you gesture downward with your chin.

He licks his lips briefly. "To be honest," he pauses, "they are some of the most comfortable bottoms I've ever worn," he finishes quietly, as if reluctant to admit how much he likes them.

Humming in amused satisfaction you add "and you look fantastic in them, it really brings out-" you wave your open palm over the general area between his hips before concluding with "-the color of your eyes." The smirk is full force as you watch him cringe at your tease. "What more could a girl want? But Jesus you're huge."

Laszlo scoffs, his face burning an even darker shade of red. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips, despite him trying to remain stoic at your compliments. "I do believe it's time for bed," he deflects and pulls away from you, effectively ending your ribbing. Shedding the robe he situates himself under the covers and gives you an expectant look.

"All I'm saying is I'm a very lucky woman." You join him in bed.

The two of you lay curled into one another in a peaceful quiet for several minutes. The calm of the dark bedroom and the exhaustion of your week has finally caught up with you. In the first pulls of sleep you whisper out "Hey Laz?"

"Yes my dear?"

Not one to let go of your mischievousness so easily, you say "if you like them so much I can always get you some more." You yawn. "But maybe not ones with mistletoe on the crotch. That's for my eyes only."

Click here to read part 2- Clean Laundry

___

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02 

Tag list 

[the-ravening]

Fic: A Suitable Course of Treatment (Laszlo Kreizler/Bucky Barnes)

Wrote a little Laszky PWP for @tales-from-a-maphia-don. Happy birthday!! 🥳❤️

Fandoms: The Alienist/TFATWS crossover

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler/Bucky Barnes

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2k

Tags: Teen Bucky, age difference, dubcon, doctor/patient, period typical homophobia, conversion therapy but in a gay porn way, handjobs, PWP, glasses kink

Summary:

Young Bucky is sent to Dr. Kreizler to be treated for his unnatural urges. As it turns out, the doctor has some unconventional methods.

Read on AO3!

[somethingthatsaysbubbles]

It’s been two years omg, I remember the Laszlo fic first coming out… well sort of, you were towards the last few chapters the first time we met.

Damn, it really has been like two years since I wrote that, hasn't it?

I'm not gonna lie, Anon, I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with The Ripping Case of Ms. Delia Rodwick. I took a risk and played around with alliteration; the language is a lot more poetic than my normal writing-style, so I have a hard time reading it back. I often think that it was too much, that "I need to go back and fix it," or "nobody actually liked/likes this," but then I remember that is has 160+ notes. People asked to be added to the taglist, and they left such nice, encouraging comments on A03 and Tumblr. I also remember how much fun I had with my little experiment—how much joy I felt writing it, how frustrated I felt while editing it, and how much I learned about what kind of writer I want to be/what kind of stories I want to tell. So,

Do I think it's the best Laszlo fic ever written? No.

Will I always struggle with confidence issues when it comes to my writing? Probably.

Do I regret writing it? No.

Am I grateful you read it, presumably enjoyed it, and was it worth writing for that reason alone? Absolutely.

Thank you for inviting me to take a little stroll down memory lane, Anon. <3 Happy Holidays!

[lupines-slash-recs]

Rec: Fruitful Partnerships by Starlinghue

Title: Fruitful Partnerships Author: Starlinghue Canon: The Alienist Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler/John Moore Rating: Mature [R] Word Count: 9,376 Summary: One night at the Opera, during those long, anxious months following the investigation, Laszlo turned discreetly in his

Continue reading...

[broccoliitree]

this was so soft & comforting ! i loved it :D

Late Night Cuddles (Dr. Laszlo Kreizler)

This is my first time writing for our beloved alienist

Summary: After a long and tiring day at the institute Laszlo joins you in bed

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluff, like 2 German words does that need a warning?

Word count: 1041 words

Translation: Gute Nacht = good night

Your fiancé was still in a session when you left to prepare for bed. It was not unusual for you to get ready for bed on your own. However, he would usually be by your side and get himself ready for the embrace of sleep as soon as you slid under the blankets and join you there mere minutes later.

This night seemed to be different though. You'd been lying in bed waiting for him for about an hour already. You were aware this was going to be a long night for him and so was he. That is also why Laszlo told you not to wait up for him, but you just couldn't help yourself. You were desperate to stare into those hazel eyes once more, to feel his soft hair against the skin of your hand and to run your fingertips through his beard before closing your eyes and feeling his lips on your temple as you drift off into the world of dreams.

Slowly you felt sleep begin overtaking your features as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

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It was the moment that you finally gave in to your need for sleep, when the door to your shared bedroom creaked open. The sound ripping you from your light slumber. Slightly startled, you forced your eyes open to see the doctor's gaze already on you. His posture told you that he was trying to quietly sneak into the room in order not to wake you, the flinch combined with the frown on his face displayed his distaste for the creaking door, which seemed to have a different plan in mind. You flashed him a drowsy smile as you slowly sat up in bed, extending your arms for him to engulf you in a hug. Your sleepy movements made a chuckle escape his lips as he climbed into bed next to you and wrapped one arm around you while his weaker arm rested on your waist. You were quick to nuzzle your face into his neck, a content sigh simultaneously leaving your lips. Laszlo was quick to lay down on the bed, pulling you along with him. You giggled as you felt the force of gravity and your betrothed pull you downwards. Laszlo joined in on the laughter as he felt you land halfway on him and halfway on the bed.

Sleep still had it's grasp on you as you tried to pull the covers over the two of you. After struggling with the blankets for a minute or two, you finally succeeded in what you were trying to accomplish. A relaxed exhale left your throat as you felt the soft material of the blanket atop of you.

"What took you so long tonight?" You questioned as you shuffled underneath the blankets, attempting to balance your weight on your elbow while your eyes observed his features closely. He seemed tired and exhausted after the long day. "Well, the session went on a little longer than usual and just when I thought I could come to join you in bed, I found one of the children strolling around. A little girl who seemed to struggle with falling asleep." he answered. "Oh? Is she alright now?" you wondered, arching an eyebrow. Laszlo nodded as his eyes met yours "Yes I helped her to calm down and-" "Did you show her the monkey?" An excited grin made it's way onto your features as you stopped him in the middle of his sentence, causing the man next to you to chuckle "Yes" he nodded "Yes I did show her the monkey."

A sleepy smile found it's way onto your lips as you cuddled into Laszlo's chest. Your eyes shot open immediately upon making contact with him. Wide (e/c) eyes stared up at the alienist in wonder and shock. Laszlo grew worried as soon as he saw the look on your face "Are you alri-" "You're ridiculously comfortable!" You cut him off. The worried expression on your fiancé's face was immediately replaced with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow as he shook his head trying to hold back a chuckle. "And you have realized this just now, after 3 years?" Smiling you shook your head "No I knew that of course, I just wasn't aware of the extent of your comfortableness" you muttered, voice still drunk on sleep. This time Laszlo couldn't hold back his laugh, you heard it reverberating in his chest where your head was still placed. You smiled against him while you wrapped your arms around him in order to be in even closer proximity to him, as you muttered "Goodnight love" You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head as you closed your eyes and buried your face further in his chest. When you spoke up once more your voice came out muffled "You're my new pillow from now on Laszlo"

The man in question to just shook his head grinning as he ran his fingers through your hair. "Gute Nacht (Y/n)" he cooed softly.

▪︎

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▪︎

Laszlo stayed awake like that for a while longer, enjoying the sensation of having you so close to him. He felt your hair underneath the skin of his fingertips, felt you hold onto him in your sleep as his thoughts drifted through his head. Thoughts about how he was happy to be able to spend the rest of his life by your side. To know that he always had someone who would be there for him. Someone he wouldn't be able to push away, for even if he tried to do so, you would stubbornly stay with him. He appreciated that and he knew you were aware of it, even if he didn't tell you about it too often.

With the thoughts and dreams of a future with you wandering through his head, Laszlo slowly drifted off to sleep as well, a soft and happy smile on his face after thinking about you as he joined you in the land of dreams.

▪︎

▪︎

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Needless to say, you meant it when you told him about his new purpose as a pillow. From then on you fell asleep on the doctor every single night...

Taglist: @ateez-star @littlemissnoname13 @gwlvr

[spockiguess]

The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 1 - Introduction

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 2

Summary: After turning away another child from the orphanage her convent runs, the reader finds help in the one person considered irredeemable by the Church, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse Regarding Minors, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Mentions of Violence Against Homeless People (including children), Period-Typical Depictions of Homelessness, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Hello everybody! Sorry for disappearing for over a year, but as per usual, life gets in the way of very necessary fanfic-writing. Anyway, I hope to post more often, especially with this story, which I have already prepared this chapter and another chapter for. Warning: the tags stated in the warnings are an explanation for things that happen in the plot, they are not a "factor" in the romance between the reader and Kreizler.

New York City has always seemed to exist within a perpetual dichotomy of exuberant wealth that can flood the streets with ornate marble statues at a whim, whereas walking a few blocks in any direction might lead you to slums teeming with sickness and desperation. The rich that infest the country’s epicenter for culture and progress never notice this disturbing contrast, even when the hand of a small child reaches out, begging for help. This shameless apathy has always disturbed you, and that distinct, gnawing feeling of injustice only grows more unruly inside of the pits of your gut as you see the affluent dregs of society continue to live in purposeful ignorance.

Luckily, you're not completely powerless to the rich that practically rule the city. Being a devoted Sister at St. Vincent’s Orphanage has allowed you to help ease the struggle the children here suffer on a daily basis, albeit, it's not exactly to your standards. The convent you're aligned with is small, and St. Vincent’s Orphanage is even smaller. At this point, you've lost count of how many children you've had to cruelly turn away, the cramped space you serve already brimming at max capacity. Every time you have to look a child in the eyes and tell them that they can't get the help they truly deserve because of reasons out of your control, your resolve crumbles.

Almost always, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to wipe the child’s tears and take them home, give them the life they deserve–take them away from this overwhelming helplessness. But the vows you swore to years ago keep you as a bride of God, serving Him–and only Him–with the idea of rearing children on your own absolutely unacceptable. Your sole duty is to help these children survive until they ultimately find a suitable home.

And that's where you struggle to reconcile the issues of your faith. If you're to protect the children of this city at any cost and show them the unending kindness of the Lord, why are you having to carry a starved child on your hip while you march through the streets in search of the only place that can take them in–the one place your Sisters dare not go?

To ruminate on such a question, especially at this time, is a waste of precious energy. The young child you carry needs your attention, so you push aside your own deep-seated frustration and attempt to temporarily relieve them of their worries.

“The Kreizler Institute is an excellent place, Mona. Although they act in the absence of the Lord, their facility is magnificent, according to Mother Superior Ida,” you consoled, brushing locks of tangled hair from the child's face while deftly weaving past the crowds that surrounded you on all sides.

The child, whose name you found on the note she carried with her at St. Vincent’s doorstep, solemnly nodded against your shoulder, teardrops beginning to wet through the thick fabric of your veil. Once again, your resolve crumbled.

Having to bite your tongue due to the innate frustration of the situation, you hugged Mona tighter, believing that if she were close enough, you could imbue her with the strength and bravery to take on this unfamiliar place alone.

At the same time, you whispered to the girl in an attempt to empathize with her, “Oh, Mona. I know. I can't imagine how scared you are right now.”

That statement alone was too much for Mona, causing her to burst into blistering wails while her small hands balled into tight fists, grabbing at your garb as if she were bound to be taken from you at any moment. And that wasn't necessarily wrong. As of now, you were the only person she could fully trust, and in just one more block, you'd be disposing of her at another doorstep. All you could do was pray, and pray you did. Your hands shielded Mona, holding her close to your heart and soul while a litany of prayers flowed from your mouth like rushing rivers, perhaps drowning out the fears you both shared.

Mona only cried more, beginning to plead with you as your pace quickened, “Please don't leave me! Take me home with you! Please!”

It was all becoming far too much, and having ultimately arrived at the front steps of the Kreizler Institute, you fell to your knees and enveloped the girl’s body in yours. You didn't care how you might look to the cacophonous onslaught of strangers that filled the city’s sidewalks, the only thought in your mind was about Mona’s wellbeing. You barely knew this child, but your peers and superiors always chastised you for having too big a heart.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but you must be strong for me. They'll take good care of you here. You'll have whatever you could possibly need.” The sentiment was mostly to calm yourself as Mona’s arms just barely wrapped around your neck, but even then you could feel her hands clawing at the back of your veil, a desolate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Your entire being ached; you had no idea how to soothe the girl, much less promise her safety. Just then did the idea enter your mind: you could lie to Mona. The situation showed no signs of getting better and you were at an absolute loss. Any other option you had would directly conflict with your faith, your future. Immediately, you fought off the preposterous notion of such a thing. Lying was a wicked sin, and most importantly, how could you betray a helpless child’s trust if this institute were to harm her in any way?

The only thing you could tell Mona was fickle in nature. It held no real promise and there was no way for you to tell if it would be true. Despite that, you were at your wits end. You couldn't let Mona back onto the streets of this city, not when she was so young–so frail.

You cautioned a deep breath and spoke as steadily as you could muster, “When more beds open at St. Vincent’s, I can come back for you. This doesn't have to be forever.”

There was no telling if and when more beds would free up, moreover, the rules regarding switching such care between temporary housing were complicated and strict. Mona could only be brought back to St. Vincent’s if serious evidence of wrongdoing were to be found at the Kreizler Institute, and to open such an investigation, especially if it were to be found pointless, would draw endless ridicule for not only the orphanage, but for your convent. In any case, your statement wasn't a complete falsehood. In the event of possible abuse, which you loathed to even consider, St. Vincent’s would seem much more appealing as an option for relocation. Much of the governing power in New York City still identified with any given denomination of the Christian faith. That being said, you prayed that Mona wouldn't have to experience such terror.

In spite of your worries, your reassurance seemed to calm Mona down, and her broken sobs ebbed into quiet sniffles. Carefully, the girl reared her head back just enough to look at you, her beautiful brown eyes shiny with tears.

“Do you mean it?” Mona asked, her voice raspy and barely a whisper. Dread sunk through your chest like a lead weight, but you forced a plaintive smile to further reassure the girl.

“As much as one can.” The words sounded bitter coming out of your mouth, and for good reason.

Mona’s head bowed before you brought her to your chest once more. Grimly, you swaddled the child and walked up the impressive steps of the Kreizler Institute for Wayward & Abandoned Children.

Once inside, your fears were somewhat quelled when faced with the sight of playing children racing around the elaborate halls of the Institute. A child’s laughter was one of the sure-fire ways to lighten your mood, and on such a day as this one, you needed the resolve to ensure Mona’s safety.

At first, your steps were careful and measured, the short heels of your boots clacking against the expensive marble flooring beneath you. In a couple more steps, you began to walk with a renewed confidence, especially once Mona’s head lifted from the safety of your veil to survey the interior. Eventually, you began to sport a slight smile when some of the children recognized you, ushering you over to their game of hopscotch, the bounds of the squares made up of colored string.

“Hey, it’s the nun from St. Vincent’s!” one of the children called. After that, the rest of the children recognized you as well and offered cheerful greetings, your presence a familiar sight from the dozens of soup kitchens New York City was home to.

“Nunny!” called one of the girls. She looked to be a year or two older than Mona, and after a pause, you finally placed where you’ve seen her before.

If your memory serves, the girl’s name is Alice, and she was just about the kindest person you had ever met. On multiple occasions when you had been volunteering your services at the kitchen closest to St. Vincent’s, she selflessly gave her food to people who had already been served, therefore barring them from officially receiving more that day. Alice had a particular knack for spotting those who needed it most, and was always eager to be of service. You recalled having to restrain yourself from encouraging Alice to join St. Vincent’s convent once she reached an appropriate age. You were firm on the choice that women had when it came to reciting the vows or not, and you wouldn’t use your position of authority to dictate otherwise.

A wide grin spread across your face as you began to rock Mona on your hip, earning a rewarding laugh from the girl, “Good morning, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”

Alice giggled, inching closer to you, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nunny.” Nunny was the lighthearted title the children you worked with decided on, explaining it was easier to remember than your true name.

Her mere presence made you feel better about the Institute–she wouldn’t be so giddy if the staff here weren’t fulfilling their duties.

“I was beginning to worry after not noticing your presence at the kitchen anymore,” you playfully remarked, chuckling at Alice’s nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, Nunny. My friends told me about here and I sorta forgot to say anything,” Alice paused, quickly interjecting her own sentence, “but I would’ve sent you a letter if I knew your address!”

Barely able to contain your smile, you added, “Well, luckily St. Vincent’s will do. Do let me know if you’re allowed to send letters here so I can make sure to give you the proper address.”

Suddenly, you felt a menacing presence materialize behind you as Alice waved at the intrusion, “Hello, Mr. Kreizler!”

Turning to face the person Alice greeted, you were met with a stern-looking man dressed in exquisite textiles, no doubt imported from some far off land.

“It’s Dr. Kreizler, Alice. It’s best not to forget a person’s proper titles,” the man, presumably Dr. Kreizler, kindly instructed. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was gentle with the girl.

You were about to speak when Dr. Kreizler requested the children leave before returning to the daunting demeanor befitting a man of his stature, “I believe it’s well-known that servants of the Church aren’t allowed within these walls. Your kind has a habit of imposing nonsensical beliefs on the children.”

A feeling of hot shame washed over you, warmth tinging your cheeks, “I’ve been warned, Dr. Kreizler, but I’m not here to spread His word.”

Dr. Kreizler stiffened further, his mouth straightening into a thin line, “Then what is the purpose of your visit, Sister?”

Just as Dr. Kreizler cautioned, the Institute had a reputation for vehemently prohibiting the presence of any religious figures to prevent conflict amongst himself and the children. The wealthy alienist was unafraid of the feathers his atheism might ruffle, and he made sure to shield the children from what he called “propagandist doctrine.” Regardless of his blatant vitriol for religion, you hesitantly agreed with him on that particular stance. In your mind, religion was a choice for most people, nothing more. Even though you have devoted your life to His teachings, you hardly expected anyone else to do the same.

Slightly shaken, you pressed Mona closer to you, foolishly hiding her face from the man who might offer her asylum as you voiced your plea, “St. Vincent’s has been full for quite some time now, and I can’t turn away another child in need, Doctor. My superiors have spoken highly of your institute and I have no other options for her.” You motioned to the girl you still held, gently rubbing her back.

Dr. Kreizler softened at this, taking notice of the small girl you cradled. Prudently, he stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look at Mona.

You continued, speaking more to Mona than to him, “I would personally care for her if I could. I don’t trust anywhere else in the city.”

Nodding, Dr. Kreizler spoke in a hushed tone, his focus entirely on Mona, “I understand,” the man paused before resuming, “it’s fortunate you see only the severity of the situation; I can’t recall a time when someone of your faith entered my facility with good intentions.”

Willing yourself to lighten the situation, if not for your sake, then Mona’s, you quipped, “A certain saying involving good intentions comes to mind, Doctor.”

The alienist smiled, the line narrow and somewhat forced, “Your humility is appreciated, Sister.”

“One can only have humility in a situation like this. I just hope that Mona will be able to stay here for the time being, at least until a bed at St. Vincent’s opens.” Your voice was light, hopefully soothing to the girl you aimed to protect.

At this, Dr. Kreizler attempted a joke himself, his accent making it decidedly sharper than yours, “Ah, I assume my institute still isn’t to your standards, then?”

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you,” Mona harshly stated, snuggling further under your veil. Dr. Kreizler stiffened, caught off guard by the confident proclamation.

You sighed somewhat, speaking to Mona first, “I know, my love, but Dr. Kreizler is a good man. He knows how to help,” then, turning to Kreizler, you whispered, “You can help her, Doctor?”

It was obvious to you that Dr. Kreizler had a weakness for children, if his facility dedicated to their health and safety wasn’t proof enough.

“I can help,” he said mostly to Mona before addressing you, “However, it seems the child has an attachment to you. It might prove helpful if you offered your assistance while I go over the necessary paperwork.” The last part was strained, almost as if he abhorred the idea of someone of the cloth helping him in any way.

After your tentative agreement, Kreizler swiftly led you to his office to begin Mona’s processing. Once inside, you took note of how the space was simultaneously tidy and luxurious, the walls and any available surface decorated with artifacts and hefty textbooks that featured gold lettering on the spines. The chairs you and Mona sat in were similarly fine, made with plush velvet and hand-carved mahogany that was the bulk of their appearance. Now that Mona had separated from your hip with much resistance, she allowed herself to be swept up in the opulence of the Institute. You couldn’t deny the finery of such a place, either. St. Vincent’s was noticeably barren, only housing the absolute necessities that fell in line with the ordinance of your faith and what orphanages require. It had been some time since you visited a place like this, and you weren’t sure whether to include Dr. Kreizler in the group of New York moguls that flaunted their wealth so readily, or if this was a sign that he took pride in the conditions the children here lived in.

The latter seemed to be the obvious choice given Dr. Kreizler’s treatment of the children so far, and his mission with the facility in general. The ostentatious socialites you encountered wouldn’t deign to entertain such a venture, especially if it involved the downtrodden youth of the city.

Dr. Kreizler’s voice startled you out of your stupor, “Did any adults accompany Ms. Walker when you found her outside of St. Vincent’s Orphanage?”

“No. Mona was alone,” you quickly supplied. Dr. Kreizler scribbled the information on a sheet of paper, the sound of his fountain pen filling the nearly silent room.

“Other than a last name, does Ms. Walker know any other identifying details about her parents?” Kreizler asked.

You faced Mona, watching her run the pad of her pointer finger against the raised engravings of the chair’s arm, “I’m afraid not, Doctor. The only information I have regarding her parents is vague. She says they were never around much, to begin with.” Dr. Kreizler gave a curt nod and returned to his form while you reached out and smoothed Mona’s hair.

After a brief moment, Kreizler returned his attention to you, “You’re sure that Ms. Walker hasn’t run away?”

Mona’s head snapped up and you clarified before any upset could be caused, “The only thing Mona had with her was a short note from her mother. It says that neither her mother, nor her father, can afford to take care of her anymore, hence her appearance at St. Vincent’s.”

“And this isn’t a note Ms. Walker crafted herself?” You knew the reasoning behind Dr. Kreizler’s questions, but couldn’t help but feel offense on Mona’s behalf at the coldness of his tone. You had to reassure yourself he was only ruling out any possibility of Mona’s parents returning and claiming her.

Drawing the note from a pocket hidden on the underside of your apron, you reached across the expanse separating you from the doctor, “I’ve saved it–just in case.”

Dr. Kreizler took the piece of dirtied paper from your hand before sitting back in his chair, carefully unfolding the note and analyzing the contents.

As he did this, you allowed yourself to express your thoughts on the matter, “The handwriting is too legible to be from a child this young, especially from one whose had no formal education so far,” suddenly feeling another wave of sorrow take control of your heart, you continued, “I’m not sure Mona can even write.”

Kreizler clicked his tongue before folding the note and placing it into a fresh file he had procured at the beginning of this meeting, “I would have to agree with you.”

Some time passed as you helped Dr. Kreizler finish the paperwork that would allow Mona to stay at the Institute, and before long, the young girl would drift off to sleep in the chair beside you. You figured this was the first time in a while that she had been able to fall asleep easily, and a spring of hope flourished within you at the thought of Mona having a warm bed from now on.

Finally, Dr. Kreizler realized Mona’s lack of response and watched her sleeping form contemplatively, carefully setting his pen down and rising from his seat. The action caused you to rise, too, stepping closer to Mona’s chair and gently patting the top of her head.

Allowing yourself to smile at the sight, you began to speak before matching Dr. Kreizler’s gaze, “Might I help bring Mona to a bed?”

Kreizler smiled, too, this time being more genuine and warm than before, no doubt a symptom of Mona’s peaceful slumber, “I think Ms. Walker would greatly appreciate that.”

With great care, you brought Mona into your arms once again and rested her head on your shoulder, happily listening to the sound of her snoring.

Looking back at Dr. Kreizler, you nodded once, smiling as you spoke, “Thank you for your help, Doctor. I hope you can forgive me for my sudden appearance today, I’ll make sure to keep a great distance between myself and here when possible.” Kreizler softly laughed at your humorous comment, closing the distance between you and him.

“I give you permission to access these premises if another situation like this occurs in the future,” Kreizler paused, his smile widening, “Do take note that that only applies to you.”

Suppressing a laugh, you shook your head in understanding, “Of course, Doctor. Although, I don’t think my Sisters would care to come here. Some admit to being afraid of your kind.” You mirrored the doctor’s earlier comment, teasing him slightly.

For a moment, Dr. Kreizler stared into your eyes, squinting as if he were searching for something within them, before questioning you with a mischievous tone, “My kind?”

An even brighter smile spread across your features, a playful twinge in your words, “Atheists.”

At last, the serious man in front of you laughed without restraint, and you felt a foreign heat rise in your chest, “I should’ve known. A being worse than the criminals that populate this city.”

Shrugging, you teased again, “Their apprehension is unfortunate. If they’d take the time to know someone like you, they’d realize how good natured you all can be, sans religious obligation.”

Dr. Kreizler hummed in agreement and took a longing glance at you before making his way to the entrance of the office, “The threat of eternal damnation has never been a driving factor in my operations, Sister. I believe more people are like that than some would care to admit.”

Thoughtfully, you considered his statement while walking to the door, softly rocking the girl in your arms, “It is a grievous assumption of the human condition, one I hope isn’t true.” Kreizler met your gaze as he absently opened the door, his dark eyes stoking the flames you felt stir within you.

Not sure how to continue, and thoroughly scared of the strange feelings that were beginning to take root in your being, you bowed your head and walked through the door, Dr. Kreizler not far behind.

The journey to one of the many dormitories that the Kreizler Institute housed was long, but not without interest. Children and staff alike were all around you, contributing to the comfortable nature of the space with their rambunctious chatter and lively games. While Mona comfortably rested against the surface of your coif, you surveyed the massive paintings that lined the intricate halls, all pieces of fine art that could easily belong in a museum. The pictures mainly depicted positive scenes, like meditative studies of lush landscapes, or vibrant portraits of greatly important figures.

Kreizler noticed your intrigue and began to comment on the decorations that marked your path, “It’s important that the children here are given just as much access to the arts as anyone else might have. Multiple studies have shown that exposure to art and music drastically improve the quality of life for people of all ages, especially those suffering from mental or physical ailments.”

You hummed, pleased by the new information, “Which is your specialty–the minds of children?”

“That would be correct, Sister. I dedicate my time to helping those who society deems unworthy of such kindness,” Dr. Kreizler informed, curtly waving to the swaths of youth who soared past with beaming grins and loud hellos.

“Then a noble man, you are, Dr. Kreizler. I don’t know many people–rich or poor–who would carry out the necessary work you do on a daily basis,” you bleakly commented. You were all too familiar with the spiteful indifference the country suffered from nowadays.

Kreizler turned to face you, not losing a step in the process, “Not even members of the faith?”

A gnarled guilt churned in your stomach; Dr. Kreizler wasn’t wrong. In fact, most people who proclaimed their allegiance to any branch of Christianity had not only become attached to the pervasive apathy that threatened to consume all, but were, in most instances, the reasons behind it. Many of the folk who attended church regularly looked down on the work you did, citing that it was unbecoming for a woman of your calling to share a space with the sinful and uncleanly. To them, the “beggars” of the city didn’t deserve charity, no matter how helpless.

“Unfortunately, no,” drawing a tentative breath, you explained, “A startling number of them are of the mindset that the impoverished somehow deserve the dismal circumstances they’re often forced under. No matter how hard I, or my Sisters, might try to teach them otherwise, they’d rather have some claim at superiority than help their fellow man.”

Dr. Kreizler questioned further, “And why do you think that is?”

Readjusting the girl on your side, memories of the mistreatment children like Mona face from such a lot consumed your thinking. Supposed Christians would go out of their way to abuse the young and homeless, either through stealing their clothes, food, or makeshift homes, or by pelting them with stones picked up off the streets. Seeing the reactions they could garner, it would only spur them to escalate, for no other reason than abject cruelty. Their only defense was that it was their duty as followers of Christ to punish those who didn’t seek to cleanse themselves of sin. It was a strong enough argument as not many people, Christian or otherwise, would find the bravery to speak out against these actions disguised as a shared religious responsibility.

Finally, you came to an answer, and it wasn’t one you were proud of, “Because it is easier to hide behind an all-powerful God than it is to do what is objectively right, even if the Lord urges His followers to sacrifice for others at all costs. They think that because they attend church and give donations to the congregation that they are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.” The anger was palpable in your voice, and your cheeks burned at the realization.

Quickly, you supplied an apology, “Forgive me, Doctor. I forget myself.”

“Don’t apologize, Sister. Your honesty is refreshing. I haven’t met a nun so critical of her own faith before,” Dr. Kreizler remarked.

Appalled, you defended yourself as the three of you rounded a corner, “I am simply critical of the people who claim to share my faith. I do not renounce His word.”

Kreizler led you to a door marked with a golden plaque that read: Girl’s Dormitory 1. The alienist ushered you and Mona through, a vexing grin on his face.

“You do not find yourself questioning His teachings, Sister?” Kreizler asked, his amusement plain.

Entering the dormitory, you found two rows of beds situated on opposite sides of the room with hefty chests at the foot of each one. Drawings made up most of the decorations in the room, besides the toys that had been left out on each girls’ bed. Beside each cot sat a nightstand with an oil lamp adorning the wooden surfaces, giving the room a warm glow. On the chests were small name cards, written by the owner of the bed. Quickly, you picked one without a name and walked ahead of the doctor, cheeks heating once again.

Dr. Kreizler pushed further, following you in stride, “Your silence is quite the answer.”

Deciding to avoid the question for now, you proposed another instead, “I presume this would be Mona’s?” The Good Doctor nodded and you sunk down to lay Mona on the comfortable mattress that engulfed the girl’s slight frame.

Heaving a hearty sigh, you knelt beside her, pushing hair from her delicate, auburn face. Quietly, you spoke to the alienist while keeping your focus on Mona, “May I say goodbye to her, Dr. Kreizler?”

Deciding to ignore your deflection of the previous subject, Dr. Kreizler responded, “That would be best.”

You whispered a faint thank-you before rousing Mona. The girl’s eyes struggled to open at first and there was no doubt this has been the longest stretch of sleep she’s been able to secure.

Mona took in her new surroundings as she reached for your hand, “Do I get to stay?”

Smiling, you affirmed her question, “Yes, my love,” you paused, remembering another critical piece of information that came during the walk to the dormitory, “Dr. Kreizler also gave you permission to come back to St. Vincent’s whenever there’s space.”

Mona’s face brimmed with unadulterated joy, “Really?”

Dr. Kreizler chimed in to quell any of Mona’s doubts, relaying that she would be able to request visits with you whenever she pleased.

“Well, what if I want to stay here and only visit with Nunny?” Mona had picked up the silly nickname during your brief exchange with Alice, who you hoped would look after her in your absence.

The alienist laughed, “That works just as fine, Ms. Walker.” Only then did you sneak a glance at Dr. Kreizler, just in this instance beginning to appreciate his handsome features now that you were able to see more of his good nature.

Kreizler noticed your staring, however the grin that surfaced while interacting with Mona hadn’t ceased, instead only growing in intensity. The tips of your ears began to grow balmy, forcing you to tear away from his knowing stare in order to rebalance yourself.

“Just make sure to give Dr. Kreizler ample time to prepare for my visits, Mona. You’ll have weekly meetings where this can be negotiated,” you instructed. Mona giggled, nodding earnestly before leaping up to wrap her hands around your neck again.

You leaned forward and rubbed soothing patterns into her back, grateful that her care was finally secured.

The embrace lasted sometime, causing Kreizler to point out Mona’s silence, “It seems Ms. Walker has fallen asleep again. We should allow her time to rest.”

Taking your cue, you rose and followed Dr. Kreizler as he left the dormitory, both of you stopping just in front of the now closed entryway.

Even after sharing a sweet moment, Kreizler didn’t allow you to escape his interrogating so easily, and scratched the scruff of his thick beard while pressing you for answers once again, “If I recall correctly, you hadn’t answered my last question.”

The space between you and Dr. Kreizler had become dangerously small, and in such close quarters, you could smell the heady scent of his expensive cologne. Your brain fogged, an overwhelming combination of feelings still unknown plaguing your body and mind.

“That is because I have never thought to question His teachings before, Doctor,” as you resumed the subject, words tumbled from your mouth without much control, creating quite the mess.

Your eyes widened when you heard the statement slip from you so easily, drawing a deep laughter from the man in front of you. If not caught up in the whirlwind of what you had just implied, you would have noticed how the honeyed sound made your heart squeeze deliciously.

Dr. Kreizler’s already overpowering confidence increased tenfold, and you could hear it in his voice as he remarked, “That’s right. One of the few things they don’t cover during your novitiate. It’s quite interesting.”

Too many emotions were beginning to flood your mind, and that was as much a danger as what Dr. Kreizler was proposing in the first place. You needed to leave immediately and right yourself before something inexcusable happened.

Bowing your head in submission, you eked out an apology that came out faster than what you were apologizing for, “Forgive me, Doctor, but I must leave. I am forever indebted to you.”

You left before Kreizler could answer, unwilling–or more accurately, unable–to handle whatever else could come out of that sly mouth of his.

[andy-15-07]

Daniel Brühl Masterlist

A Love Unscripted- Daniel Brühl

The News- Baron Helmut Zemo

[broccoliitree]

omg i loved this ! your dialogue is amazing :D

ayo, i'm sincerely tipsy on a two year old beaujolais (dry fruity french red wine) - would you consider writing something about sharing a good bottle of wine with zemo or laszlo?

Done and done :)

Word Count: 528

Slight warning for canon violence and a little body horror, all canon to the show also look out for spoilers. Also reader works in the police department with Sara but no gender is specified. 

Soft crackling filled the room, the heat of the fire kissing any bit of exposed flesh. You’d been sitting in front of the fireplace for the better part of an hour listening to John, Sara, Laszlo and the Isaacson twins spew facts out about the most recent murder. You sat staring into the flames rather than getting involved.

It wasn’t until a glass was pressed into your hands that you finally tore your eyes away. Seated across from you was Laszlo, himself holding a glass of wine. “Dr. Kreizler, should you not be working on the case?” You questioned. 

The man hummed, swirling the liquid in circles with his left hand. “Unfortunately I must also relieve myself of the gruesome details from time to time.” A subtle nod drew your attention to the bottle of wine, the cork laying haphazardly to the side. You let out a breath. 

“Laszlo, this is far too expensive.” You brought both hands around the glass. 

The doctor huffed out what could only be described as a dry chuckle. “Relax, I assure you, it would have just sat and collected dust.” The shuffling of feet slowly drew out of the room and down the hall, leaving you with your frazzled companion.

Finally, you brought the glass to your lips, relishing in the luxury drink. “It is not often I see you so arbitrarily slack Laszlo.” You smiled as your gaze shot down to look at the wine, not missing the way his gaze softened. “Though, I suppose it is nice.” 

A brief silence dusted the room. Mentally, you noted that it was likely the first time you’d been alone with the troubled alienist in which he wasn’t discussing brutal slaughter. Details you’d overheard started to slowly worm their way through your mind. Eyes removed. Hands taken. Mutilated-

“Do you play piano, my dear?” It was uttered so quietly you could have missed it. Your eyes met with the set of deep of umber ones adjacent to you. In honesty, you were sure he didn’t really care about the answer-- rather, he’d probably seen you begin to intensely focus and decided to step in-- but you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped.

You cleared your throat, downing the rest of the wine, ignoring the way it nearly made you choke. “I have dabbled. Afraid I’ve never had the time, working in the police department has made sure of that. I’m sure Sara could attest.”

“Well, what do you like to do, then?” Laszlo leaned back in his chair, taking an opportunity to refill his glass and pass you the bottle to do the same.

You weren’t exactly sure how much you spoke, or drank for that matter. What you were sure of, however, was that you’d seen a completely different side of Laszlo Kreizler. From then on, he was softer with he way he spoke to you and often invited you to spend evenings in his home with another bottle of wine and pages of evidence. 

Curiosity radiated off of the rest of the little detective group, but John Moore was just glad that Laszlo could find the time to even slightly relax.

[phoenix--quill]

Prompt 27: Caught in the act

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler/female reader

Rating: M (minors DNI!!)

Warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, interrupted sex

Length: 1.100 words

Summery: Perhaps the library of the Kreizler Institute is not the best place for an exploration of the female g-spot

Notes: Second entry in my kinktober and I’ve tried my hand at writing in 2nd person (which I actually like a lot for blank-slate characters). Feel free to tell me what you think and which you prefer

AO3

You weren’t quite sure how a discussion on female anatomy had lead to this moment but here you sat, on the large table in the library of the Kreizler Institute, with the famed doctor’s good hand between your legs.

You had been dancing around each other for months – a furtive look here, a flirtatious remark full of double meaning there – as you assisted the doctor in his investigations, working side-by-side with himself, John Moore and Sara Howard.

“Laszlo,” you cried out against the collar of his expensive white shirt as he added another slender finger inside you, stretching your walls while your body still longed for more.

“Relax into it,” he instructed gently and you could tell he was still trying to tell himself this was for educational purposes, though his flushed cheeks and hard breathing rather betrayed his feelings on the situation.

You nodded absent-mindedly as you buried your face in his neck, inhaling the softly spiced scent of whatever oil he used on his beard. For a moment you could focus solely on the feeling of his fingers pumping slowly in and out of you, his soft beard against your cheek and his clothed chest so impossibly close to your own, it felt like your corset had been laced too tightly. Then he crooked his fingers ever so slightly and angled his thrust more outwards and your mind blanked as whatever spot he hit caused white hot pleasure to shoot through you like lightning.

A voice in the back of your mind reminded you that there were still others walking about the building and you quickly bit down on his lapel, lest you let out the embarrassingly loud moan that was currently lodged in your throat. A low whimper still managed to escape you as you curled further into his chest, your hands moving from where they had sat on his shoulders since this whole thing began to the inside of his jacket, stroking up and down his sides and back, as the need to feel him ran through your pleasure-addled mind.

“Do you feel the difference?” he asked softly against your temple and you barely had the wherewithal to nod as he continued his ministrations against that special spot inside of you.

You felt his nose bury into your hair, his breathing filling your ear, and the thought that despite your compromising position he had yet to kiss you filled your mind as his ministrations continued between your thighs. You weren’t sure if he would welcome such an advance from you; despite your current situation, the two of you were not courting and you were unsure of your current activities were fuelled by romantic attraction or simply lust. Well, from his side anyway, you knew your feelings however hard you had tried to bury them; you had felt an attraction to him from the moment you had met. You had to at least try.

“Laszlo,” you stuttered out again as you moved to nuzzle against his beard before moving further up. You kissed the corner of his mouth before making eye contact, desperately trying to gauge his response.

His normally dark chocolate eyes were now almost completely black, his pupils were blown wide, and a faint blush filled his cheeks as he looked down at you, taking in your probably just as flushed face.

The two of you locked eyes for what seems an eternity though it could have been no more than mere seconds and you swore you could see the internal debate raging inside his mind. Then he surged forward, catching your lips between his own and swallowing the moan that fell from your lips. The urgency of his kiss took you by surprise and it was all you could do to follow along as he ran his soft lips along your own before slipping his tongue inside your mouth, all the while his fingers seemed to have slipped even further inside you. You felt both overwhelmed and on the cusp of exploding as you slipped one hand into his hair, ruffling its previously neat appearance, and leaned further into the kiss, needing him even closer. Pleasure rolled through you, as you felt like you were both on fire and drowning at the same time. Laszlo’s presence seemed all around you, inside of you, as his fingers picked up speed, his lips never leaving yours and even his weaker hand gently squeezing you leg.

“Doctor Kreizler, I found…”

“OUT!” Laszlo’s voice rang out loudly in the previous silent library and you heard the door behind you slam shut – and realised that you had failed to hear it open in the first place, too wrapped up in your own pleasure.

Both of you stilled and he withdrew his hand rather forlornly, finding a handkerchief to wipe his fingers on. His methodical movements and refusal to meet you eyes made you curl in on yourself and you wondered what he was thinking: did he hate you for having put him this position? His reputation was already precarious and rumours of him seducing women and taking advantage of them within the Institute could only do more harm.

Your thoughts seemed to spiral and you didn’t even notice when he turned back to you, regarding you nervously.

“They did not see anything.” His quiet voice made you look up and you seemed to once again get lost in his soft, comforting eyes.

“Of course.” Your voice sounded hoarse and you had to break eye contact when you felt hot tears well up.

With still trembling hands, you fixed the skirt of your dress and made to move off of the table when he spoke again: “Maybe you would like to accompany me to the opera tonight?” Your head snapped up at his hesitant tone. “John will be there too. Although he usually gets bored partway through.” You had rarely seen the doctor look unsure of himself and he quickly looked away and started organising a stack of books that had sat on the table beside you.

“I. I would love that,” you managed, your voice still sounded strange to your own ears but you felt a smile break out on you face.

He nodded and flashed you a small smile of his own before going back to his books. “It’s settled then. I will have a carriage sent for tonight.”

“Until tonight then,” you said, unable to stop the smile from growing and you quickly made your discreet exit from the library and soon found yourself on the bustling streets of New York. Perhaps this hadn’t been a totally failed experiment.

[lorna-d-m]

Chapter Six: Communication

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!OC (Alice Greene)

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a workaholic. Between teaching university courses, running the Kreizler Institute, and minding Stevie -his ward-, he does not have time for relationships. That is until he meets Ms. Greene, Stevie's English teacher, at open house. Can he open his heart to the possibility of love?

Word Count: 4,060

W: mentions of bullying/hazing, sexually suggestive content

A/N: I have been enduring unending struggle after struggle this semester, so I'm sorry this took a while.

previous chapter

Golden light filtered through Laszlo’s office window. One of Rachmaninov’s symphonies played softly over his computer speaker, and he graded student essays with a fine-tipped red pen. A soft knock on the door broke him from his focus which he did not mind given the poor quality of the writing. Alice stood in the doorway, two coffees in hand, and a smile a mile wide. 

“What a surprise.” He pushed the stack of papers away and leaned back in his chair. 

She shut the heavy door. Her hips shimmied in a way Laszlo knew was meant to entice him. It worked. “I thought you could use a little afternoon pick-me-up.” 

“From you? Always.”

Alice handed Laszlo his coffee, no cream or sugar, and sat on his desk. She crossed her legs, her skirt riding up her thighs, and took a sip from her drink. Laszlo looked up at her, admiring everything he saw, and set his coffee to the side. He didn’t need it when he had her. 

His hand ran along her calf prompting her to re-cross her legs. Laszlo’s eyes flicked back and forth, torn between the mischievous glint in her eye and her plush thighs. Alice leaned down, her chest eye level with him, and cupped one of his cheeks with her hand. Her fingers played with his beard, and he nuzzled into her touch. He took a deep breath smelling her floral perfume, his forgotten coffee, and the old books in his office. Divine.  

She kissed his forehead, and then she leaned back on the old oak desk. Entranced, Laszlo stood. He was a sunflower yearning for the sun. She spread her legs, and he stood between her thighs clasping her waist. Standing, he was a touch taller than her, changing the angle between them. He kissed her, tasting the cinnamon sweetness on her tongue, and searching for more. 

“Oh, Laszlo,” she pulled away from his kiss, but her hand laid on his chest over his heart. “Are you sure? Anyone could come into your office, and I would hate for us to be interrupted.” Alice played coy, but Laszlo knew better. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Darling, you’ll be the only one coming in my office today. I promise.”

Laszlo pushed down the turtleneck of her sweater and kissed her neck. Impulsively, he wanted to leave a mark she would need to hide with another sweater. He cupped her breast, feeling the faint outline of lace under the knit, and he tugged on her sweater. It came loose from being tucked into her skirt, and he moved his hand under it. His thumb grazed the delicate lace, and he let out an appreciative chuckle.

“Please, Laszlo” she whispered in his ear, “more.”  

He clicked his tongue. “Greedy girl, aren’t you? Patience, and I will give you more.” Laszlo sank to his knees, and he guided her glorious thighs over his shoulders. He tugged at her lace underwear, and he wondered if it matched her bra. Alice giggled above him and wove her fingers into his hair, pulling him ever closer, not that he needed any encouragement. He lazily kissed each of her thighs, intent on leaving marks there too—

Laszlo woke with a start. Sweat clung to his flushed skin and shirt despite the late fall chill in his room. He was sticky with precome and tangled in the sheets. Laszlo groaned and ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. He didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to know the meaning of a sex dream. 

A cool breeze blew the long linen curtains, and a pale morning light filled the room. Glancing at his alarm clock, because he preferred the old-fashioned alarm clock to his phone, he knew he had a few minutes. For a moment, he thought about finishing the fantasy. Laszlo could easily imagine the ending, lapping at her until his beard was soaked with her, but he hesitated. 

With a groan that Stevie would certainly tease and call “an old man’s groan”, Laszlo left his comfortable bed. He rummaged through his bedside drawer for the pack of cigarettes he unsuccessfully hid from himself and shrugged on his warm robe. Laszlo didn’t have sex, but he still craved a cigarette. Only one, he promised himself, then he would shower and dress for the day. 

“Cheers!” Bitsy and Alice clinked their glasses together. Adorable, tiny rubber ducks floated in their mimosas, and despite the restaurant’s warning about a dollar charge for taking the ducklings, both women fully intended to slip them into their purses before leaving. 

“It feels like forever since I saw you! How was your trip?” Alice set her phone to the side and clasped her hands in front of her. A few weeks back during one of their planning periods, Bitsy booked the excursion. Alice joked she was planning, just not lessons or teaching. Over the three-day fall break, Bitsy and Lucius went upstate to a bed and breakfast, with the best reviews and amenities. 

“Amazing,” she sighed dramatically. “I’m so glad we did it. You know how everyone talks about going somewhere to see the leaves change colors and go apple picking?”

Alice grinned, imagining the leisurely autumnal weekend. “Yes, of course.”

Bitsy spilled all the details while they waited for their food. They took a gorgeous vintage-styled train upstate much to Lucius’s delight. She showed pictures and videos of the views and laughed recounting their apple-picking and cider-making misadventures. Apparently, both were more difficult than they seemed. Their bed and breakfast was a quaint cottage with a main hall for meals, and a precious elderly couple hosting. She raved about the cider donuts Linda made and passed the recipe along to Alice. 

“And you? How are things with the doctor? Or does he prefer the professor?”

“Please, you know I call him Laszlo.”

“Uh-huh, I just like to tease you, and by default him. So, how are things with you and Laszlo?” The waitress brought over their food, so Alice waited until they were settled to answer. 

“Well, without getting my hopes up,” Bitsy rolled her eyes, “it’s wonderful.” Alice blushed and not because of the mimosa. 

On their first date, he picked her up from her apartment with a bouquet of camellias. As soon as she commented they were cat-safe flowers, meaning she could place them on the coffee table without worrying about Georgie eating them, Laszlo produced a bag of cat treats from his coat pocket. He didn’t want Georgie to feel left out, he explained. Alice noted his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. 

Laszlo took her to dinner, as he promised at the conference, at Delmonico’s. Alice had never been, but Laszlo assured her it was his favorite restaurant. She could tell when the owner and the waitstaff greeted him by name, asking if he wanted his usual table, and bringing a complimentary bottle of wine. Alice was prepared to pay for her meal, but Laszlo insisted saying he should since he invited her.

Alice gently moved her drink from side to side to see the rubber duck move. “It feels silly to say, but I think we’re courting rather than dating.” 

“I guess that’s what happens when you date an older man,” Bitsy giggled, taking another sip of her drink.

“Shut up,” Alice couldn’t hold back a laugh either, “you know I have a type, but I’m serious. He’s been such a gentleman. Like he always brings me flowers or chocolates or coffee or something. And he brings something for Georgie too, I swear he has more toys and treats than I’ve ever bought him.”

“So how has he topped your first date?”

 Alice responded when she finished chewing her latest bite. Her sandwich was almost too good to put down, but she wanted to answer. “We’ve done a few more dinners, some after an event or some just because that’s what we could schedule. You know that cute little art museum a few blocks from here? We did that and had lunch last weekend, and he wants to go to the history museum soon too.”

“Wow, the history museum. Sexy.”

“You’re laughing, but it’s so sexy when he reads the little placards and stands there analyzing it, rubbing his beard in thought. Then he asks me what I think and we talk about it before moving on. And, Bits, museums mean he always dresses nice, too, like suits or sweaters.”

“Listen babe, I tease you, but you seem genuinely so happy. Better than I’ve seen you in months, easily. It sounds like he treats you well, and he should continue to do so if he knows what’s good for him.”

“He does, he really does. Did I tell you what happened when we left the art museum?”

“No, what?”

“Well, I stupidly didn’t check the weather that morning when I got ready, but obviously he did because he brought this giant umbrella. Laszlo left it in the lobby while we walked around, and of course when we went to leave it was an absolute downpour. The restaurant we wanted to try was only two blocks away, so we planned to walk.”

“Of course,” Bitsy commented between bites.

“So he gets out his umbrella, and it’s big enough for the both of us. Laszlo held it, and we walked arm in arm down the street in the rain. I felt like I was in an old Hollywood movie and we should start singing in the rain.”

“Adorable, and you should have.”

“Well,” Alice demurred, “we were so close together, arm in arm so you know we were kinda pressed against each other. I could smell his cologne, and Bits, I swear to God it felt like pheremones to me. We made out under that umbrella until the rain stopped.”

Laszlo knew he sounded like a technology-hating curmudgeon, but he preferred calling to texting. Of course, with their busy and ever-changing schedules, texting was far more convenient. However, Laszlo savored anytime Alice called him and he could hear her voice.

Typically, they talked after he ate dinner with Stevie and while she cooked her meal. Laszlo chided her for eating so late, but the timing was convenient. He could slip into his room or his office when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket without arousing undue suspicion. 

“What are you cooking tonight?” Laszlo heard the steady hum of a stovetop ventilation fan and a beeping timer. 

That was another advantage of the phone, or even better, FaceTime. There was so much more ambiance when he could hear or see. Sometimes he could spot Georgie or hear him meowing in the background. Laszlo felt he was there, despite the distance, and he could get a glimpse of her evening. It was almost domestic. 

“Pasta, hence the fan, and some chicken in the oven. I think it’s almost done, but I want to give it a few more minutes to be sure.”  

“Be careful,” he cautioned, “I know you’re worried about undercooking it, but you don’t want dry chicken either.”

“Yes chef,” she teased. “What about you? When are you going to cook for me instead of giving me advice?”

Laszlo leaned against the balcony railing and hummed in thought. He wondered that himself, but he didn’t have an easy answer. “I’m not sure, with Stevie, I-”

“-It’s okay. I would love to have you cook for me sometime, but I know with Stevie it’s more complicated. We can take our time.” 

“I appreciate it. Maybe I could cook for you in your apartment? We could have a nice night in.”

“I’d like that.” 

By now they had a routine. Laszlo would tell her about his day while she ate, and once she finished she would tell him about hers. They laughed at the similarities between her high school freshman and his college freshman. 

“Do you know what I heard today?” His students always assumed he couldn’t hear them, a fallacy of their youth. 

He could hear her setting her dishes in the sink. “What?”

“One of them said I must have ‘gotten laid recently because there wasn’t as much of a stick up my ass’.” Alice snorted, trying not to laugh. “It’s okay; it’s funny. You can laugh.”

“Mine told me something similar, but not like that. They said I must be in ‘looooove’ because I’m smiling more.” 

Laszlo rocked on his heels. “What do you think?”

“I-” she hesitated, and Laszlo instantly regretted his question. He was known for prying and pushing, and he feared it was too soon. 

“-You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked-” Laszlo pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyebrows. 

“It’s okay, Laszlo. You didn’t push me too much.” He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t say I’m in love, yet, but I know I’m happier. What about you?”

“I feel the same.” Laszlo was glad she couldn’t see his cheesy smile.

November was chilly, even with a proper jacket. Stevie shivered and waited outside by the car line for Laszlo. Being late was unusual, so after fifteen minutes Stevie texted him. No response. At half an hour, Stevie called him.

On the last ring before going to voicemail, Laszlo picked up the phone. He immediately apologized, saying he didn’t realize what time it was and he was in the middle of an important meeting. 

“Will you be here soon?” Stevie glanced at the already fading sunlight and emptying parking lot. Laszlo paused, and from that alone Stevie knew the truth. “If you can’t, can you send Mr. Moore or Ms. Howard?”

“I need to get back to my meeting. Try Moore first, and again, I’m sorry.” Laszlo hung up quickly, barely giving Stevie time to think. He huffed a sigh and pulled up Moore’s contact information. Stevie decided to text him first: Doc’s in a meeting. Can you pick me up?

As Stevie waited for a response, he rubbed up and down his arm to warm up. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he eagerly checked. I can, but it could be half an hour to forty-five minutes. Is that okay?

Stevie thought it was better than nothing. He texted back that it was alright, and he thanked him. Since there were still cars in the parking lot, Stevie bet there were still teachers or other staff inside the warm building. He wandered down the main hallway, wondering if he should sit right there, in the library, or find an empty classroom. As he debated this, someone called out his name. His head flicked up, trying to find them. 

Ms. Greene stood at the door of the teacher work room with a stack of papers in hand. Stevie relaxed, knowing she wouldn’t get onto him about loitering around the school like some of his other teachers would. 

“What are you still doing here?” She gestured to him with her pack of copy paper. 

“Waiting to be picked up. Doc’s in a meeting so…” Stevie trailed off, not wanting to admit he had been forgotten.

She nodded once, understanding what he said between the lines. “Why don’t you hang out in my room?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you if you were about to head out or anything.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “there’s always something I can be working on. Don’t worry about it.”

Ms. Greene set her stack of papers on her desk and sat at her desk. Stevie slung his backpack off and put it by his desk. He looked around thinking how rarely he saw the room empty. It was normally packed with people, every desk was taken, and Ms. Greene would have to dodge backpacks and lunchboxes to walk around the room. By the end of the day, the desks were crooked and out of place, so Stevie started straightening them up.

“When you finish, do you want to clean them?” Stevie froze, not realizing she was paying attention to him. “There’s Clorox wipes in that cabinet.” 

“Sure, yeah.” Stevie was used to tidying up at the Institue when he was bored or restless, so he continued in her classroom. They talked while he worked making the time pass quicker. She asked about school and what other assignments he was working on in the week. He had a history paper coming up, and they were supposed to do another lab soon in biology. Stevie wasn’t worried about the paper, Laszlo taught him how to write an essay over the summer, but he was nervous about the lab. Biology wasn’t his strongest subject, but he liked Ms. Sussman’s class. 

Stevie crouched to pick up an errant highlighter, and when he heard Coach Connor’s voice cut the momentary silence he stayed where he was. In the corner, behind a group of desks, he wasn’t immediately spotted. He moved so he could see between a crack in the desks and watched.

Ms. Green recoiled, almost retreating into her desk corner. Stevie recognized her discomfort as she crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. Her eyes flicked to where he hid and back to Coach Connor. “What are you doing here?” she questioned.

“I saw your car was still in the parking lot.” What is he stalking her? She stayed quiet prompting him to keep speaking. “I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind since the conferences.”

She sighed, clearly at her wit’s end with him, “Patrick, I said no, and I meant it.”

“Are you sure-”

“-I’m sure. I have a boyfriend now, and I don’t appreciate your insistence. It is not professional or appropriate, especially while at the school.” 

Boyfriend? Stevie wondered if it was Doc. They certainly seemed to hit it off at the open house, and it would explain his weird behavior and change in mood. He would keep observing.

Coach Connor’s face flushed red, he grumbled an apology under his breath, and he turned on his heels. Once assured he was gone, Stevie sheepishly stood up from behind the desks. 

Ms. Greene’s face was in her hands. “I am so sorry about that. I don’t even know what to say…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stevie shrugged. “Clearly, you didn’t want him here either.

“I noticed you stayed hidden there. Has he been bothering you, too?”

Stevie sat on the desk, fiddling with the highlighter in his hand. “Yeah, kind of. He’s harder on me in P.E., that kind of thing.” He was quick to reassure her. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure? He shouldn’t be treating you like that, and I know you don’t want to be a snitch or anything, but it’s important to speak up.”

Stevie knew he should, but he didn’t want to create any problems. Doc was happier, possibly because of Ms. Greene, but this afternoon was a reminder of how much he juggled. Stevie would feel guilty adding anything else. 

In the meantime, he could deal with Coach Connor yelling at him or making him run more laps. He could stomach the football players' stupid jokes and isolation, done on Coach Connor’s orders, no doubt. 

“I’m sure,” he answered.

While Alice tweaked her slides for the week, Stevie worked on his homework. He sat at his desk for class which she chuckled at. A classroom of empty desks and students will naturally pick their own desks. Alice enjoyed having Stevie there and providing a safe space for him to wait for his ride, but she also wanted to go home. She was tired and slightly cold, and she wanted to change into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. 

“Hello hello.” Alice looked up from her laptop. A tall, well-dressed man with dark hair paused in the doorway. “John Schuyler Moore, and you must be Ms. Greene if the sign outside your door is correct.” He extended his hand for her to shake, and she took it. 

“Yes, I am. You must be here for Stevie.”

“I am, and hopefully he hasn’t given you too much trouble,” John winked. 

“No, he’s been wonderful-”

“-Oh, you thought I meant Stevie, no, no, I meant Laszlo.” He laughed, and she bit her tongue to keep from doing the same. “You’re the one who has to deal with him as a concerned parent.”

Alice smiled. “He’s been wonderful, too. Very communicative.” 

Stevie packed up his bag slowly, keeping an eye and an ear on their conversation. Alice was conscientious that everything she said was being analyzed. 

“It was so polite of you to let him sit in your classroom. You could’ve gone home an hour ago, enjoyed your evening, and yet here you are.”

Alice didn’t miss the way he said enjoy your evening. It was a clear innuendo that she glossed over. “It was no trouble at all. Stevie’s a good kid, and you’re a good friend to come pick Stevie up.”

“I would do anything for a friend like Laszlo. I’ve known him for almost twenty years, and I know he would do anything for me in return. He’s like that, you know,” John shrugged, “he seems tough, but he would give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it.”

“I’m sure he would.” Heat rushed to her cheeks, briefly imagining Laszlo without a shirt and the dark chest hair she would find there, and she cleared her throat. “Stevie, please, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. And Mr. Moore, have a good afternoon.”

***

At around nine, Alice got a text from Laszlo. She had just laid down in bed, ready to get warm and comfy for the evening, with a book and a mug of tea. She set her book aside on her nightstand and checked her phone. 

Darling, I am sorry for being so inattentive today, and I want to thank you for letting Stevie stay in your room. I appreciate it. 

Alice’s thumb hesitated over the Facetime button. She hoped Laszlo would pick up and that he didn’t text her and immediately set his phone aside. She didn’t look her best, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her face was still red from washing it, but she wanted to see him. 

“Hey Laz,” she smiled at him, but she was concerned. He sat at his desk, dark circles under his eyes, and creases deep in his forehead. She could see a stack of papers spread out in front of him, and he held a fountain pen in his hand. 

Laszlo smiled back at her, and it made her heart skip a beat. “I missed you today,” he drawled. “An emergency case came up, and they needed me at the courthouse and at the juvenile facility, and I have to read all this paperwork for tomorrow morning… But I needed to hear your voice and see your face.”

“Aww,” she blushed, but she knew her face was already red and he probably couldn’t tell. “Thank you, baby. It’s okay to be busy and do what you need to do.” He took a sip of what she assumed was coffee. “I just appreciate a heads up or something if you’re going to be unavailable. I could even plan to keep Stevie for a while or something if you let me know.” 

“That’s very generous of you.”

“But I must say, it was nice to finally meet one of your friends.” Laszlo groaned in embarrassment, and Alice giggled. “He was very complimentary of you.”

Laszlo set down his pen and ran his fingers through his hair. It was nice to see him relax and not think about work for a moment. “What did he say? You know he’s never going to tell me.”

Alice mocked offense. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you either?” He huffed a sigh and chuckled. “It’s admirable, really, the way he spoke about you. He would make a good wingman if you weren’t already taken.”

“John means well, obviously, he just doesn’t know everything yet.” Yet. She wondered when she would meet his friends officially, and he would meet hers. They were still in the beginning of their relationship, but she assumed since she told Bitsy, Laszlo must have told his friends something. Soon, she thought, but hopefully not too soon. Alice liked existing in their secret little bubble.

taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker

[hvnnibalecter]

anyone still writing Laszlo Kreizler fanfics/imagines?

[starlightsearches]

9, 17, 20 and 38 from the smut prompts with laszlo?? I’m sorry if that’s too many, they’re just sooo good!!

Feel Me

Wowowowow friend, those are some excellent choices! I tried to work them all in here for you, but I did have to edit a couple of them to keep the flow. Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 🥰

9 / 17 / 20 / 38 from the Smut Prompt List

Laszlo Kreizler x femme! reader

Warnings: smut (18+ only), kind of dark! laszlo, soft dom! laszlo, gendered terms for the reader, vaginal fingering, infidelity, inexperienced reader, shame, period-typical sexism, mentions of bad sex, inappropriate power dynamics (doctor/patient), i don't know how victorian undergarments are supposed to work, maybe it's a little ooc? I have no idea. Let me know if I missed anything!

Dr. Kreizler has his face between your legs.

With you skirt pulled up over your knees, his breath brushes against your parted thighs and your face burns with shame. You're not bare—your dress still offers plenty of coverage—but without your undergarments you might as well be nude.

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes; you just barely resist the urge to force your legs closed, shutting out him and this soulless exam room and the knowledge that you're sitting here, waiting for a man who is not your husband to look at the most sensitive part of you and tell you exactly why you're broken.

"And when did the problems start?" he asks, standing. You relax your legs, pushing your skirt back down over your ankles.

"Since we've been married," you tell him. Dr. Kreizler strolls leisurely around the exam table, but you keep your eyes in your lap.

Your husband has been very patient with you, even after six months of marriage, yet every night is still an exercise in embarrassment. He’s become tired of you trying and failing to feel something, to react to your his hands the way you should, instead of counting your breaths and waiting for it to be over.

And who could blame him?

"There's been no improvement?"

You shake your head, unable to speak past tears pooling in your lashes.

His hand rests on your shoulder, thumb stroking softly over the juncture of your neck—a comforting gesture that still manages to put you on edge, setting your skin alight beneath the sleeve of your dress.

"I'd like to try something else," he says, voice always smooth, like a rich piece of chocolate, or velvet under your fingers, "I want you to tell me how it feels when I rest my hand in different places on your body. Can you do that for me?"

Your heartbeat quickens, but you nod. Dr. Kreizler would never hurt you.

"How does this feel?" he asks, and he shifts his thumb higher, until he reaches skin, and your pulse thrums beneath the press of his finger.

"It feels . . . alright."

He nods, stepping around to the other side, letting his hand trail down over your sleeve, until his palm is covering the back of your hand.

"And this?"

His eyes are on the spot where your hands meet, so analytical as he observes the contact, but your eyes are on him.

He has such a handsome face. You've always thought so, since the day your husband introduced you—the handsome, lonely Dr. Kreizler with his soft eyes and penchant for the opera. And you loved your husband—of course you did—but there were still times when you'd find the doctor's eyes on you across a crowded dining room or party, and the electric feeling of his notice would stay with you long after you and your husband had retired for the evening.

"Fine."

It feels better than fine, the slightest chill traveling across your skin as he strokes the tip of his finger over the ridges in your knuckles, the delicate bones on the inside of your wrist.

He hums in casual response. "Is it good when I touch you here?"

He presses his hand against your stomach, with more force than the other touches, just below the swell of your breast. The weight is pleasant, and the proximity even more so, his face much closer than before, eyes cataloguing each subtle shift in your expression.

"It is."

His gaze flashes to your lips before meeting your eyes again. A single strand of hair falls across his forehead, just brushing the tip of his nose.

"And what about," he leans in, closer still, hot breath caressing your cheek, "this."

His hand slips between your thighs, bunching the fabric of your dress against your bare cunt.

"Dr. Kreizler," your hand grips his wrist, but you're unsure what to do once with it once it's there. You could—should—push him away, but the pressure is surprising, and the slight shift of his fingers and the ripples they send through the fabric feels . . . good.

He hushes you with a stern glare, making no effort to remove his hand, grip like iron compared to your own.

"Laszlo. You'll call me Laszlo in private."

"Laszlo," you correct yourself without a thought, "my husband, he'll—"

"Your husband," he spits the word with an uncanny venom, grinding the heel of his hand more forcefully against the sensitive spot between your thighs," is a fool—blaming his inadequacies in sex on an undeserving wife. He sent you to me because he believes you cannot feel his pawing hands and pathetic thrusts, but you can feel, leibling, just as well as any woman. You can feel me."

He's right. You can.

He has such talented fingers—hands that would be right at home on piano prodigy—coaxing a sinful heat in your core despite the layers of fabric.

“How does this feel, leibling? Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels—“

How does feel? It's wholly unfamiliar—the desperate shift of your hips against his hand, the pleasant fog at the corners of your vision and the edges of your mind. It feels like everything you've ever wanted, like the long-awaited opening of a maddeningly locked door.

"I— Laszlo, I need more."

He leans in closer, close enough that his lips almost brush yours, and for a moment you think he might kiss you. You hope he might kiss you.

"Lift up your skirt," he whispers instead.

You have the hem in your hands a moment later, raising it eagerly until your balled fists rest in the middle of your thighs, and your momentum fails. Despite everything you've already done, there's no getting past this indecency on your own.

"So shy, now, schatz? Moments ago you were humping my hand and now this is all you can give me? Perhaps I should inform your idiotic husband that no more treatment will be necessary. Perhaps, you've already been cured. Would you like to go back to him so soon, pet?"

"No," panic flares, and the hem of your dress bares another inch of your skin, but it's the warmth of his hand on your thigh that convinces you to lift it the rest of the way, lifting your hips out of the seat, flinching at the cold material of the exam table against your bare ass.

"Good girl," he coos, taking your chin between his fingers, "now, kiss me properly."

Your lips part, and his eyes are still open when he presses a gentle peck to your lips, closing them only when you kiss him back.

Oh my. It's nothing like any kiss you've had, in your limited experience. The chaste kisses you shared with your husband after your engagement had their own kind of thrill—the thrill of an imagined fairy tale, of a promised happily ever after. The naïeveté wore off rather quickly, after your failure to perform your other wifely duties.

Kissing Laszlo isn't like that at all. There's a quiet passion behind tender movement of his lips, not out of duty, but desire. His hand cups you, without force but still secure, determined to keep you against him as long as you'll let him.

Your eyes don't open automatically when you pull back, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks, and so you don't see the look on his face as he brushes his thumb over your skin, before pressing the tips of his fingers against your parted and swollen lips.

"Open," he comands, and you're so pliant for him, opening wide enough for his fingers to disappear into your wet mouth all the way to the second knuckle before you respond with a soft gag at the pressure.

"I'm sorry, liebling, I'm sorry," he shushes you, so gentle, pulling back just enough to allow your tongue some movement between his digits, "I need my them nice and wet before I tease that aching cunt of yours. Suck on my fingers, now."

You do as he asks, hollowing your cheeks and tightening your lips. You shouldn't be doing this—shouldn't be sinking to such base acts, not when you have a husband at home and a spotless reputation and a last name that everyone in New York knows.

It's no use. You couldn't stop now, not when Laszlo is looking at you with those soft, irreverent eyes. You'd walk through fire if he asked it.

His fingers escape your lips with a soft pop, shiny with spit. You watch his hand disappear between your legs again, and your heart thumps more heavily in your chest. It's getting harder to breathe.

"There we are, liebling," he praises you, stroking your outer folds with his moistened fingers, spreading the slick across your cunt, just barely brushing your clit.

The shock of pleasure jumps through your chest, your back arching slightly off the exam table, lips parting with a violent breath.

Laszlo smirks. "And he thinks you can't feel."

Your husband's mistakes are becoming clearer with each stroke of his fingers—their gentle circles around your tender clit, or the teasing press at your entrance.

"You're getting so wet for me, pet," he comments, stretching your entrance little by little with one circling finger. "I think you're ready for more of me."

You nod, grateful your soft moans are keeping your mouth too busy to beg.

He slips his middle finger inside of you, and it's already a thousand times better than anything you've experienced in your marital bed. The gentle stretch, the way he curves his finger against your tender front wall while his thumb works steadily at your clit—it has you reaching heights you had never thought would be available to you.

"Please, Laszlo, please," you paw at his chest, trying to grab hold of his jacket, looking for leverage, but your hands are weak, your body much too concerned with the rapturous glow overtaking your cunt to function properly.

You'll have to beg then, instead. "Please, kiss me again. Please."

He chuckles, his wrist working more ardently until you can hardly hear him over the wetness between your legs.

"Not yet. I need to see you cum first. I want to watch you unravel for me."

He slips another finger inside of you without ceremony, and your eyes roll back in your head, vision going dark.

The movement of his fingers is nothing short of marvelous, scissoring back and forth, punctuated by the occasional deep thrust that has your hips lifting from the seat and stars in your eyes.

His voice reaches you even in the deepest trenches of your pleasure.

"It's alright, liebling, you can let go. Cum for me."

And you do, sunken beyond a point of return, emerging on the other side in a flare of bright light, the spasming of your cunt sending shards of it through your body with every stroke against your raw and aching clit.

"Look how good you are for me," he whispers, pulling his fingers from your core as the contractions subside, brushing his wet fingers across your hairline.

He kisses you tenderly, his hand—still sticky with your spend—cupping your cheek. Your legs shake from your release, but it would be impossible not to kiss him back.

He pulls away, cleaning his fingers on a nearby cloth before brushing his hair back into place, slipping back into his doctor's persona as easily as he'd slipped out of it.

"Tell your husband that you'll need regular treatment for the foreseeable future. Perhaps once a week."

You nod, pulling your skirt back down into place before you stand from the exam table. You're unsteady on your feet, swaying dangerously, and he takes you with a hand on your arm, pulling you in tight against his chest.

"The next time he touches you, schatz," he says to you, speaking right up against the shell of your ear, and the sin in his words makes you shiver, "make sure you're thinking of me."