#Laszlo kreizler fanfiction

[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

[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

[mrsmaxwelllord]

INFATURATION - The Reunion

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years of solitude, protected by the wall of a house you were forced to call your own, you open the doors to welcome your stepdaughter. Only to see her bring in the man who cause all your misfortune.

A/N: There isn't any warnings bc this chapter only introduces the plot and briefly narrates the reunion of Laszlo and his former lover.

But this is a Persuasion-inspired fic — meaning it is a second-change romance.

I think this is all, for now.

Enjoy!

.

 It is unthinkable.

 The grimace on your face was caught by your company when the stranger’s silhouette took shape. But that was no stranger at all, you could tell, even in the distance when his face was yet to be revealed.

 The brown hair, the bright eyes, the cane... 

 This must be a dream, a terrible nightmare — was your first thought when you recognized the figure.

 You gasped for air, tightening your hold on Edwinas arm. You could hear her calling your name, but it was as low as a whisper. Barely there, mixed with the loud waves.

 The silhouette doubled, forming a second figure, one that you couldn’t quite place. It was of no consequence, you were transfixed by the approaching man.

 Step by ungainly step on the sand he shortened the space between the two of you. In no time his features became visible, demanding attention. The bright brown eyes above anything else, but the matching hair still had its charm even now, curling behind his ears.

 When his eyes finally meet yours it is in wonder, but it feels like being punched in the stomach. Hard and painful.  There was a knot in your throat and you couldn't breathe properly. 

 His lips opened to whisper your name.

 It was only with a scream you broke out of the devil’s spell.

 Daniel, the reason for your oh so tard visit to the beach, was the one to scream and so snape you back to reality. Demanding your attention to the funny shell he found by the Ocean.

 You turn around to face him, baffled still.

 “Ma’am, are you well?” questioned the governess at the same time Danny screamed “Mama” at the top of his lungs. Your ears were buzzing and, truth be told, you were definitely not in full control of your mental abilities yet.

 You did not know to whom you should answer first, the maid or the bubbling infant,  but the dripping clothes of the child way too close to the Ocean's waves gave you the directions you needed.

 “That is enough, young man” you said, calling your son closer to you. 

 “Yes, mister,” Edwina agreed upon seeing the deed. “That isn’t proper behaviour.”

 He laughs and doesn't shake at your objection, but runs to you and shows the shell holding out his tiny hands.

“M’Sorry” he murmurs “I wanted you to see this. It’s a present, you see?”

You take the shell and thanks for the gift, another addition to your collection.

“Ma’am, how are you feeling?” 

You face Edwina, still much aware of the strangers, and force a smile.

“I���m much better. Thank you.”

“You looked so sick just now,” she says.

“No need to worry about it, Edwina.” You look at the couple from the corner of your eye, noticing that they have their arms lined.

She hums and Danny rounds circles around you.

“Oh, what a delightful surprise” Professor Stratton greets you.

 You turn around abruptly.

 In your terror, you did not recognize the figure beside Doctor Laszlo Kreizler, but now you could tell who it was. Miss Stratton was correct, what a surprise! — you just couldn’t agree with the delightfulness. Miss Stratton was to arrive the very first thing tomorrow morning, but you guessed the ship did not care for men's assumptions.

 “Karen” you smile, “you arrived early!”

  Her smile was just as bright and contagious as you remember it, and she looked very satisfied. Karen took your hands between hers gently, squeezing it, and, when Daniel very carefully not to be heard whispered a question to Edwina, she gasped.

 “Oh, that can’t be!” she turned to him, then asked. “Is this the tiny baby I held in my arms not five years ago? Is this Danny?”

 Despite being very excited and anxious about the arrival of his half-sister and not being able to stop talking about her to anyone listening in the previous weeks, Daniel fell silent with her attention. Suddenly very shy.

 “Go ahead, Danny” you encouraged him, stretching out your hand so he could hold it and come closer. “Say hello to Karen, she was very excited to see you again.”

 “Were you?” he asked, timid.

 Dr Keizler stood in silence, flabbergasted, watching the scene before him evolve. Both because nobody introduced or talked to him and he simply could not believe his eyes.

 He looked at you and the boy with gushing curiosity, a feeling he couldn't quite describe, but relish. Yearn. He wished you would look him in the eyes, but you were focused on the chatting.

 Professor Stratton chatted to the kid she called Danny for a good pair of minutes before turning back to him. 

 “How can I be so rude?” She faced Laszlo. “Mrs. Stratton,  Mrs. Smith, Danny, this is the friend I talked about. Dr Laszlo Kreizler.”

 “It is a pleasure, sir,” said Edwina.

 Danny promptly, and exaggeratedly, bowed in greeting. Giggling like only a kid could.

 You weren’t sure what to do. You already knew Dr Kreizler so the introduction wasn’t necessary, but you also did not know if you wanted everybody to be aware of it.

 Before you could do or say anything about it, Karen recalled:

 “She originally is from New York, Laszlo. Perhaps you've even seen each other around the city.”

 “Indeed. We already met” Laszlo answered, without taking his eyes off of you. 

.

So, this is it. The first chapter of the fic I talked about months ago. I haven't finished it as I hoped I'd by now, but I really wanted to post this. The Daniel Brühl's fandom is so quiet lately, I miss the old days.

Oh, yes, I did name the kid Daniel!!!! couldn't help it.

I hope you liked it!!

xoxo

[noforkingclue]

Laszlo Kreizler Masterlist

No Questions Asked- complete

NSFW

Dark

A Slow Game

Unwanted Attention

Requests

Crossover

Feelings

Dark

A Planned Future

Forced to Agree

Good Girl

Mourning

Willingness

Fluff

A Fresh Relationship

Certain

NSFW

Dark

What The Doctor Wantsl

[redex-writes]

IT'S FINISHED

Rondo, the last work in the Piano Concerto No. 2 series, is finally finished.

[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...

[f1yogurt]

Smut Prompts for the Danny Bunch!

27 for Laszlo <3

thank you for this!! here's a short drabble for Laszlo x gn!Reader [AO3 link]

smut prompts - 27. “I’m too busy.” “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

minors DNI 18+

You were in a playful mood tonight, and as you walked into Doctor Kreizler’s spacious study, you grinned when you saw him seated behind his huge wooden desk. There were papers strewn about on its surface, and Laszlo looked like he was focused, reading something intently with his glasses on. Oh, you’d have to do something about that.

“Hello, darling,” you greeted, walking up to his desk. Laszlo glanced up briefly in acknowledgement, but then he immediately went back to reading. Hm. You walked around to where he was seated, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek, your fingers dancing along the collar of his shirt. Laszlo inhaled sharply at your touch, although he didn’t pull away.

“I’m too busy,” he protested, although a slight blush had risen to his cheeks. You grinned, knowing exactly how to fix this.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” Before he could protest, you dropped to your knees and slid slightly underneath the desk, positioning yourself between his legs. You chuckled when you heard him gasp again.

“Shh, darling,” you shushed, unzipping the fly of his nice trousers. “I’ll take care of you. Meanwhile, you can continue to work…if you’re so busy.” Laszlo looked down at you then, and you just grinned up at him mischievously. The man was still holding a paper in his left hand, and his glasses were perched on his nose, as if he truly intended to continue working through this.

Without further adieu, you tugged down his briefs and gently grasped his arousal in your warm hand, causing Laszlo to let out a muffled moan. It pleased you that he would finally have a reaction to this, and you wanted to earn more of those strangled sounds of pleasure from him.

“Schatz, I, I need to keep working–” Laszlo cut himself off with another groan as you began stroking him. Oh, how wrong he was to refuse the two of you a nice, long, pleasant evening together.

“Hush, I promised I would be quick,” you said, intending to make good on your words. “And I never back out on a promise.” Doing your best to maintain eye contact, you took him in your mouth, not allowing him time to tell you differently. You bobbed your head, using your hands and tongue and everything you knew that would drive him wild, to the brink the quickest. Laszlo was making the most beautiful noises, whimpering and gasping. A gorgeous flush had risen to his cheeks and had climbed its way to the tips of his ears.

You hummed around him, enjoying the feeling of Laszlo shuddering beneath you. Somehow, he still was holding onto that oh so important paper of his. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, and a lock of hair now fell over his forehead. So much for working.

Before he knew what had hit him, and before he could warn you, Laszlo was coming. Stars flashed behind his eyelids as he rode out the waves of ecstacy, and you hummed your approval. When Laszlo finally recovered, he opened his eyes to find you buttoning up his trousers, almost as if nothing had happened.

“See? Quick,” you said, winking as you stood up. “Come see me when you finish your work, Doctor Kreizler. Maybe we can work out a longer session. If it fits into your busy schedule, of course.” You turned and walked away, up to your bedroom, leaving Laszlo to gaze longingly after you. With that promise, it looked like he didn’t have that much work to do after all.

[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."

[andy-15-07]

Daniel Brühl Masterlist

A Love Unscripted- Daniel Brühl

The News- Baron Helmut Zemo

[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

[babybluebex]

𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖉𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗 𝖐𝖗𝖊𝖎𝖟𝖑𝖊𝖗 | 𝔠𝔥.1: 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔞 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | there's a tension between you and dr. kreizler that ever john moore can sense and, after an injury while defending you, you and laszlo finally come to terms with your feelings. 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 | laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 4.8k 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | explicit language, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, too much flowery victorian language, one single and awful cody ko reference 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 | alright the alienist is plaguing me and i cant stop thinking ab fucking laszlo so HERE YOU GO. enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You heard the roar of the protests outside the door as you snapped the latches of the briefcase shut. Taking a quick chance, you pushed yourself up a bit in order to look out of a glass panel of the red door, and you surveyed the crows outside the morgue. “Goodness, Doctor,” you breathed. “There’ll be a riot soon, no doubt.”

The German doctor gave a little grunt, not so much in response but rather an affirmation that he heard you. You hadn’t known Doctor Laszlo Kreizler for very long, hardly half a year, ever since you had been convinced to join the little crime-fighting syndicate that your coworker Sara had roped you into. At first, you had only agreed because Sara had made it seem like they were up to their necks in work, but her real reason very quickly became apparent when you met Dr. Kreizler and Mr. Moore. They were brilliant at their jobs, each man successful in his own endeavors, but they were men. They were bold, brash, impulsive, and rude (especially the doctor), and they were often stopped from tyrades by you or Sara calming them down. After all, it was often said that women were more logical than men. You knew that both Mr. Moore and Dr. Kreizler were too prideful to admit it, but you suspected that they were thankful for both you and Sara.

“Keep your head down,” John said from behind you. “And keep a firm hold on that case, you understand? Those documents are important.”

“Yes,” you said softly. You did understand the importance of the documents: John’s sketches of the victim’s bodies, Sara’s paperwork that she had smuggled from the police station. Essentially, all of the evidence for the entire case was in your hands. You didn’t want to face John's (or, more frightening) Dr. Kreizler’s wrath if the documents were misplaced or ruined. The crowd couldn’t be that awful to handle, could it? It was a mere few meters from the door of the morgue to the carriage that awaited, and there were police.

John went to tend to Sara, and you were struck silent when Dr. Kreizler turned to you. Of all the men in the world, you were intrigued by him the most. He was intimidating on the surface, with his piercing dark brown eyes and dark accented voice. But he was brilliant, perhaps one of the smartest men you had ever met. You liked working closely with Dr. Kreizler, and you hoped that he would continue to call upon you for investigative help once this child murderer was apprehended. Dr. Kreizler called himself an “alienist”, a term that you were familiar with; when you were young, your mother had suffered an affliction that made her a frequent patient of an alienist in your home of Virginia. You had never met an alienist like Dr. Kreizler, though. He was rough and brash at the worst of times, but quiet and gentle at the best. There was such a dichotomy from Dr. Kreizler and his alter-ego of Laszlo, and you hardly ever knew which you were talking to. Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, John called him behind his back (but you suspected that Dr. Kreizler knew anyway).

“Hold onto my coat,” Dr. Kreizler said quickly. “Stay close to me. Keep the case between me and yourself. Do you hear me?”

You nodded, and your grip tightened on the handle of the briefcase. Just a short walk, you reminded yourself. Just a few meters.

John left first, and, the moment the door opened and people caught a glimpse of Dr. Kreizler, an explosion of sound went off. They were yelling at him, yelling awful things about how dare he waste the lives of children, their children. You looked at Dr. Kreizler’s face, trying to see if any kind of emotion was showing through but, as he was skilled at, his face was a blank canvas. His left hand grabbed your arm and tugged you a bit closer to him, close enough to smell the musk of his cologne, and you took a fistful of the tail of his jacket. “Hold on tight,” Dr. Kreizler whispered, glancing over his shoulder at you. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that his constant checks were for you, rather than for the documents.

The air outside felt charged with electricity as people of all sorts strained against the police barricade to have a crack at Dr. Kreizler. They were yelling, screaming, jostling the police and Dr. Kreizler, and, by extension, you. “You who have no children!” a man hissed at Dr. Kreizler, and you watched his give the man a side-long glance. “You have no soul. He has no children of his own so he must use the children of others to prove his crazy ideas-- our children!”

“Keep your head down,” Dr. Kreizler said to you, turning just enough to allow himself to speak without shouting.

“And her!” the faceless voice from the mob shouted. Maybe it was the mob as a whole. “Instead of children, she chooses crime! Can’t have children, little miss? S’why ya chose to do a man’s job?”

You hardly even had time to figure out how much the words hurt before Dr. Kreizler had spun around to face the direction that the shout came from. He sent a swift punch at a mustached man, the one who seemed guilty of the slanderous remarks, and you yelped at the suddenness of it. You had seen Dr. Kreizler get upset before, yes, but never actually get physically violent with anyone before. He had thrown chalk across the room and slammed books onto tables, but this was something new. And with his right arm, no less. Maybe it was just a scare tactic.

And surely it was, because Theordore came to the rescue soon after, and he used his boxing expertise in order to subdue the crowd enough to allow you, John, and Dr. Kreizler into the carriage. As soon as you were safely in the carriage, Dr. Kreizler was hanging over you. His face was red under his beard, and his piercing eyes seemed to be staring straight into your soul. “Are you alright?” he asked, and you jumped when John slammed the door of the carriage shut.

“Yes,” you gasped. You realized that you were still fiercely gripping Dr. Kreizler’s coat tail, and you let go of it with a grunt of pain. The thick fabric of the coat had managed to rub the heel of your hand a bit raw, and Dr. Kreizler saw it instantly. He started to take up your hand in his grip, but you stopped him. “Please, Doctor, I’m alright. Nothing a bit of salve won’t fix. Thank you.”

Dr. Kreizler took his seat across from you, sitting a bit heavily, and you tilted your head as you examined him. He was favoring his right a bit, and you watched the subtle flex of his shoulder. “You’re hurt,” you said quickly. “Dr. Kriezler, is your arm okay?”

Dr. Kreizler gave a small grunt of pain as he rolled his right shoulder, and he said, “Nothing more than a pulled muscle. It’ll correct itself in a few days.”

“Oh, goodness,” you mumbled. “Surely, that didn’t happen as you were defending me.”

“It did,” Dr. Kreizler told you. “But it’s nothing to be worried about, I assure you.”

You groaned softly, and you settled the briefcase on your lap. “I feel responsible,” you said softly. “When we get to the Institute, you must let me look at it.”

“I’m the doctor,” Kreizler said sharply. “If I say it’s alright, then it is.”

John watched you with wide eyes for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Dr. Kreizler. He was looking out the glass window of the carriage, watching the mob, and you hoped that neither man saw the tear that escaped your eye. You were quick to dry it up and return your hand to the briefcase, and you looked across to see John’s gaze slipping up your face. He had seen it, no doubt. “Here,” he started in his low gravel. “Let me…”

“No,” you said quickly. “I would like to keep an eye on them, John. Thank you, though.”

The Institute was a cheerful place. The grounds were always filled with the sound of children’s laughter, and the rooms were warm with fire. Particularly, Dr. Kreizler’s study was a fine place for you. Rows and rows of bookshelves housed so many volumes, old and new, big and small. There was a table in the middle of the room that was always disorderly with various books and papers and whatever else pertained to the tasks that Dr. Kreizler had at hand. You liked the window at the front of the room the most. It was made of milky-white glass, not clear enough to see through but enough to let the sunlight in. You would pull a chair from the table to the window and settle there, sometimes reading, sometimes listening to John and the Doctor’s bickering. Sometimes, if the Isaacsons were there, it would be the four men sharing ideas and discussing the murders.

Dr. Kreizler fell down into a chair the moment he reached the study, and you placed the briefcase on the table beside him. He grunted softly as he sat upright, and he mumbled, “Thank you”, and he slid the case in front of him.

You hesitated for a moment. Do you dare ask him a second time? “Dr. Kreizler,” you began gently. “Please.”

Dr. Kreizler shifted in his seat, looking down at his papers, and he said, “Please what?”

“Please let me look at your arm,” you said. “Even if you say nothing is wrong with it, I would like to see for myself.”

Dr. Kreizler fixed his jaw as he clenched his teeth, and he mumbled, “Why can’t you just be satisfied with the answer I give you?”

“Because, as much as you hate to admit it, I know you,” you said. “I know you more than you would wish for me to. And I know that you’re in pain. I can see it plainly on your face. Please, Dr. Kreizler… Laszlo--” At this, he looked up at you. You never used his first name, not in the few months you had known him. He was always Dr. Kreizler. Sometimes just Doctor or Kreizler or, when you were trying to placate him, good Doctor Kreizler. But never Laszlo. You had heard both John and Sara call him that, but they were closer to him. It felt almost wrong to call him that, and fear struck in your heart at his gaze. “Let me help you.”

Dr. Laszlo Kreizler studied you for a moment, almost like he was trying to measure if you were playing a game with him, and he finally said, “You musn’t comment on the limb itself. Only the injury area.”

You nodded quickly, and you watched as Laszlo began to undo the buttons on his vest with his left hand. Quickly realizing that he couldn’t do it one-handed, you jumped to help him. You carefully pushed his hand away and started at the buttons yourself, and you pushed the vest aside to work at the buttons on his shirt. You could sense the nervous energy that was coming off of him, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him overtook you. But you couldn’t do that, and you weren’t even sure if you wanted to. Yes, Laszlo was a handsome man, but you hadn’t ever thought of him like that before. Although, you reconsidered as his shirt began to yawn open, maybe you had. The good doctor permeated your dreams often, perhaps often enough to cause the little fluttering stir in your stomach.

You pushed the butterflies aside and finished the task at hand, and you very carefully pulled the shirt from off of his arm. You let your eyes wander down the length of his arm, his so-called “broken wing”. It was decidedly smaller than his left, skinny, hardly anything on it except for the malformed bones and thin skin, housed by the pressed sleeve of his shirt. The skin about his elbows was marked with scars, and the rest was covered in freckles. And his shoulder was a reddish-blue, already bruising up. “Oh, dear,” you mumbled. “It’s bruised. I think it’s a torn muscle rather than a pulled one. You need to see a doctor about this.”

“And what do you suspect they’ll tell me?” Laszlo asked. “Anything more than what I already know?”

You sighed. “You don’t know everything, Doctor,” you mumbled. “Let me go downstairs and get you a cold compress, it might soothe it a bit.”

“You did what you asked to,” Laszlo said. “You looked at it. You never said anything about treating it.”

“I assumed that that was a given,” you said. You couldn’t help the way that your gaze lingered on his arm, and you hoped that he didn’t notice it. The last thing you wanted was for Laszlo to get truly angry with you. “But, alright. If you truly wish to dismiss me based on a technicality…” You carefully helped him do up his shirt again, making sure to adjust the boarded collar just right so that it didn’t make too much of an awful racket, and you froze as you did up his tie.

His hand was on your waist. His right hand. You looked down at yourself and where his palm was nestled just over your hip, and you looked back at his face. His head was tilted a bit, looking at you, and he carefully retracted his hand. “Have I overstepped?” he asked cautiously, which was not an emotion that you were familiar with when it came to Dr. Kreizler.

You swallowed thickly. Your hands were shaking just a bit, and you shook your head. “No,” you managed to tell him. “No, you’re alright, Doctor.”

“Why am I always Doctor?” Laszlo asked. “John is John, Sara is Sara, the Isaacsons are the Isaacsons. Why am I never just Laszlo?”

You shrugged, and you slipped a few fingers behind the knot of the tie in order to ensure that you didn’t fasten it too tight. “It never feels right to call you anything but that,” you mumbled. “I suppose I can start calling you Laszlo, though, if that pleases you.”

“It does,” Laszlo said, and you watched a rare smile upturn his cheeks. It was faint, but it was there. “Funny how pleasure works.”

You scoffed and dropped the tie. “Please don’t start waxing poetic about pleasure, Laszlo,” you chuckled, and you moved along the table to where a pile of documents awaited. “I’ve heard it enough.”

“Then you know the importance of it,” Laszlo said, and he stood up from his seat. “Without pleasure, there can be no pain.”

“And without rain, there cannot be sun,” you added. “Good and bad, yin and yang; one cannot exist without the other.”

“Right,” Laszlo said. “Antitheses. What if, perhaps, there can be no sin if there is not repentance? No righteousness without evil? No male without female?”

“I suppose that follows your logic,” you said. You looked at Laszlo across the table and smiled at him, and you quickly said, “What if that is our killer’s motive? Repentance for sins? Y-You said that crimes like this are done out of revenge, so what if the killer had similar crimes befall him in his youth, and this is a twisted way of repenting?”

Suddenly filled with fervor, you searched the table for the small journal calendar that Laszlo had pulled out several weeks before. “The murders take place on the holy days,” you said. “Pentecost, the Ascension… The letter about seeing Georgio in front of the church. What if this is religiously motivated?”

Laszlo took in a deep breath, and he said, “That’s very likely… Repentance… You’re a brilliant young woman.”

Your skin buzzed with the praise, and you stepped closer to Laszlo in order to hand him the journal. “I’m just glad to be of service,” you told him. “I can’t imagine what I would be doing at the police station.”

Laszlo took the journal from your hand and set it back on the table, and his hand slipped from his jacket pocket. The air was silent but fantastically electrically charged, and you nearly jumped out of your body when Laszlo’s hand cupped your cheek. The contact felt like a scalding iron, but you leaned into it. You raised your hand and covered his with yours, and you whispered, “I’m glad you think so highly of me, Doctor.”

“I think the world of you,” Laszlo whispered. His hand was warm against your face, and you were only apart for just a second more before Laszlo was leaning into you and kissing you. It was a foreign feeling for you, and you were sure that it was for Laszlo as well; with no fiancée or courtship of any kind, you doubted if he had any experience with kissing or things of that sort. That being said, his kiss felt good. His mouth was warm against yours, his beard soft on your chin and cheeks, and you found yourself leaning further into him. You were wholly unsure of what you were asking for by doing this, but you were sure that Laszlo would oblige no matter what.

You only broke the kiss when Laszlo’s hand went from your face to your back. “Marcus and Lucius will be here any moment,” you gasped. “I think it best if we--”

“I have to have you,” Laszlo whispered on shaking breaths.

“How?” you asked. “Have you ever…?”

“No,” Laszlo said. His hand on your back went flat, drawing you closer to him, and he added, “Instincts come in at some point, my dear. After all, we are nothing more than animals.”

“Oh, Laszlo, that doesn’t sound arousing in the slightest,” you laughed softly. “At least make an effort to seduce me.”

“Is my standing here not enough?” Laszlo asked. “Is my kissing you not persuasive enough to have me? What more must I do? Must I lavish your whole body with my tongue? Must my hands go places they dare not before? Tell me, my beloved; I’ll do it all.”

“Do just that,” you breathed and drew him back in for another kiss. “Do it all.”

In an instant, almost as if something had possessed the poor doctor, he had shoved your hips against the edge of the table, and his kiss was on your lips again. This was hungrier and more desperate than before, and you took handfuls of his jacket, urging him closer and closer until his body was flushed against yours. You reveled in the warmth that he gave off, and you gave a quiet gasp when his left arm wrapped around you and hauled you onto the table. In an instant, Laszlo was pushing your legs open and fitting himself between your thighs, and his mouth left yours in favor of your throat. The neck of your shirt nearly inhibited his actions, but he made do, kissing your jawline and ear instead.

“Laszlo,” you whispered quickly. “The door’s open, anyone could--”

“Exactly,” Laszlo said into your neck, and he gave it a gentle nip with his front teeth. “Which is why we have to hurry.”

You weren’t exactly thrilled at the notion of that, but you had no other choice. The shocking need in your core was too much to ignore or put off. You needed Laszlo. Your hands left his jacket and went instead to his pants, and you gave shallow breaths as you worked at the buttons over his groin. You jumped a bit when Laszlo gave a low, guttural groan, and you almost mistook it for one of pain before your hand touched him through his pants. The very thought that you had caused this reaction in the otherwise composed and steadfast doctor made your cunt flutter with a nervous anticipation, and you tugged Laszlo back for another kiss. By then, his mouth had learned the shape of yours, and he kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever do. You loved it. You loved everything about it. You loved the way his hands felt on your waist, or skating up your legs to bustle your skirt at your hips. You loved the warmth of his breath in your mouth. You loved the feeling of him nearly quivering between your legs; that, you were sure, was not an animal instinct.

For a long while, the only sounds were that of your shared panting and the rustling of your clothing. You hated how there wasn’t any time to do anything more than a quick fuck, and you especially hated how the time constraint meant that there was no full undressing. You gently pulled Laszlo’s tie slack a bit, and he gave a little huffing laugh and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “You’re so wonderful,” he whispered. “I detest how I can’t see the whole of you.”

“There’s always next time,” you said quickly. “I mean, if I’m not being too presumptuous--”

“Does it seem like you are?” Laszlo asked in low, accented gravel, and you gave a small giggle at the sight of the bulge in the doctor’s pants. No, it certainly did not seem that way. “I intend to have you every night, if you’ll allow me. It’s the first thing I thought about when Miss Howard introduced us.”

“Really?” you asked. “The first thought you had was making love to me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Laszlo asked. His hips gave a sudden jerk towards you, pressing himself fully against your bare cunt, and you gave a gasp that was halfway surprise and halfway pleasure. Laszlo was right; pleasure could not exist without pain. In that case, pleasure of the body could not exist without the pain of the heart.

“No,” you breathed. Your hands smoothed down his back and that emerald-green jacket that you liked so much, and you drew Laszlo in so that your lips were next to his ear. “Stop your talking and fuck me, Laszlo.”

The brilliant doctor was as smart as a whip and had the quickest wit in New York, but he was struck dumb at that. His mouth was open just a bit as he examined your face, and you bit your lip as you laughed. “C’mon, we haven’t much time,” you mumbled, and Laszlo nodded quickly.

You were sure that the sight of his cock would make you uneasy, so you pressed your face into his neck as he started to stroke himself. And, as it turns out, sight was hardly needed at all. The moment he pressed himself into you, you could feel every ridge (and inch) of him, and you shuddered in warm pleasure when Laszlo let out a choked moan in your ear. The gravity of what you were doing was finally catching up to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it.

Laszlo’s hand was all over you. Gripping your waist, the back of your neck, fisting your skirt; anywhere he could find purchase, he did. His right arm was held firmly against your hip, and each thrust he gave you made your corset shift a bit and nudge his hand. What Laszlo lacked in emotional availability, he made up for in love-making. He was gentle with you, but breathtakingly intense at the same time. His lips were latched to your neck, his mouth open, and he was whispering small grunts and affirmations in your ear with every thrust. “So gorgeous,” he whispered. “Feel so good… Fuck.”

That’s how you knew that Laszlo was truly in the throes of lust. He would never dare use a word of that sort in any other situation. Quickly, you took his right hand from off your waist and brought it up to your face, and you began to pepper his palm and wrist with quick kisses. His fingers twitched just a bit, almost like an appreciation of sorts, and Laszlo whispered, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you told him. “I want to show my love for every part of you, Las.”

“Las,” the doctor repeated, and he gave a quick little snort of laughter. “Nobody has ever called me that.”

“I think it’s high time someone does,” you said. “You deserve to have a lovely little name like that.”

You could feel Laszlo’s smile against your neck, and his breath caught in his chest. “Oh, darling,” he mumbled. “I’m afraid I won’t last much longer.”

“That’s okay,” you told him. “Me too.”

You tried to ignore the creak of the table that sounded in time with Laszlo’s movements, and you focused on the delicious way he felt inside of you. It felt right, like you were made to fit together. The slow drag and burn of him was lighting the most intense fire inside your belly, and you had read enough of those salacious penny novels to know what came next. You wanted to see him, though. You wanted to see his face as he finished and filled you with his seed, and you wanted to be able to kiss him as he drew you to fulfillment. You carefully pulled his face out of your neck and you smiled at the redness in his cheeks and the way his pupils were blown wide, and you pressed your forehead to his. “You’re so lovely,” Laszlo whispered, and his strong hand nearly left a bruise on your thigh with the strength of his grip. “I would like for this to happen again.”

Your heart warmed at his words. “I would too,” you agreed. “My only stipulation is-- Oh, fuck!” A jolt of white-hot pleasure rocked your body, jostling you further into Laszlo’s warmth, and you drew in a whining breath. “You have to take me to dinner.”

“Of course, darling,” Laszlo huffed. “Delmonico’s, every night.”

“I don’t need that,” you told him. “I just need you, Las.”

“Say my name again,” Laszlo said softly, and you smiled and gave his mouth a quick kiss.

“Las,” you mumbled. “Oh, fuck, Laszlo. You feel so good, Laszlo. Oh, Laszlo Kreizler, you fuck me so well.”

That was all it took. In an instant, Laszlo was moaning into your mouth as he came, and his hips carefully slowed as he filled you. The feeling of it was odd and foreign, but it also felt right. Everything about sex with Laszlo felt cosmically correct, and you pulled him into a tight hug by his shoulders. His left arm wound around you tightly, and you helped him maneuver his right arm around you as well, and you whispered sweet things to him as he caught his breath. “God, Laszlo, I love you to death,” you whispered. You felt his fingers dig tightly into your back, and his mouth pressed into your shoulder. “You say I’m wonderful, but I’m nothing compared to you.”

“What am I?” Laszlo asked softly. “A brain?”

“And a heart,” you told him. “You love so big, Las; so big that I think you’re afraid of it. But I want to teach you to embrace it. Love is what we’re made for, sweetheart.”

Laszlo kissed you again, slower and sweeter than before. There were no agendas left, nothing to work towards and to complete. You were lovers now, and you had all the time in the world.

Except, as the door to the Institute slammed closed three stories down and Marcus’s call of “Dr. Kreizler! Are you in the study?” floated upwards, you detached from Laszlo. Perhaps not all the time in the world, but enough.

“Yes!” Laszlo called back, his voice cracking awfully, and you pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle your laughter. “Come up!”

By the time the Isaacson twins had reached the study, all evidence of what you and Laszlo had done was squared away. The only memory that remained was the unforgettable feeling of his body between your legs, and the glances that you shared with him over the table. “We think that our killer is committing these crimes out of religious motivation,” Laszlo began. He had shed his jacket, leaving just the white shirt, vest, and tie, and you settled yourself in your usual chair by the window to watch the exchange. “Y/N pointed it out to me.”

“Hey, good job,” Lucius said, scanning the journal. “That’s a rather astute observation. Anything else come up?”

You and Laszlo exchanged a knowing glance, and you said, “Well, yes, but that’s a discussion for later, over dinner.”

[noforkingclue]

No Questions Asked (Laszlo Kreizler x reader) Chapter 22

Warnings: mentions of period typical misogyny

No Questions Asked tag list: @direbatattck

You laid in the comfortable bed looking up at the ceiling. You had tried to sit up but the pain in your side was a sharp reminder to be careful. You had never felt as useless as you currently did. While this wasn’t the first time you had been injured, far from it in fact, this was probably the most serious wound you had received. You were also going to have to deal with the consequences of your secret being found out. You closed your eyes and tried to think of a good reason for your crossdressing but none came to mind.

Oh well.

The truth it was going to have to be.

You looked over sharply when someone knocked on the door. When you didn’t answer the person knocked again only slightly louder.

“And what were you going to do if I was asleep?” you asked, “keep on knocking until I woke up or would you have left me alone.”

The door opened a crack and you glanced over as Sara entered the room. She held an armful of clothes and you wrinkled your nose at them.

“I want my old clothes back.” you said

“They’re covered in blood.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right.”

Sara grimaced and marched further into the room. You sat up, hissing in pain, and pulled the sheets up against your chest. Bandages were wrapped around it but you still wanted some modesty around someone who was a virtual stranger. Sara knew ‘Doc’, she didn’t know Y/n.

“There’s hot water,” Sara said, snapping you out of your thoughts, “get yourself cleaned up. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

“And they know?” you asked

Sara gave you a disappointed look and you just rolled your eyes. You knew that John and Kreizler knew but a part of you, a very small part, hoped that they didn’t. You let out the breath you hadn’t realised you had been holding when Sara finally left the room. You waited for a minute, just to make sure you weren’t going to be interrupted, before finally slipping out of the bed. You winced and held your side as you slowly shuffled over to the screen that Sara had gestured to.

You let out a sigh as you slowly sunk into the hot water. Fuck, you couldn’t remember the last time you had a hot bath. You were far too used to cleaning yourself in cold water. This was a luxury you really shouldn’t get used to. Soft beds, warm baths and probably good and rich food. All things that you were now so close to and yet was so far out of your reach.

This still wasn’t your world.

You were just visiting and on the whim of those who occupied it.

You could be tossed out into the mud and blood and shit at any moment and they would get on with their lives.

You only got out of the water when it had turned cold, grabbing a towel. You wrinkled your nose at the clothes Sara had provided. You had been in disguise for so long, you couldn’t remember the last time you wore a skirt let alone a dress. You threw it to the side, trying to ignore how nice the material felt, and turned to the wardrobe in the room.

Right, time to find something more suitable to your tastes.

You grinned when you found an old shirt. It was slightly too big but that didn’t matter. It was clean and you could still make it work. You had started doing up the buttons when you heard someone else knocking at the door.

“You can come in.” you called

You had been expecting Sara but to your surprise it was Kreizler who opened the door. The two of you stared awkwardly at each other for a moment before he turned his back. You just rolled your eyes.

“My apologies,” he said, “I didn’t realise you were changing.”

“I didn’t realise you were such a prude,” you said as you continue to look through the drawers, “would you be reacting like this if I was a man? Are there any trousers in here?”

“I thought-”

“No you didn’t,” you turned around and put your hands on your hips as you glared at him, “now trousers. Unless,” you smirked and walked closer towards him, “you enjoy seeing me like this. Half naked and in,” you looked about, “a room in your house.”

“I was merely looking out for your health.”

“By putting me to bed.”

“That was just one aspect.”

You walked closer to him until you were standing directly in front of Kreizler.

“And now I’m half naked in front of you,” you said quietly, “most men wouldn’t be so… honourable.”

You made direct eye contact with Kreizler and paused. You had never seen that look on his face before. His eyes had gone dark and he slowly raised his hands to your shoulders. You knew you should pull away, to avoid getting too close, but you didn’t want to.

“I’m not another project for you to study,” you said, “I did what I had to do to survive in my world. My world, not yours. Now, are we going to continue our investigation?”

Kreizler held your gaze for a second before smiling and nodding.

“We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” he said before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him

You let out a sigh of relief before collapsing back onto the bed. You closed your eyes before sitting up straight.

“Damn.” you said, hitting the mattress

He didn’t give you any trousers.

Bastard.

[rumblelibrary]

I need a very loving Laszlo smut, either top or switch with him, take it any direction you want, any build up, any kinks. But I just... my soul needs this V I need to see this man happy and satisfied

Coming Back Home [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Wife!Reader]

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, mild victorian dirty talk)

Author’s note: I am weak to see this man happy, my mind went a bit overboard, but I just couldn't hold it back, to see him happy and fulfilled in all his means, professional and private. Thank you so much for feeding my obsession and being my supporter @cazzyimagines <3

The cold air hit him as a welcome back in the moment he exited the carriage, he was back in New York after six months of study and hard work in Wien, he hated and loved it: he learned a lot and got the chance to talk with some of the best alienists in the field granting himself some valuable resources and upcoming publications, the city was amazing and romantic. But all day, every day, he was with his mind on the life he left here, on you and your baby boy waiting at home patiently, easing his pains with letters and little colourful sketches, reassuring him that he would come back to the same house he left.

It was late, he could see the light in baby’s room was off already and it pained him to be late for the goodnight story.

The driver dropped his belongings beside the door with a huff before taking his money with a big thank you.

Laszlo nodded, a sense of tension taking over him, what if something indeed changed? What if you hate him for leaving for his own interest? Will his son remember him? 

The silliest questions took over him and he just rang the bell before the spiral would take over and make him sleep in the garden out of his imaginary shame.

Stevie opened the door and his face lighted up instantly, Laszlo’s hand moved close to his own face with a finger up to signal him to keep quiet. The young lad nodded opening the door more, but a loud whine came out of his lips when he saw the heavy trucks beside Laszlo. 

“Stevie? Who is it?”

Your voice vibrated through the walls enveloping Laszlo like a distant memory and a fresh breath of air at the same time.

Stevie mumbled something “Nobody Madam, only some funny head playing with bells at night” he said as Laszlo nodded at him.

He left the coat at Stevie with his gloves and hat making his way to the bedroom upstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, your vanity the first thing that appeared to his sight, he shifted lightly so he could spot your figure reflected in the mirror without being seen.

You were already in your white night dress, hair down wrapped in a braid that rested on your shoulder, his own dark blue night gown draped over you making you appear even smaller, a book resting in your hand, the other hand toying with the fabric of his gown. A soft sigh left your lips and a little smile, you are liking the book. You turn the page with your features lighting up by interest, he felt almost guilty to interrupt you.

“Guten Abend, my love”

Your head shot up, eyes wide in surprise, a smile growing on your lips as he walked inside the room revealing his presence. A sense of nervousness still on him.

“Laszlo” you called rushing to him, discarding the book and throwing the covers onside,  closing the distance between the two of you by jumping out the bed like an excited child. Your hands wrapped quickly around his neck, you pulled him in, lips clashing against one another. He smiled in the kiss, eyes a bit teary as the happiness you were able to blossom into his chest since the first time he met you was still there. He cupped your cheek with his left hand, the kiss being long and followed by little short ones, and then again a long one.

“You should have told me” You whispered and he smiled at you noticing how you also got a bit of tears streaming down your cheeks, but all due to happiness. You picked his right hand kissing it lovingly, oh that ritual of yours, that mindless action you always did to kiss the part of him he despised the most.

“Welcome home, my love”

He smiled widely, so wide he felt his cheeks and jaw hurt, while he leaned his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes enjoying it. Your little telepathy thing, like he could pour his thoughts to you and vice versa.

In the meanwhile Stevie kept himself far from the two of you not wanting to interrupt or witness anything he shouldn’t. Laszlo pulled back from that position as he stared down at you, your eyes met again as you gulped down a little, his eyes travelling onto your neck as none of you seemed able to pick what words to let out first, too many informations gathered in six months that letters couldn’t covert.

His eyes raising up to yours, you moved first guiding his right hand still safe in your grasp inside that warm robe hiding your body, his fingers meeting with the obscenely thin fabric of your night dress, the shape of your breast clear under his touch, his thumb brushing over your nipple earning an immediate reaction from you. 

His breath itched, his tongue wetting his lips as you kept supporting his weak arm while his hand discovered once more what hidden treasure was the body of his wife.

His left hand undoing the silky bow around your neck that kept that useless piece of clothing closed, your breasts being exposed as he leaned his head down lacing his lips with you nipple and giving it a tempting suck, his tongue roaming over it as a sense of home and comfort surged into his stomach, then he spoke and his hot breath against your wet nipple made you shiver.

“Have you done the exercises that I gave you?”

“No”

His eyes shoot up at you, a mix between the need to scold you and desire in them.

“I could do it only with your letters” you added.

“Not touching yourself enough must have been painful, exasperating, you could have brought yourself to hysteria”

“I know, but I was waiting for this moment”

He smirked, the idea to be a vital part of your sexual expression turning him on immensely.

“Which letter was your favourite?”

“The one where you described your fingers inside me, I could imagine it so clearly while I was doing it to myself”

He almost let out a groan only by the sound of your words, the need to go knuckles deep inside you now almost impossible to hold back as the image of your distressed figure rolling onto the sheets trying to emulate that pleasure he only can give you clouded his mind.

His left hand almost angrily undoing the fabric belt the nightgown around your waist before moving behind your back to pull it off your shoulders, you gently let go of his right hand helping him in the task, your hands now tugging his jacket, his waistcoat, beginning already with his shirt buttons, you were so in need, but he was the same. He tugged his shirt off probably ripping off some buttons, the urgency you both felt filling the air.

His eyes trying to take in all your figure as you finally let go of that white dress.

“Oh, meine Frau, no statue or artwork or inspiration I have seen in this travel equals your beauty” he groaned as he felt like he almost forgot how he worshipped your body, how your only presence triggered obscene desires through him.

There was almost a moment of suspense before he leaned his warm body against yours, skin on skin again.

His erection already brushing over your lower stomach as you guided him onto the bed with you laying down for him. “Laszlo” you were about to beg him not to make you wait, not to tease you but his left hand fingers were already between you legs and a yelp of pleasure left you lips immediately.

“Soaked wet without me even touching you”

He was so pleased, you didn’t need to look at his face to know, but you whimpered when his long finger pushed inside you, he knew it, he knew exactly how to touch you, how to manipulate all of you. His lips laced to your neck, he sucked on it, bit it, hickeys soon will follow the passage of him. He is back.

To see your own neck pale and empty from his marks pained you everyday, but now he is at home and there won’t be a single centimetre of you spared. Another moan followed as his mouth found your nipples again, your legs trembling as a second finger joined the first one making you gasp for air. The ultimate pleasure approaching in you too quickly, abnormally quickly, but you missed him so much and six months without his care on you was a torment.

His prideful smile gave you the freedom not to restrain your pleasure, your hips jolting up and trembling, more wetness gathering on his fingers before he pulled them out knowing that it would make you feel empty.

He punished you with distance as he sat down on the bed, you crawled over him, legs still feeling like jelly as you forced yourself to straddle him. You didn’t need to rest, you wanted him to bring you to exhaustion and he knew it, he knew you won’t wait anymore. So you aligned him with your folds, his hard cock opening his way into you easily thanks to your recent orgasm, a loud growl leaving Laszlo’s lips.

“My wife, it appears to me that you’re back being a virgin after only six months away from me” 

You blushed because his words made you sensitive and proud in a very peculiar way, you moaned slowly beginning to ride him as he kept muffling how tight you’re pressing his forehead against your chest, his left arm wrapping around you. You voiced your pleasure freely, fingers tangling to the back of his head, now it was your turn to guide his pleasure, to set the rhythm, but the pace was slow and deep, the desire still feverish in you, but the closeness inspiring you tenderness. 

“How horrible to rest in the cold Wien without you, how empty to walk without your presence” he spoke directly to your chest, to your heart “every achievement was not an achievement if I couldn’t share it with you” he confessed, his hot breath against your breasts.

“You’re back now, next time we will come with you”

You smiled as his eyes shone looking up at you “my wife”

He loved to call you that, he always did, the pride in his voice when he asked you  to be his wife the first time came back to your memory. You didn’t need many nicknames, wife and husband, the holy duo, the balance, the symmetry.

“I love you, my husband”

You moaned against him, his fingers digging into your skin, his right hand settling over your hip.

You couldn’t guess how much it lasted, you impaled deliciously yourself over him, he loved to stare at you going on your own on top of him, love it, express fully your feminine power. His left hand teasing your clit sapiently mimicking your movements making it nauseatingly perfect, your mind clouded by pleasure. He cursed, he growled biting onto the side of your breast when filling you up and gaining another moan from you, he held you down as he kept rubbing your clit until he felt your walls clasp deliciously around him, he still didn’t want to move.

He loved to see you helpless, washed over by pleasure, legs jerking aimlessly and fingers pulling onto him and his hair.

You didn’t take time to recover from that second orgasm, his skilled fingers knowing their ways around you, you bowed your head joining your lips again, you still couldn’t believe it.

“I am such a lucky man to have you”

You smiled kissing his forehead “I am lucky with such a husband like you”

You stayed like this, hugging, the time to talk will come, the time to exchange gifts and come back to routine. But not now. After countless minutes you slowly shifted from that position, freeing his hard on from you but slowly moving beside his sitting figure staying on your all fours, the braid that held your hair almost completely loose.

“Come my husband, you only had one orgasm, I know you love even numbers”

The next morning the light from the window hit his eyes, he frowned stirring as he blinked tiredly. Your figure tangled to his in bed, the covers over the both of you. He kissed your forehead out of habit, the marks already forming on your neck made him proud, your regular breathing and gentle perfume mixed with the sweat of sex made his senses alive. You felt him move and woke up pretty easily, probably due to have slept alone for so long. You smiled at each other, no words yet needed, a soft kiss placed on each others lips.

The a soft sound, more like little sounds following one another, little feet rushing down the hallway.

“Mama” being whispered by a very shy boy, his clear brown hair peaking up from the doors.You smirked covering Laszlo completely with the duvets.

“My baby” you said sitting up holding the covers over your body.

“Mami!” He gasped surprised “what happened to your neck?”

“Oh, it is normal my baby, is it so late?”

He nodded and you smiled as he hopped on top of the messy bed, Laszlo smirked from underneath the covers, it seems like somebody took a habit of sneaking into the big bed.

You smiled as your boy resembled so much his father, he crawled to move to your lap and that’s when Laszlo sat up with a loud “Who’s in my bed?” holding his hand up like a claw.

The boy squared but soon threw himself against his father’s chest.

“Apa visszatért!!!” He shouted so loud at you like you didn’t notice Laszlo at all and you chuckled finding the two of them so adorable.

“I am going to get some breakfast done” you said willing to leave them their space. Laszlo nodded at you as you wrapped yourself into your dress and then the thick nightgown. You could hear them talk softly, Laszlo was all about speaking to him in his mother’s language but also in German, so your boy was always mixing the three. “Have you being a good master of the house while I was away?” “Yes Papa, I have been extra good and mommy was happy too, but it is not like when you’re here” Laszlo’s little chuckle won you over even by distance. You had to learn Hungarian through Laszlo, even if you were lucky enough to know German already. But how sweet it was to learn along with your boy.

“Little Andrea woke you up, mrs Kreizler?” The cook, a very nice and good hearted woman asked once you reached the kitchen still wrapped in your night clothes and redoing your braid.

“He did, but his father is back, I couldn’t detain him in any way” You assured as you instructed about the breakfast to make something special. When everything was ready and settled you saw the two of them coming downstairs together, Andrea holding his father’s weak hand into his, still babbling in German to him. The two of them still in their night clothes, you loved to be unruly with them, half of the world outside would be shocked to see a family have breakfast in their night clothes, but who cares. You sat all together as Laszlo begun narrating about his travel, Andrea almost forgetting to eat as he sat down staring at his dad with shiny eyes like he could disappear any time.

“Andrea, at least the juice” you said and he nodded vehemently in particular after you whispered something to his ear.

“Do you have secrets with me?” Laszlo inquired with a smirk, his messy hair a blessing in such bright day.

“Always had” you said with a smirk and he chuckled softly before standing up and leaving for a moment coming back with some boxes.

He handed his boy one and two to you, while Andrea was busy unwrapping the gift Laszlo moved behind your sitting figure “open the small one first”

You obeyed quietly as the box was clearly hinting it was jewellery, inside you found some white gold and blue sapphires earrings.

“Laszlo, you ..” He shushed you softly “come on, wear them for me, jewellery over night dress, a new fashion from Europe” He joked softly but you obliged his wishes putting them on, Andrea making happy cheering sounds as he found the model train of his dreams. The earrings dropped beautifully on you, framing the new Laszlo loved so much “I knew only a Venus like you could sport them” he said making you blush, he always spoke in a way that made you feel like courting never ended.

“What about this?” You asked about the second box and Laszlo smirked just gesturing you to go on. Inside there was a study for a portrait, your portrait, clearly inspired by the picture Laszlo had with himself of you.

“I met this young painter in Wien, a bit struggling with money but extremely talented as you can see, a craftsman that works with gold, I invited him to come here next month and work on your portrait, he fell in love with your figure already, I already know I will have to guard your safety.”

“What is his name?”

“Oh, he is not famous, Gustav Klimt”

“Well, we can make him famous then” you said and Laszlo just smiled more as you kissed his lips to thank him for the beautiful gifts, knowing Laszlo he probably had way more hidden in his trucks “I knew you’d say something this kind of sweet”

“Mama, you look beautiful” Andrea called you staring like he was waiting for you to say something and you smiled nodding “yes, now it is the perfect time”

“For what?” Laszlo asked as you took his hand guiding him to the living room.

��Please, take a sit now” you said slowly guiding him to his armchair, the comfort of the familiar place relaxed him, the fresh flowers in the vase, the books laid on the table.

“Andrea has a surprise for you” you said leaning to sit on the arm of the chair looking up a his confused face, but he was unable to let go of that smile creeping on his lips.

“Come inside darling” you called “we are ready”

You took Laszlo’s right hand guiding it on your lap, the curiosity already eating him alive as little Andrea came holding his little violin, still looking extra cute in that night dress that made him resemble some cute baby penguin. He puffed his chest blushing as you gave him a nod of encouragement, Laszlo’s eyes shining to see his son like this and the chemistry you two have.

“I have learned this piece to welcome you back home” he announced as his shaky voice betrayed a bit his nervousness.

He placed the violin carefully onto his shoulder resting his cheek on it, your hands holding Laszlo’s while tapping with you finger to keep the tempo for Andrea. The melody was simple, but quite impressive for such a young player, Laszlo was unable to look away from his son, from the way he relaxed while playing, for the way you clearly helped him to gain the confidence to do this little performance.

He looked up at you as you two shared that look of complicity.

Life was bright over Kreizler’s household. 

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​ @rhymerhymerhyme

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 [𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐋𝐄𝐑]

PAIRINGS —  Laszlo Kreizler x fem!reader

SUMMARY —  After the death of Martha Napp Laszlo can't seem to get out of his head and deal with his emotions concerning his own guilt and all you want to do is help.

WARNINGS — minor season 2 episode 1 spoilers, descriptions of death (by electric chair), a bit of sadness and minor angst (but there's fluff too I promise), pregnancy

NOTE — Alright you guys! This is it! The fic you guys helped me plan! As you can see it's for Laszlo, and a fluff/hurt comfort fic. The prompts that got the most votes are bolded and used down below and I took a few of your guys' suggestions as well. I can't wait to see what you guys think and thank you so much for helping me pass so many milestones <3 [Also I got the translation of the name (Ilka) off google so apologies if it's inaccurate]

The rhythmic bouncing of the carriage was not enough of a distraction to deter Laszlo’s thoughts from what had just happened. The images of her convulsing body through his mind, the way she shook, screamed and then stopped. The silence was worse than her screams.

If he had just managed to find the baby, well and alive this would have never happened. He wouldn’t have failed them. Failed them both.

But now Martha Napp was dead. The smell of her burning flesh stained in his nostrils. The words of the guards as they called for higher voltage. More than necessary to kill. 1000, 2000, his voice caught in his throat, wanting to scream for them to stop, they had done enough. They had taken the poor mother from her child. An innocent woman.

He couldn’t comprehend who would have taken her baby. Let alone why.

He couldn’t go home. No, not yet.

“Stevie,” he said, his voice more strained than it would have normally been.

“Yes Dr. Kreizler,” the boy nodded, turning his head around.

“Would you take me to the park please,”

“Not home?” he asked and Laszlo shook his head.

“I find myself in need to… clear my head,”

Stevie turned the carriage to go towards the park while Laszlo tried to focus his mind elsewhere in a much futile attempt. All that he could hear was the shaking of the chair against the ground and the sloshing of the water in the bucket at her feet.

Stevie stopped the carriage in front of the park, letting Laszlo climb out of the vehicle and walk carefully over to the bench, the chatter of children and families, birds chirping, drowning out his thoughts if even only for a short time. The evening air was cool but refreshing and the sun gave everything a wonderful orange hue. It would have been a nice day if his mind wasn’t plagued with guilt and regret.

Although when he sat down on the bench, he wasn’t not expecting to have another body join him. A familiar one at that.

“Laszlo,”

His head turned and he was met with John’s tired and apologetic eyes.

“What might you be doing John?” he asked carefully.

“I thought I might find you here,” he admitted. “I wanted to make sure you were alright,”

Laszlo chuckled humourlessly. “What a curious thing to ask after a day such as this,”

“Laszlo what happened was terrible, but it happened,” John insisted. “There’s no going back, all we can do is try our best to find the child before any more harm comes its way,”

“You didn’t make promises John,” Laszlo shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as a small breeze blew across them, leaves swirling at their feet. “I was a fool and I promised her things I couldn’t deliver,”

John turned to face his friend more fully.

“Laszlo this is not your fault,” he insisted. “You fought for Martha Napp, tirelessly, at every single impasse you were there, putting your reputation at stake, you mustn't forget that,”

Laszlo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“As much as I would like to wish what you said had granted me some comfort I’m afraid it hasn’t. Martha Napp did not deserve to die and I let that happen to her,”

John didn’t say anything, only extending an arm to place on the shoulder of his friend.

“Don’t think too hard Laszlo. We’ll find the child. That’s the first step to fulfilling the rest of the promise,”

Laszlo nodded his head and the two men stood up, sharing a handshake before parting ways.

Stevie was still waiting for the doctor, his carriage parked off to the side.

“Where to, Dr. Kreizler?”

“I should think I would like to stop by Sara’s office before heading home,” he said.

“Of course, hop in, we’ll get you there in no time,”

Laszlo nodded, greatly appreciating all the help Stevie had brought him, especially as of late. He wished to let his eyes rest on the way there, but every time he closed them he saw the most disturbing things. No, it was no longer only Martha’s death that his brain wished to put at the front of his mind. Images of his loved ones, in situations so foul he would never be able to find the words to describe them.

From that moment onwards he was determined to keep his eyes peeled open.

By the time they reached Sara’s office, the sun had set, and most if not all of the lights were off. He quietly crept in, peeking his head through the doors, and walking the halls until there was a slight click followed by,

“Laszlo! You must be more careful! I could have killed you,”

Sara was holding a gun, outstretched towards him. She placed it back in her purse and looked over at the doctor. Sympathy, but also the same amount of guilt in her own eyes.

“You would have been doing me a service,” he said quietly. “I can’t seem to rid myself of the smell of burning flesh,”

“A drink is in order then,”

“Ah yes,” he nodded. “I’d love a glass of-,”

“I’m going to stop you there,” she opened the door to her office, letting him come inside. “By drink, I mean American bourbon, straight or watered down,”

“I’ll have it straight then,” he nodded and Sara went to pour him the drink. “It’s quite interesting, the way you’ve decorated this place. It’s very you,”

“Laszlo please,” she sighed, handing him the drink, “I’d really wish for you not to try and discover the deepest secrets of my mind through the furnishings of my office,”

“Very well then,” he nodded, lifting his glass and sipping the strong amber liquid.

“There must be some reason you’re here,” Sara noted. “Is there a way I can be of assistance to you Laszlo?”

“Will you be taking on the case of finding the Napp child?” Laszlo asked.

“I feel like I must. The police have already determined it to be murder. No one will be looking for the baby,”

Laszlo nodded, taking another sip of the alcohol, his eyes trailing to the many guns and certificates that lined the office walls. There was a chalkboard in the corner, Napp was written in big white letters in the top centre and everything they knew about the case underneath it.

“Should you ever find yourself in need of my assistance,” Laszlo started.

“I will not hesitate to call on you,” Sara assured.

“I made a promise to Martha,” Laszlo explained. “You would be doing me a service Sara, as your friend, for letting me be involved in this,”

“Of course,” she nodded, tracing the rim of her glass with her thumb. She lifted it slightly as if in a meagre toast. “To Martha, may she find peace,”

Laszlo pressed his lips together, lifting his glass in a similar motion, tilting his head forward. “To Martha,”

Laszlo finished his drink then bid Sara goodnight finally instructing Stevie to take them home. Entering the house with a creak at the door he almost felt guilty. It was so late, he hadn’t called home all day, you were probably worried out of your mind.

He didn’t find you in your usual waiting spot, in the living room by the piano. Instead, upstairs, he saw the light of a candle illuminating his study and carefully made his way towards it, just barely grazing his fingers over the doorknob before gripping in tightly and twisting it with a gentle push open.

You were still in your day clothes, no doubt highly uncomfortable at this time of night, curled up in his chair with a novel in your hands.

He didn’t think you noticed him, but when you whispered,

“One more paragraph,” he knew you were nearing the end of the page and wanted to mark it properly.

As soon as your eyes scanned over the last word, you took the small slip of paper and placed it in the centre of the next two pages and shut the book, looking up at your husband and giving him your full attention.

“It’s late Laszlo,” you said simply and he pressed his lips together and nodded.

“I know, I apologize,” he said simply, not wishing to elaborate on his worries, but you had a different idea.

“Won’t you come closer?” you asked. “I haven’t seen you all day,”

You changed your seating on the chair, feet down on the ground, legs pressed together, your arms resting on either armrest. Laszlo blinked once and for a moment his heart stopped. Your feet were placed in a bucket of water, arms tied down, a cap on your head, but he blinked again and it was gone.

“Why don’t you come to me,” he suggested gently, trying to coerce you into leaving the chair, allowing his mind some rest and ease.

You agreed silently by standing up and walking over to him, your hair falling down in its natural way after having unpinned it some time ago. You looked peaceful. You always did, especially this late at night, it was the time your mind was most at ease.

Your hand reached out to move a misplaced curl from his forehead, a weak smile grazing your lips.

For some reason, Laszlo wasn’t altogether sure why, he flinched at the contact, causing your smile to turn into a frown. You removed your hand quickly, bringing it to your chest, fingers gently fiddling with the frilly fabric of your dress.

“Something happened,” you said simply, knowing without him having to utter a word. “Talk to me Las,”

“It was nothing,”

He knew it was pointless to lie, but it came out anyway. He didn’t want to burden you, he never did. And this, this was the burden to bear all burdens.

“Laszlo,” you said, your voice almost lightly scolding. “Qui n’avance pas, recule,” (He who does not move forward, recedes)

“I-,”

“You cannot say it doesn’t apply to you my love you’ve used that many a night to win an argument with me,” you said, but it was gentle, loving, you wanted to help.

“(Y/N) I can’t say,” he shook his head. “I can’t tell you,”

“What do you mean?” this worried you. “I’m here to help Laszlo, I took that as a part of my vows to you, that I would be here through it all, don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” he nodded, but then shook his head and broke his gaze away from you. “I just… I just can’t say,”

You took a deep breath, your own eyes trailing to the clock on the wall. It was late, you couldn’t fight all night.

You didn’t say another word, only gently pushing past him and making your way to your room.

It was a relief to rid yourself of your dress and corset, you felt as if you could finally breathe, the physical side of your body now relaxed along with your mind. Well, as relaxed as your mind could be after the conversation with your husband.

You thought of him while you picked up your sleep clothes, one of Laszlo’s shirts and a pair of his trousers, they messed them up at the tailors and they seemed to fit you better and you loved to sleep in them. It made you feel like you were eternally being held by him. A pseudo embrace.

These past weeks had been hard. The case he was working took much of his time, he was overworked, overtired, and stressed beyond words. You just wanted to be next to him, you wanted to be able to work through whatever was going on in his mind with him. He may have been the alienist, but alienists needed someone to look after them too.

You had been laying in bed, staring out the window, praying that the door would open and Laszlo would come rest by your side, but nothing happened. A half-hour passed and still, nothing.

Your worries got the better of you and you pushed yourself up on the bed, going to make your way to his study where you assumed him to be, but the candles had been since blown out. So carefully, you made your way down the halls, peeking your heads into the rooms until you reached the middle one, pressing against the wood and glancing over at Laszlo.

He stood, placed almost in a calculated manner in front of the bassinet, his hands in his pockets, looking down at the sleeping figure of your daughter, and from there everything started to make sense.

All these demons haunting him, whatever was causing him to feel this way was because he thought you, you and Ilka could be in danger. His darling angels.

You chewed your bottom lip, watching his hand reach out to gently stroke her cheek, such an innocent, loving gesture and you could sense how much he wanted to hold her, but at the same time not wishing to rouse her from her peaceful sleep.

For a moment, your mind drifted back to happy memories, memories of a time when things seemed to be alright after one madness had ended and before another began.

—

You stepped out of the doctor's office and into the summer sun, your breath caught in your throat. This was news, you hardly thought it was going to be anything like this. You thought maybe just an illness that might require a tonic or medication of some kind, but this was more of a permanent affliction. Maybe affliction was the wrong word.

But suddenly the air smelled fresher, the sun shone a little brighter, and everything seemed right.

You decided it might be nice to walk home instead of being stuck in a carriage, an unusual smile on your face up until the point where you realized something.

How in the world were you supposed to tell Laszlo?

He was out of town for work, you hadn’t told him about your symptoms, you knew it would worry him and now you were in a bit of a bind. You were so caught up in your thoughts of how to inform your husband (surely you would want to do it in person) that you didn’t notice the lady walking directly towards you, her head bent down in concentration, reading a newspaper.

You both bumped into each other, spewing out apologies immediately before you realized that you knew each other.

It was Sara Howard.

“Sara!” you grinned, placing a hand against your chest. “Goodness you gave me quite a fright, are you okay?”

“Oh I’m fine,” she nodded, quickly folding her paper up and giving you her attention.

“It seems we are both a bit lost in our minds,”

“Yes, I fear more so for me, I seem to be going in the wrong direction,” she frowned with a playful chuckle. “May I accompany you?”

“Yes of course,” you nodded, extending an arm to her so she could link it with her own and you could walk down the street together. “What brings you to this end of town?”

“Just work,” she nodded. “I’m looking for some office space currently,”

“For the detective agency?”

Sara nodded with a smile.

“Oh! There’s a nice cozy little place on Broadway that might work perfectly,”

“I’ll have to take a look at it,” Sara hummed. “Now what has got you in such a chipper mood? Normally when Laszlo’s out of town you barely leave the house,” she remarked.

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, but unable to keep the smile from your face.

“(Y/N) you are such a terrible liar,”

“Well if I’m such a terrible liar what am I hiding?” you asked, raising your brows.

“I’ll give you the recipe for my grandmother's pound cake if you tell me,” she coaxed.

“Oh really?” you asked, your stomach already growling at the thought of the sweet treat. Sara gave you another nod and you bit your lip and stomped your foot down on the ground. You wouldn’t be able to tell Laszlo until he got back and it was such a heavy thing to keep to yourself, perhaps it was best to share it with your close friend and confidant. She would already come to know it at some point.

“Alright, but you mustn't tell Laszlo until I’ve had the chance to speak with him myself,” you insisted and Sara nodded adamantly. “I was at the doctor's office and they told me… well they told me that I’m with child,”

Sara’s eyes were blown as wide as you had ever seen them, clearly not expecting such an answer.

“(Y/N) this is wonderful news,” Sara stopped walking to pull you into a hug. “I’m incredibly happy for you and Laszlo,”

“As am I,” you nodded, holding your friend a little tighter. “I must admit we’ve spoken about starting a family recently, but nothing quite so serious, but I suppose the decision has been made for us hasn’t it,”

“Yes, it does seem that way. Let me walk you home then, it only seems appropriate to have someone watch over you at such a time,”

“Oh Sara I would be fine, but I won’t deny you my company,” you smirked and she rolled her eyes lightly.

“Is there someone around that you can call on if need be?”

“Stevie is at home and if it turns out I need more than his assistance I won’t hesitate to call you or John,” you assured her, “You have my word,”

“Good,” she smiled somewhat victoriously and let go of your arm so you could turn to walk up the steps to your home. “(Y/N) be sure to tell me as soon as you’ve mentioned it to Laszlo,”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to keep either of you waiting too long,” you chuckled. “It was nice seeing you Sara and don’t hesitate to stop over for a visit, we do not do it often enough,”

“I’ll be sure to keep the offer in my mind,”

You bid your friend goodbye and walked up the steps to your home, entering quietly despite the fact that no one was there and pressed your back against the door, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. You wished Laszlo would hurry back home, you did, after all, have big news to share with him.

—

A few weeks had passed since your encounter with Sara, Laszlo had made it back safely home a week ago, but it seemed, as with most things, it had slipped your mind to tell him about your...delicate situation.

You sat together in the dining room, sharing a dinner of beef stew when suddenly a wave of nausea overcame you.

Laszlo didn’t notice it at first, talking about a piece of literature he had read, but when his eyes flicked up he saw your head in one hand and the over placed on your chest as if to suppress a not so delightful feeling.

“(Y/N), is something the matter?” he asked, quickly wiping his hands and stepping away from his chair to come closer to your side.

His hand pushed some hair away from your forehead and prompted you to look at him.

“It’s just another bout of nausea, it should pass soon,” you said, taking in a shaky breath.

“My beloved, this is happening far too often don’t you think?” he asked. “We must find a way for you to see a doctor soon,”

“Laszlo I’m fine it’s just the baby,” you waved off your husband and his face seemed to go ghostly pale.

“B-Baby?” he repeated, standing up and you finally realized the problem with what you said. You cursed under your breath and looked up at him with an apologetic smile, standing up to be at eye level with him.

You held back a small chuckle as you tried to explain yourself to him, “I-I was meaning to tell you, but it must have slipped my mind,” you said. “You were gone for so long and I wished to tell you in person, but after the appointment, I ran into Sara and she’s been helping me with things I practically forgot I didn’t tell you,”

At this point Laszlo surprised you, you thought he might be upset, but his face bore the same light-heartedness as your own, a playful frustration.

“Sara? You told Sara before me?” he said, unable to fight back the smile that came upon his features.

“In my defence, I forgot I didn’t tell you,” you retorted playfully.

“Forgot you didn’t- it was my own child good God (Y/N)!” he laughed and oh what a wonderful sound it was. It wasn’t often you heard such a thing, but the amount of pure joy that radiated through his voice was enough to lift one off their feet.

“I’m really sorry Laszlo truly,” you giggled, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Were you ever going to tell me or was I just supposed to live in ignorant bliss the rest of my life?” he jested and you slapped his arm lightly.

“Just shut up and kiss me already,”

That was something you didn’t need to ask Laszlo twice to do, his lips were firmly on yours, his right hand pressed against your stomach while his left held the back of your neck.

“A child, my beloved, I-I’m at a loss for words,” he whispered into your lips.

“For once,” you rolled your eyes and he kissed you harder to silence you, a slight squeal escaping past your lips.

He paused, his forehead pressed against yours looking deep into your eyes before something dawned on him.

“Your corset, it’s constricting your airways, increasing your nausea,” he looked worried now. “We’re at home you should take it off,”

“I assume you’re finished with dinner then,” you chuckled lightly.

“My mind is spinning, of course, I no longer have an appetite,” he took your hands in his. “Come let us rest,”

Nodding your head you followed him up to your room, discarded dishes on the table paired with unfinished food.

When you entered the room he drew the blinds shut and closed the door, coming back to your side to help you.

You had already removed your blouse and he placed his right hand holding your waist while his left undid the knot of your corset, carefully pulling back the string until it could be easily slipped off.

He gave you a shirt, far more comfortable to wear and for once it felt like you could breathe, your brain was able to focus and the headache slowly faded.

Laszlo was in front of you, his hands ghosting your stomach. You gave him a gentle look, your hand pressed against his cheek, your thumb stroking his beard.

“M-May I?” he asked his hands now at the hem of your shirt.

You nodded and he bent down carefully, lifting your shirt up to the top of your stomach and allowing you to hold it up for him yourself.

You were just barely showing. A small bump.

Laszlo held your waist once more, his grip slightly tighter while he leaned into your stomach, pressing a delicate kiss, right below your belly button. You almost shivered at the close contact, his beard soft against your bare skin.

When his lips pulled away they were replaced by his forehead against you and he whispered a quiet, almost inaudible,

“I love you,”

And it was only then that you really got a sense of how much he craved a family, children, to be a father. You knew from the moment he found out he was ready to give everything up for your child, no matter what the cost.

—

Laszlo was pacing wildly outside of your bedroom in the hallway, flinching each time you cried out in pain, begging for the nurses and midwives to let him in, but they refused. It was no place for a man to be.

His finger started tapping mindlessly on his side while his other hand stroked his beard and ran his hands through his hair, multiple times.

It had been… he didn’t even know how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity. He just wanted to be in there. Sitting next to you, holding your hand. He wanted to comfort you because that was his job as your husband. Not mindlessly pacing like some useless decoration in the workings of this delicate process.

Laszlo was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost missed the small cries coming from the room. His ears perked up and his eyes widened as he pushed past the door, rushing into the room, not giving the nurses and midwives even a second to let him get out because he was kneeling at your side, entwining his left hand tightly with your own.

“Are you feeling alright my beloved?” he asked, eager to hear from you.

“Exhausted, but well,” you breathed out, “H-How is she?” you asked.

“It’s a girl?” he responded, his face beaming with pride and you nodded.

“Happy and healthy Dr. and Mrs. Kreizler,” the head midwife assured, bringing the newly wrapped child to your arms. Laszlo let go of your hand so you could better adjust yourself to hold the baby.

“Oh she’s beautiful,” you cooed, using your fingers to delicately move the blanket coming into her face.

“Do you have a name for her ma’am? Sir?” one of the nurses asked the two of you and Laszlo smiled.

“I believe we do,” he nodded and you agreed. “Ilka, our little torch of light,”

“A beautiful name fit for a beautiful girl,” she smiled. “We’ll let you two have a moment alone, but we’ll be back soon to check up on you ma’am,”

“Of course, thank you,” you nodded and the room was cleared, leaving you, your husband, and your daughter. After a few moments of silence, you looked up at Laszlo, staring so intently at the small girl. “Would you like to hold her?” you asked.

He seemed to hesitate a moment and you quickly quelled his worries with a gentle hand to his cheek.

“Your daughter Laszlo,”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, standing up first and coming to the other side of the bed to sit next to you. Carefully he scooped Ilka out of your arms, holding her close to his chest, her small eyes just barely blinked open as her mouth moved around in odd kissing motions.

Laszlo’s lips flicked up into a smile, letting out a small chuckle, accompanied with teary eyes.

“Hello there meine Schatz,”

You smiled at your husband, letting out a yawn and resting your head against his shoulder, more energy leaving your body with every second, it was nice to just shut your eyes, hear him whisper sweet words to the both of you. The two most important people in his life. The two people he would love unconditionally.

—

“Laszlo what did we say about having her around these things,” you whispered somewhat harshly, pointing to the photos of previous crime scenes.

Laszlo’s eyes went wide and he quickly flipped over the images on the side of the table where Ilka was looking. She was sitting in his lap while he looked over some additional paperwork for the institute.

“Apologies,” he chuckled nervously. “I must have forgotten I had them laying there,”

You nodded and took a seat across from your husband’s desk, watching as your daughter fisted his coat in her small palm, trying to reach for his pocket watch with her other hand to put it in her mouth. She sat in the center of Laszlo’s chest with his arms used as barriers so he could continue to read while she played around with whatever she found herself inclined to.

Laszlo was insistent to get as much time with her as possible. He had read many articles that said the beginning years of a child’s life and the way they presented their attachment were highly important to the ways they would perform in relationships in the future.

Sometimes you would just sit, watch how they interacted. His quiet mumbling about whatever he was reading followed by Ilka’s babbles.

Every once in a while when his mind needed a break he would pause and turn to her, trying to teach her new words or even just playing silly games like peek-a-boo.

Now Ilka’s eyes were on you though, expecting some sort of interaction from her mother.

“Hi my love,” you waved at her, a sweet smile adorning your lips. “Are you having fun with your papa?”

The girl, having understood you nodded her head and giggled before gurgling a bit of drool and having it all on Laszlo’s lap, he didn’t mind.

She reached out a hand to you and you extended yours across the table allowing her to hold two of your fingers in her tiny hand. She attempted to place them in her mouth and for now, you let her because it wouldn't be long before she had teeth and well you would make for a pretty bad chew toy at that point.

Laszlo bent his head down pressing a gentle kiss to Ilka’s head, letting himself rest there, his glasses perched upon his nose, still flipping through his papers.

Ilka wasn’t a fussy baby, she loved just sitting with her parents, especially her father. She was her dad’s girl, that was for sure and you doubted that would change as she got older. You didn’t mind too much, there was always the next child that might cling onto you, perhaps a boy. But for now, it was the three of you, the Kreizlers. A family by all definitions of the sort and not something you and Laszlo ever thought you might have had the honour of having.

—

“This is about Martha Napp isn’t it,” you whispered finally, causing Laszlo to turn around and face you, not having realized you were there before. “Today was her execution day, I saw it in the papers,”

Laszlo swallowed thickly and only nodded.

“A daughter holds her father’s heart,” he looked over at the resting baby again.

“Of course she does,” you nodded, not entirely sure what he was getting at.

“What happened to her child could have been Ilka,” he whispered, “What happened to her-,”

“No don’t say that,” you shook your head, walking over to him quickly and wrapping your arms around him tightly. “Don’t say that Laszlo,”

“But I’ve failed all of you,” he whispered shakily, clinging onto your frame.

“No you haven’t Laszlo,” you assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head while he continued to shake in your arms.

“It was so terrible (Y/N),” he sounded so distressed, you had never heard that kind of emotion in his voice before, that desperation. “The way she shook and spasmed when they shocked her, w-when her screaming stopped, but they kept going,” he gulped. “I can’t get the smell out of my nose, I can’t!”

You hushed him quietly and pulled him away from you slightly to press a kiss to his forehead before leaning down to his trembling lips.

“That’s a terrible thing to have to witness,” you acknowledged. “It’s not fair to you, to Martha, she deserves justice and there’s no one better to help serve it than you, do you understand me, Laszlo. You are in no way responsible for what happened to her. Look at me Laszlo,” you insisted and his eyes flicked up to yours. “You’re not responsible. And you know what else, you have me here, Ilka, we’re safe and we’ll do whatever you think is necessary to stay that way,”

Laszlo nodded and bent down to press a grateful kiss to your lips.

There was a small shuffle in the bassinet followed by a quiet cry and you both turned around to see Ilka waking up. Laszlo carefully walked over and scooped her up in his arms, hushing her gently, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Come on,” you placed a hand on his back, leading him out of the room. “She can sleep with us tonight,”

Laszlo silently agreed and followed you out of the nursery, the three of you pressed closely together and closing the door behind you.

[januaryembrs]

CLIPPED WINGS | 5

CHPT 5. DANCE OF THE SWANS.

Laszlo Kreizler x female!reader series [SEASON ONE ONLY]

description: you begin discussing the case with the other members of your team, and a night at the opera has Laszlo considering you as more than a murderer. length: 5k+

main masterlist clipped wings masterlist

ꜝ Trigger warnings for this chapter only ꜝ this chapter is rated MATURE/17+ as it will include mentions of m*nor prostitiuion - canon to ‘the alienist’, hints of parental emotional ab*use, themes of s*xually suggestive comments made to reader by older men, gore, description of de*d bodies, reader is a m*rderer (motives explained), foul language, death, murder etc, hints of PTSD like thoughts but nothing explicit, Please only read if you’re comfortable with the mature/gory/explicit themes present in Alienist, which is rated 17+. 

PLEASE NOTE. as I will be following the original dialogue/attitudes present in 'The Alienist', there will be outdated, racially charged language such as 'N*gro' and 'Indian' (when reffering to Native Americans). Please note, that while I use this language in the dialogue already spoken by the characters, I will try to avoid having my original dialogue include it, and will censor it appropriately. This language/attitude does not represent my personal attitudes, however, I feel it's only right to stick to the script in the Alienist in order to make it historically authentic. Those attitudes were rampant at the time this was set, and to ignore that or pretend they weren't would be insensitive and erasing harm done to those communities. I hope you all understand - stars ✨

Stephen Howard used to say that you and Sara had been sculpted by the lord above from the same lump of clay. The two of you practically brought life to the phrase ‘as thick as thieves’ and the Sara you knew as a girl was not the perfect dame she was today. The Sara you knew roughhoused as much as any boy your age did, scraped her knees from days spent climbing trees, the faint scars on your own shins said as much. The hours spent scrubbing the dirt from your white frocks before your father could see the damage the great outdoors had done to them. The time burned stood in the Howard’s scullery in little more than your underdress with Sara and her housemaid as the suds splashed all over the counter, praying that the mud came out in time for you to return home. Your father hated mess.

The tension was tangible, lacing the air in a heavy veneer the moment your eyes fell on Sara when you returned to Laszlo’s home. The way she straightened from her perch on Laszlo’s sofa, her lips pressing together in concealed disgust told you she felt the same. Had you been a stranger, perhaps the way her blush-painted mouth has twitched would have gone unnoticed, or even brushed off as little more than a habit. But you knew Sara better than you knew yourself, and that convulse had been her way of preventing her true thoughts from leaving her mouth the moment she’d seen you.

It was odd to even associate the feeling of friction with your best friend of twenty-five years, you both seemed to have always moved in tandem with one another like a flow of a stream or the strands of hair in a french braid; interweaving so effortlessly with no pull or drag to one another. But what she had done; what you both knew she had done, had turned your synchronous ripple into two mere droplets of water either side of the vast Pacific Ocean.

There was only one person you’d ever told of your crimes before you were arrested, one person you’d confided in of your sins. Only one person who knew where to find the evidence; and that was Sara Howard.

The Sara Howard who had become a secretary for the New York Police Department shortly after your arrest. Sara Howard who knew where to look for the bodies, and the weapons, and the bloodied clothes.

Sara Howard, your best friend; who had sold you out for a job.

You said nothing to her but simply shared a look. It was strange how you could still read her thoughts just from staring at her bluebell eyes and what once was an exchange of concealed information read loud and clear to be a silent clash.

She looked at you as if to say, “You disgust me,” while you glared back with the noiseless response of:

“Traitor,”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Said another voice, snapping you out of your stare at the blonde woman. Your head turned to meet a tall man occupying himself with a glass stein and an expensive-looking bottle of Brandy on Laszlo’s dark wood sideboard. You smiled at him, waiting for him to make the introduction as was good form that had been ingrained into you by etiquette and elocution tutors over the years, “I’m John Moore. I work for the New York Times,”

He held out a hand to you, which you grasped gently and shook, “I’m Y/N L/N. I’m helping with the Santorelli case,” You said politely, flashing him another smile but you saw the hesitance in his eye.

You saw the way he briefly looked you up and down, not a trace of lust in his eye but instead apprehension. The unease of your next move, of your friendly persona, and it didn’t take you much effort to piece together that he knew of your past. Sara had likely told him judging by the stiff silence you had walked into.

“I have high hopes Miss L/N will be of great use to us now she has replevied her position at Paresis Hall,” Laszlo spoke up, moving into the room behind you to stand near the grand piano that had captured your eye when you’d seen in that morning before breakfast. “Miss Howard, have you found anything of use for the newest boy murdered?”

Her lip twitched once more as you took a seat on the same sofa as her, putting as much distance between the two of you as the chair would allow. “His name was Diego Saez. He was a Spanish immigrant who worked at the brothel on the outskirts of downtown, Madam Lovelace’s. His injuries were identical to Georgio’s; eyes cut out with undoubtable precision, organs extracted, superficial wounds on the skin. It all matches to our killer,” Sara rambled, producing the files from her purse and handing them to Laszlo. “But there’s more,”

Laszlo opened the Manila portfolio and frowned at its contents. Curiosity won you immediately and you rose from your seat to stand next to the man, peering over his shoulder.

The man felt your breath fan over his neck but paid no mind as his and your eyes flickered over the pictures greedily. Two deep, vermillion holes lay in the child’s skull, a torn pink petticoat being all that remained of his clothes. There were bruises dotted haphazardly over his arms alone suggesting he put up a fight with his killer, but that could be investigated later, Laszlo thought.

“What else is there, Miss Howard?” Laszlo asked, after handing you the folder to continue looking through yourself. He ignored the way your hand felt so warm as it brushed against his own, and turned to meet Sara’s eager gaze.

“There were other murdered boys,” She said, fervently. He sighed, nodding to her understandingly as his fears were confirmed.

“As I suspected at the morgue,” He responded, thinking back to where his investigation had led him yesterday not moments before he had met Sara to speak to you in the penitentiary, “Who were they?”

You flicked through the folder, ears wide open to Sara’s findings though you were intrigued to find a pattern or development in the murder. Surely there would be some tell-tale cue to this man’s objective in his methods, you knew you had your own grievances to settle when you had mauled those men’s bodies in such a similar way. But you were sure your motives would not be the same as your own, there was no way your Georgio would act so beastly as those men had, hell would sooner freeze over. Those men deserved everything they got, but your Georgio didn’t, and you didn’t need to know the other three murdered boys to guess that they didn’t either.

“The N*gro boy’s identity was unknown. The other boy was named Aaron Morton.” Sara reported, her hands crossed in her lap to stop them from fidgeting restlessly. You guessed, if you knew Sara, she felt some people-pleasing kind of excitement that she had found those files, that she had found something of use to the case that could prove she was every bit of use to them as a man. And you couldn’t fault her, because you were exactly the same, as you always had been - a fact which only irritated you all the more.

“I found a brief mention of him in the Herald about a month ago,” John spoke up, picking up what seemed to be a leather-bound journal to refer to his findings, “He worked in a brothel called Shang Draper’s. He was killed like the Santorelli boy and his body hidden on the Brooklyn Bridge,”

“It says here Diego was found on top of a shipping container by the Navy Yard,” You mused, continuing to read his file idly as your peers spoke. “Our killer could have a job involving him in the East River perhaps?”

Laszlo looked at you, your face buried in the paper with avid interest, and nodded. “A good perception, Miss L/N. It is imperative we examine them to see if there is a connection,”

“Impossible,” Sara spoke up, which had you and the two other men looking at her with confusion. “The N*gro morgue on Bleecker burns the remains of anyone left unclaimed,”

“And I could find no find no family, which means Aaron Morton was probably buried in Potter’s Field,” John added, having now taken a seat on a grand armchair opposite Sara.

You sighed audibly. The missing bodies and a likely lack of comprehensive post-mortem from the police would make this all the more harder, or likely slower to piece together the killer’s patterns, like assembling a puzzle with all of the edges missing. There was no clear starting point, just small pieces that seemed to slot into place with little meaning of the bigger picture at play.

“But that’s not all of it,” Your gaze returned to Sara’s that was focused on the way Laszlo paced mid-thought, the lapel of his blazer clutched in his fingertips as a quirk of his anxiety. “The files of both boys were kept hidden. I found them only by chance, there could well be others,”

Lie. You saw it in her face she hadn’t found them ‘by chance’ and, knowing Sara’s curious ways, she had likely gone searching for the files herself. But you were too engrossed in thought to take her up on it, nor did you think it would be received kindly judging by the tension between you, so you stayed silent.

You ran a hand over your mouth worriedly, closing the folder and resting it on the piano behind you gently. This case could be much bigger than you’d first thought, and run much deeper in society than simply a killer with a bloodthirsty taste for young boys. The police were hiding information, even from their own judging by the fact Sara hadn’t had access to the files, but why? What were the New York police keeping under wraps that would warrant protecting the city from a possible insidious creature on the hunt for children?

“This information is invaluable, Miss Howard,” Laszlo said, after a moment of you all considering the new revelation that had been brought to light. “Thank you. Is Roosevelt aware of what you’ve done?”

“No,” She replied and the message was clear in her tone. It was to stay that way.

Laszlo pulled his ivory pocket watch out of his top pocket and checked the two obsidian hands that ticked to show it was barely two pm. “Have you plans tonight?” He asked, tucking it back into his jacket with care.

“Yes,” Sara said regretfully, looking up at the Doctor with intrigued blue eyes watching his every move.

“If I have a carriage sent ‘round at nine o’clock, can your plans be altered?” He pursued, and you wondered what his plans had to do with the case if they did at all. You highly doubted Laszlo would be so rude to his other guests as to discuss a more intimate meeting for him and Sara alone, and nothing about their behaviour until now pointed to anything more than colleagues.

“Is that a request or a command, Doctor?” Sara mused him and you saw her genuinely smile. He chuckled softly, more of a breath than anything.

“As you like it, Miss Howard,” He replied gently. Perhaps you were wrong. The way they engaged each other so effortlessly seemed more than you’d first seen, and your stomach turned at the idea that you were living with the man of Sara’s supposed interest.

You could see why he would be Sara’s type. Intelligent far beyond the buffoons she worked with, kind, practical, fair. But you were a realistic woman, you knew you could still be wrong.

A loud shatter snapped you out of your thoughts, the sound automatically making you jump from the years of glasses and mugs being smashed in the midst of your father’s rage. You hated how even in moments you hadn’t got him and his terrible ways on your mind, he was still there in the crevices of your memory, lurking like the boogeyman in the dark, waiting for the tiniest of prompts to jump out and take over once more.

He may be a dead man, but he was still very much alive in your mind. And that was something you couldn’t kill for all the effort in the world.

Your head turned to the point of the sound to see Mary looking guiltily at the Doctor and a very broken china cup on the floor in front of her. She dropped to her knees immediately to begin cleaning the mess and you moved to help her, feeling it only right after she had been so kind to you with your split lip.

“Let me,” You said, following her to the floor and gently grasping the shard of ceramic between your fingers into your flat palm. “Don’t worry. I was the worst for dropping glasses at the bar,” You said lightly, hoping to draw a laugh from her or at least ease the guilt she felt for breaking Laszlo’s property. You saw her half-smile, as though her thoughts were elsewhere and you thought little of it. You knew you would feel at fault were you to have smashed something of your host’s.

You worked silently after that until each and every minuscule piece of shattered china was collected and carefully passed to Mary’s awaiting hands to dispose of.

“Thank you, Mary,” Laszlo said politely, as the two of you rose to your feet, and you shot her a small, reassuring smile. Doctor Kreizler didn’t seem the type to get upset over such menial inconveniences as a broken cup, yet some part of her seemed so troubled. You simply guessed it was her shy nature as she nodded her head politely, and scurried out of the room quickly to clean her mess. You turned back to the other three people in the room, only to see Laszlo watching you carefully already, seemingly having observed your interaction with his housemaid meticulously. “What else can you tell us about Santorelli, Miss L/N?”

You thought for a moment for the best words to describe Georgio. You knew him well, better than his own father in fact though that wasn’t a hard competition to meet, but you knew there was something in him that not many other boys had. “Georgio was… different.” You paused, taking a melancholy sigh as you felt everyone’s eyes on you as you spoke, “None of the boys at Paresis Hall enjoy their job, but it’s the best source of income to keep them fed so they just stick to it with no hesitation. But Georgio, he was emotional. He would cry all the time and the fact he was so small didn’t help either. I think he preferred to be Gloria than Georgio, at least then he wasn’t judged for behaving so femininely as he did.”

The three were silent as you’d finished, Laszlo turning swiftly on his heel to look out the window in thought.

“Was he beaten?” He asked, and John scoffed before you could reply.

“What boy isn’t in that godforsaken part of the city?” He asked rhetorically, standing from his seat to rest by the mantle and warm himself by the slowly dying fire that had kept the room at an even temperature in the cold New York midwinter.

“Yes,” You answered, though you knew John was right. The majority of the boys at Paresis Hall were turned from their homes for one reason or another, and the majority had arrived with bruises and a skittish demeanor you were familiar with. “Mr. Santorelli is well known for his unsavory drinking habits and the awful temper that comes along with it. He liked to pick on Georgio because he was the smallest of his sons he could get his hands on. Said he’s seen ten-year-old girls with more of a masculine body than Georgio, call him slurs and such.”

“Slurs?” Laszlo questioned.

You nodded, “Georgio’s gentle, feminine nature meant his father and some of the other boys suspected he was gay,”

“And did you?” The doctor pushed, turning to meet your eyes from the other side of the room. You shrugged, lips twitching with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure, possibly. But he was just a young boy, it was too early to be certain who he truly was inclined towards sexually at least. He hated his job, though, I know that much. Whether that was the clients or the act itself, I was never assured,” You gulped thickly. Laszlo saw your eyes glaze over as if you had inwardly left the room and your conversation and indulged into your own thoughts and memories as you spoke, and he guessed you were thinking of dear Georgio. “But he was just a boy. He was just a desperate, little boy,”

The room went silent at your words as if the gravity of them had sunk in to everyone. It was easy for them until now to treat the case as bodies and evidence, musings and possibilities, but the reality that you had spelled out for them was that Georgio was a living being with his own hard life, his own quirks and likes and dislikes. He was a boy you knew, a boy you daresay loved as your family, and his loss was much, much more than simply a body in a file.

“Two more boys murdered. He needs to feed his hunger like an addict.” Laszlo thought out loud, his eyes flicking to John’s figure that nursed his second glass of brandy, “He can’t go very long without killing again,”

The room went silent once more, and not much more was said until Sara returned to the Police Station fifteen minutes later, with John following shortly behind her to have lunch with some client he was portraying within the week. Your attention remained on the file as Laszlo paced, his own thoughts too loud for you to get a word in, so you resided to your own reading.

“We can assume his next victim will be another boy working in one of these establishments. My guess is he has little relationship with the victims before knowing them given he has struck multiple brothels over the weeks,” The man theorised, pouring himself the tiniest drop of brandy to sip at, unlike John’s greedy gulps of the liquor. “Still, there is little we can prove with hard facts until we look at the evidence. As of yet, all we can do is deduce. Which is where the Isaacson’s are needed,”

“I’ll see if any of the boys know of any sailors or Navy men that frequent Paresis Hall, if the marine Yard is a possible link,” You speculated, closing the folder when you processed what he said, “The Isaacsons? Are they friends of yours?”

“Moreso acquaintances. They are detectives in the up-and-coming field known as Forensic Sciences, whereby they use biological evidence left at a crime scene to reveal the culprit,” He explained, taking a small taste of his drink and turning to face you on the sofa. You nodded your head intrigued, trying not to divulge just how fascinating that sounded and how much more you wished to discuss their job as he opened his mouth to speak again. “But first, I have something more pressing to ask. How do you feel about the Opera?”

You’d spent many a night at the asylum praying to whatever God was listening that you could have your old life back. The life of freedom of independence, of nice jewels and dresses. The colours, pure and vibrant, the very thought of them drowning out the soulless grey. But the part of life you wished to see again was the theatre. The dancing, singing, the costumes, the lights, the acting, the way strangers could make you laugh or cry as much as a dear friend.

You knew you had to look divine attending the opera after a year of waiting on bated breath to hear those fine symphonies once more.

Donned in a cardinal red dress, you sat in between Laszlo and John in the box seat your host had kindly treated you both to. Your attire was truly something to behold, being the most expensive item in your wardrobe that had been unearthed for such a lavish occasion, that teased just enough of your breasts to have both men purposely prolonging their gaze on your face to avoid being caught staring at your appendages. But you didn’t mind, the action was in fact but a huge confidence boost after a year of such drab clothes and no effort made to make you look attractive. Neither men were being leering about your desirable appearance, unlike the men your father used to bring to your home, but instead made an effort to be respectable about their lusting gaze, as true gentlemen should.

You had a feeling you’d enjoy John’s company if he was as polite as he seemed. Neither of them were anything like the men you’d come across before, and the thought alone made you feel safe sitting between the two of them.

But your thoughts weren’t on the men you sat with, but instead focused entirely on the people on the stage. A portly man in some sort of court jester’s outfit took centre stage, with some of the other characters providing a background harmony for his building solo. You felt your hands clench with excitement as the music picked up pace, the violin coming out in short, sharp notes as the tension built for his upcoming notes. Music always had a way of enchanting you to your very core, something your father hated. Truthfully, you knew the soft sounds just reminded him too much of your mother and her absence, but all kinds of music were strictly forbidden in your house after her passing. Which was why you loved it at Paresis Hall, where the boys would sing until their throats hurt, and the record players were turned to the highest volume.

A woman took over the middle of the stage, her luscious blonde locks bouncing as she moved forward in her high heels, powder blue dress swaying on top of her wide crinoline.

You saw out the corner of your eye Laszlo leaned forward to collect his ivory opera glasses, bringing them up to his face. But instead of inspecting the stage like you thought he would, he turned to the back wall of the theatre and his eyebrows pulled into a frown behind the optics.

“Who’s that sitting with Roosevelt?” He asked, though you briefly turned your head to see his point of interest. Your eyes squinted in the general direction he was looking, only to realise you couldn’t see all that much with the distance between you, and the low ambient lighting of the room. You could make out no more than a man with a greying beard and receding hair, and a miserable-looking commissioner.

You smiled smally, knowing how that man hated your guts for being the criminal that slipped through his fingers on an off chance.

“You mean to tell me you don't recognize the mayor of New York City?” John replied, which made you raise your eyebrows. You turned your attention back to the stage as the men talked, your heart rate spiking as you saw the actor’s breathing even out before she opened her mouth to sing.

“That’s Mayor Strong?” Laszlo asked though he lowered his voice when he saw you lean forward in your seat, fingers clutching the edge of the armrests tightly in anticipation. You seemed to be enjoying this much more than he’d expected. “My god he’s aged.”

She began singing in a practiced, melodiously lilted soprano, enrapturing your attention with an almost instant snare. The sheer volume and power of her voice shook through your seat, piercing your skin and caressing your very core with admiration. You couldn’t believe such a sound could come from a human, let alone a dainty woman like herself. If sirens existed, you were sure this one had crawled from the docks and onto the stage before you to draw every person in with her symphonious shriek.

Your breath held as she hit a higher note and you could feel Laszlo’s eyes on the way your lips parted in a tiny gasp, but you couldn’t care less. Her voice, her face was all you could focus on after the days spent in silence with your own thoughts.

“His family grows by the day,” John muttered as he peered through his own lorgnette at another box seat. You held in a huff at his talking in fear of looking rude, though the comment caught your curiosity and you looked over to where he was gazing. Your eyes screwed up in an effort to see through the dark lighting once moe, and it was then you felt John press his glasses into the palm of your hand for you to take a look yourself.

“Who are you talking about?” You whispered, scanning each box seat for anything out of the ordinary that would warrant such a judgemental tone.

“Second box from the right, first floor up. J.P Morgan.” John replied and you followed his directions to see a man with a sour-looking face surrounded by three ravishing women. “Every beautiful young lady he’s seen with he claims to be his niece,”

You kissed your teeth and grimaces as you saw him lean in to say something to the petite, blonde he was sitting with, not missing the way his eyes trailed her chest and the way her breasts perked out of her corset sensually.

“I’d hate to be part of his family,” You joked quietly, handing the glasses to Laszlo for his own inspection. You sat back in your chair, the comment leaving a bitter taste at the reminder it brought of your father’s friends. They weren’t your uncles, the pitiful excuse Morgan seemed to be using to cover his perversions, but the way he gawked at the woman even more youthful than yourself brought a bombardment of memories at the men that had done such things to you, said explicitly how they felt about a bewitching broad like yourself, the tenting of their trousers only furthering their claims.

You shook your head to brush the thoughts of their drunk voices, the whiskey coating their vulgar words, their hands caressing your face in false gentility. You huffed, pushing the men from your mind.

They couldn’t hurt you anymore, you reminded yourself. Not when you’d sent them to hell with your own two hands.

“Poor Roosevelt,” Laszlo mumbled, handing the lorgnettes back to John with a sigh, “He dislikes the opera as much as you do,”

“Doubtful,” John replied and you chuckled breathily, though your attention was soon grabbed once more as the court jester overtook the spotlight and seemed to be preparing for his own solo.

Anyone who disliked the opera wouldn’t know entertainment if it slapped them in the face, you thought to yourself.

No sooner had the jester’s solo reached its midpoint, the hair on your arms rising at the sheer volume and stable pitch the actor seemed to display, you heard a faint snore from your right and turned to see John slouched forward in his seat, eyes closed delicately. You snickered impolitely, grabbing Laszlo’s arm that was tucked into his side to grab his attention.

He jumped slightly, but you figured you had pulled him out of a daze at the talented man on stage and nodded your head to John to divert his attention. Your eyes wandered back to the man you held gently, watching as his eyes flicked to where you gestured and rolled his eyes amusedly.

“I fear John doesn’t see many ways to spend his nights as appealing other than in the private company of a woman,” He muttered to you as you let go of his wrist, giggling slightly at his words.

“I don’t understand how. Just look at them, they're enchanting.” You breathed, leaning forward in your seat as a few more women joined the actor on stage, their gowns as breathtaking as the first.

“Do you go to the opera much or is this your first time?” Laszlo dared to ask through your enthralled gaze on the stage, watching as your eyes took the performance in with a greedy glimmer, before wandering back to the way his honey, brown orbs watched you with a gentle interest you had yet to become accustomed to. He was always watching you, observing you like that, you had been quick to notice. He didn’t gawk necessarily, simply enjoyed your existence before him. It made the hair on your neck rise in abashment, but a good kind.

“I have been before, yes. My mother loved to take me when I was younger, my father never held much interest though so it stopped once she’d passed,” Your voice took on a sadness which was understandable considering your confession. Laszlo thought you were going to stop there, knowing your history of shutting down subjects hat struck too close of a nerve when he noticed your lips turn into a smile at a thought, and you seemed to let the melancholy melt from your features, “Mr. Howard used to take us to the ballet, though. My favourite was always Swan Lake,”

“I’ve heard Tchaikovsky’s renditions are phenomenal,” The man replied, which had your brows raising to your hairline, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You’re informed on Tchaikovsky?” You asked, to which he permitted you a simple nod.

“I’m somewhat of a virtuoso with piano in particular,” He said, his demeanour changing to puff out with bridled pride, as though he was kindly boastful of his talent.

“You’ll have to play for me sometime,” You said smiling graciously, imagining him sitting at the grand piano that had been playing on your mind since that very morning when you’d seen it. You sighed blissfully, turning your attention back to the stage. “To see the Swans dancing again the way they did. The opera is glorious, but their choreography is a sight to behold,”

Laszlo said nothing, simply looking at the way your eyes wandered over the various singers on the stage, a wistful glaze over them as though you were back in the auditorium with the Howards, watching the dancers pirouette and pliate with the delicacy of a real swan.

Surely it couldn’t hurt to look into the next performance of Tchaikovsky’s wonder, could it? You would see the swans dance again, Laszlo promised himself as you sat in silence for the final act.

Taglists:

CLIPPED WINGS

@clints-lucky-arrow @lol-im-done @i-am-awkward-turtle @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cazzyimagines @morganwilliams @imalsonotsure @scuttle-buttle @barnesxnobles

Laszlo Kreizler

@hungrhay

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks

if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists, send me a message or an ask or drop a comment! thankyou! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated.

A/N i hope you liked this chapter, it's getting juicy now she's getting involved in the case!