#alpha laszlo kreizler

[violetwanderer]

Omg this is so sexy and so sweet and I love how soft Laszlo is in it 😍

Biology Lessons

Alpha!Modern!Laszlo Kreizler x Omega!Fem!Reader

My Masterlist

A/N: I was curious about the biology of A/B/O and ended up reading a lot of Wikipedia pages, 3000 words and a small Alpha Laszlo obsession later here we are

WARNINGS: 18+ content, unprotected smut, A/B/O dynamics, reader has female anatomy but no gender specific pronouns have been used (if there have been please let me know)

You and Laszlo had been together for two years. During this time you had been intimate on plenty of occasions, however you’d always ignored your secondary sex. When together, you were just two lovers, not an Alpha and Omega. You had limited experience with dealing with your biology and Laszlo had respected your decision to stay on your suppressants. He, in turn, had begun taking some of the weaker forms of suppressants. The kind that reduced his rut to a few days that he spent at John’s house. This situation worked well, until you reached the point where you changed your mind and wanted to come off your suppressants. You trusted Laszlo to help you through it and he was more than eager to take care of you.

“Have you ever had a heat?” Laszlo asks you. The two of you are sitting in his downstairs office at his house. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting a glow over Laszlo’s face as he watches you. Your eyes wander as you think about it.

“Once or twice when I first presented. But I started on suppressants pretty young.” He frowns a little, and you know his medical side disapproves. “We never learnt much about it in school.” You explain, trying to justify your decision. He nods immediately,

“Of course. The education system is curated for the success of Alphas. That, and sex education regarding Omegas is still often considered taboo.” He places a hand on your knee, “That’s not your fault, drágám.” You nod, keeping your focus on the hem of the robe you’re wearing - Laszlo’s bathrobe. “Would you like me to explain it to you?” Your face warms at the thought, and you shake your head.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I’d like to. I think you deserve to know about yourself.” You give him a small nod. He smiles kindly at you and beckons you closer. When you approach him, he pulls you into his lap. “What would you like to know?” He asks you. You shrug slightly, fiddling with your fingers.

“I don’t know.” You admit quietly. He hums in thought, before asking you,

“How would you describe my scent?” You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as you inhale his scent. He smiles softly, his hand resting at the back of your neck, knowing that his scent will take the edge off your nerves. Your eyes flutter open as a small smile tugs at your lips.

“It’s like the citrus soap from my grandmother’s house, and the smell of new books, and your office, and like home.” You tell him and he squeezes the back of your neck affectionately.

“You smell like a field of fresh flowers, clean linen, and warm sugared tea. Soft and sweet, and safe.” He admits. You smile up at him as you lean your temple against his shoulder. He taps your nose gently with the tip of his finger. “The scent receptors in your nose pick up my scent and your body’s response depends on how appealing you find it.”

“Very appealing.” You admit against his neck and he hums affectionately.

“This is what helps you decide on my suitability as a mate. As well as other factors such as aesthetics, personality, and overall attraction.”

“That, and you’re one of the kindest, most loving men I’ve ever met.” He looks down, never used to the praise you always give him. His smile widens as he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“Enough flattery from you. It’s time for our lesson.” He tightens his hold on you as you smile at him, resting his weaker hand on your thigh. “Heat cycles occur once every season, so usually four in a year. The heat itself lasts between five and ten days, but that depends on the person.” His thumb skims across the skin of your bare legs lightly. “While Omegas can be sexually active outside of their heat, it is much more pleasurable during their cycle.” You’ve always loved listening to him talk, but hearing him explain all this to you has your body melting against his as your eyes remain fixed on his lips as he speaks. “Did you know that, as your mate, I may be able to trigger your heat?” You blink at him in surprise. You didn’t know that. “It isn’t always possible, but would you like me to try?” He asks, noticing your interest. You nod cautiously, and he takes your hands as he guides you off his lap, before pulling you towards the centre of his office. He sits you down on his desk with your legs parted, and he stands between them. He places his warm hands on your thighs, and nuzzles his nose against your neck. “You know where your scent glands are, yes?” You nod. You tap your finger against the ones on each side of your throat, then bare your wrists to him to show him the areas. You frown before mentioning,

“There’s another pair, I think, but I don’t know where they are.” He smiles proudly at you,

“Correct. There is one here, and here.” He tells you, trailing his fingers along each of your thighs. “They’re a little different from your other ones, which is why most people forget about them.” He squeezes your thighs tenderly as he continues his explanation. “Their main purpose is so that when you go into heat your slick will smell of your Alpha, and tell everyone that you’re taken.” You swallow the whine in your throat, but he knows the effect he’s having on you already. “How long have you been off your suppressants?” He asks you. He knows the answer of course, but he wants to see if your mind is still functioning.

“Around two weeks.” He nods,

“The perfect time to trigger your heat. That is of course if you want to?” You nod hurriedly,

“Please.” He steps closer,

“All I need to do is apply a little pressure here,” the pads of his fingers press against the glands in your thighs. He smiles at the sight of your head falling back, bearing your neck to him. “A little stimulus here.” His tongue moves across the pulse of your throat, sending a shudder down your spine. “And for you to take a nice deep breath.” You do as he says, your body responding instantly to his pheromones. He smells the change in your scent and smiles. “There you go, good Omega.” He coos. You whine at the warmth spreading slowly through your body as you cling to your Alpha. “You should be feeling rather warm now.” You nod your head a few times in agreement. He hums, “And I can smell your slick already.” He nuzzles his lips against your neck, and you whine for him. “By triggering your heat, we’ve skipped the pre-heat nesting stage. But don’t worry Omega, I’ve prepared the bed for you, and you can fix it up just how you like it tomorrow.” You’re beginning to pant and a shimmer of sweat is coating your skin as your fingers tug at his clothing. His words certainly aren’t helping either. He cups your face. “But right now, I think my Omega needs my knot, yes?” You nod hurriedly,

“Alpha, please.” You loop your arms around his neck, wrapping your legs around his torso, and he hooks his hands underneath your thighs. He lifts you from his desk and takes you up to the bed. When you see the bed set up, a large number of pillows at one end, blankets bunched up the sides, and the whole place smells of Laszlo’s cologne. “Laszlo.” You whisper softly, as the sight pulls on your heartstrings.

“I wanted everything to be perfect.” He admits, leaning in to kiss you.

“You’re here, it couldn’t be more perfect.” You tell him through the kiss. You can feel his grin as his mouth moves against yours, the back of your legs meeting the bed, and he guides you down carefully. He pulls at the belt of the bathrobe, letting it fall open and taking a moment to admire you. He pulls away to remove his clothes, and you whimper at the lack of contact. You take this moment as an opportunity to slip the robe from your body, abandoning it on the floor. You turn onto your stomach, hands smoothing up the bedsheets to rest above your head. Hips shifting needily, you arch your back, your knees digging into the mattress. Once he’s undressed, Laszlo looks back at you and his jaw nearly drops, though he’s quick to recover.

“Such a pretty picture, my beautiful Omega, already presenting for me.” He settles between your open thighs, leaning his body over yours. You rut your hips back against his, desperate for any sort of friction. You feel his smirk as his mouth moves across your shoulder. His hand descends between your thighs, fingers pressing against your warm folds. “And you’re so wet already, drágám.” He slips his finger deep into you, drawing a needy gasp from your lips.

“Laszlo, Alpha, please.”

“More?”

“Yes, yes please.” He removes his finger, leaving you whining, your hips chasing him. His hands curl around your waist, squeezing you gently as he tuts.

“Patience Omega.” But you don’t have to wait long, as he lines himself up to your entrance. In one fluid motion he’s filled you up, your eyes squeezed shut and your back arching against the mattress. “Such a perfect fit.” He moans against your neck, his accent getting thicker as you take in every inch of him. He kisses your shoulder delicately.

“Tell me when I can move, édesem.” You take a few gasping breaths, trying to become accustomed to the haze filling your mind. He notices your struggle. “Relax Omega. Let me take care of you.” A tiny whine catches in your throat, then you’re nodding.

“Please, Alpha.” His forehead presses between your shoulder blades as he moves in and out of you. Every single one of your moans and gasps has him nearing the edge of his restraint. Whilst Laszlo wants to focus on you, his need is slowly growing and he wants to ensure you want this.

“Drágám, darling Omega,” he rasps out. “I don’t think I can hold back for much longer.”

“Don’t, please. Don’t hold back.” That’s all it takes for his pace to increase. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushes you closer. You press your forehead hard against the plush of the mattress as you feel his knot pushing against your entrance. You whine, desperate for him to fill you completely. Growling against the skin of your back, nails gripping onto your hips, he drives his hips harder against yours. You don’t feel the thin red lines trailing down your thighs as you clench around him. “Are you ready for my knot, Omega? I know you’re close.” You can’t reply. Your mind is completely lost to the feeling of your Alpha taking you to pieces. “I need you to come, so my knot can stuff you full.” As soon as he knows you’re about to come he pushes his knot into you. Your eyes roll back, and you come hard with a broken cry. Only a moment later Laszlo comes as well, his lips grazing down your spine as he does. His knot swells, ensuring none of your slick escapes. Your body goes slack as the two of you attempt to catch your breath. You feel Laszlo’s breathing tickle the skin of your back as it slowly returns to normal. He shifts his weight slightly. “This may feel a little odd.” He warns you. He takes hold of your leg and moves it to the other side of him, effectively spinning you around and lying you down with your back to the mattress. You gasp a little at the change in position, his knot still holding deep inside you. “Now this is better.” He remarks, leaning down to kiss your lips. He takes your hands in his own, letting them run down your spent body. “Can you feel how full you are?” He pushes your hands over your abdomen, your fingers skimming over the bulge caused by his knot. “You did so well Omega, letting me fill you up like this.” He leans forward, nuzzling against your neck. “Such a brave Omega.” He coos. His praises and gentle touches soon have you coming back to your senses. Laszlo notices when the haze has cleared from your eyes, and gives you a soft smile.

“Hi.” You whisper.

“Hello.” The two of you stay in each other’s arms for a while, simply enjoying the close proximity to one another. You rub your fingers over his chest, before reaching up to curl them into the hair at the back of his neck.

“Laszlo,” you say softly, tilting your head back to bear your neck to him. “Can I have your mark?” He seems a little taken aback by your request.

“You- you want…”

“To be yours.” You watch his eyes darken slightly, and he claims your lips again. When he pulls away you’re breathless again.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” You tell him. “That is, of course, if you want me.”

“Édesem, you are my world.” You both share a tender smile. He cradles the side of your face before tilting your head back. He nuzzles his lips gently against your throat. “With your current level of endorphins you shouldn’t feel too much pain…”

“I love you.” You interrupt him, your smile wide.

“I love you too, drágám.” He presses a soft kiss to the mating gland at your throat, before sinking his teeth down. You clench your teeth, nails digging into the sheets at the sharp sting of your skin breaking. Then, a wave of pleasure rolls through you as your bond snaps into place. You feel Laszlo lapping at the small wound. “All good?” He asks you. You nod with a smile.

“Though, if you bring up that saliva is a natural healing agent I will kick you out of bed.” He chuckles.

“Before I get my own mark. How cruel.” You frown at him.

“What?”

“Alphas also have a mating gland.” You nod, your frown still present,

“I didn’t think- I’ve never seen-“

“Very few Alphas feel the need to wear their mate’s mark. However, I want the world to know I’m yours.” He smiles, watching the primal urge shimmer in your eyes, though he senses your lingering hesitance. “It won’t hurt me, drágám.” Your eyes flicker down to his neck, and he leans closer. “Right here.” He guides you to the spot against his throat. You cup his face carefully, taking a moment to nuzzle against his neck, breathing in his scent. “Don’t be scared Omega. Take what’s yours.” You sink your teeth into his throat, sucking gently at the break of his skin. You feel him shudder against you as your bond strengthens. You trace your tongue carefully along the wound. He leans down to kiss you again, your first kiss as a mated couple. You share a few more slow, loving kisses before Laszlo pulls away. He reaches down towards the bottom of the bed, pulling out a towel and lying it beneath your hips. You frown lightly at him. “Can’t have our nest getting dirty, can we?” Your face morphs into an affectionate smile. Your mate really does think of everything. You whimper when he pulls out, but he rubs your thighs reassuringly and presses kisses over your face. You giggle softly and he beams at you. He ensures the majority of the mess is soaked up by the towel before discarding it. He presses a kiss to your temple, “I’ll be right back Omega.” He’s gone for under thirty seconds, but you both feel the pull of your bond. When it’s fresh like this you can’t be parted for long. He returns with some wet wipes, and begins to clean the two of you up. The coolness soothes you, pushing the heat symptoms even further away. You smile softly at Laszlo and he shares your smile as the two of you spend a moment admiring one another. He throws the wipes away and settles down by your side. You nuzzle against him, purring contentedly. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep drágám.”

•*•*•*•

Early the next morning, Laszlo is stirred from his sleep by some sort of movement at his side. The bedroom is still in semi-darkness, the sun hasn’t quite risen into the sky yet, but there’s enough light to see by. The sight before him warms his heart. You’re adjusting a pillow beside you, tucking it under the quilt to secure the wall of your nest. You have one of his shirts tucked under your arm, and nuzzle into one of the pillows.

“What are you doing, Omega?” He asks, his voice still thick with sleep. He can feel your blush as you mumble,

“Just getting comfortable.” He chuckles softly, pulling himself closer to you. You immediately melt into his arms, your body lying flush against his chest. He trails a hand down your spine, and despite your shiver, he can feel your body heat increasing.

“Ready to go again?” He suggests. You pout, the tiredness behind your eyes creeping up on you despite the slick gathering between your thighs.

“M’ tired.” You mumble against his chest.

“I know you are.” He coos, guiding your hips towards his. “But all you need to do is be a good Omega and keep me warm.” You sigh in relief at the feeling of him filling you, eyes fluttering shut as he continues, his accent thickening. “Yes, that’s all your heat-ridden body’s good for, isn’t it?” He feels you tighten at his words and he groans against your neck. “Don’t worry Omega, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

[hereticpriest]

Alpha Mine

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega Laszlo Kreizler, Alpha Reader, Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Dynamic Discrimination, Period-Typical Views on Gender and Dynamics, Dynamic-Based PTSD, Healing, Not Actually Unrequited Lust and Love, Scent Kink, Praise Kink, Knotting, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Breeding Kink, Mpreg.

Dr. Laszlo Kreizler was looking for a typist to work at the Kreizler Institute.

You knew it might be your only opportunity. Dr. Kreizler had a reputation for surrounding himself with queer cases, and having wildly unpopular ideas about what was and wasn’t appropriate socially. He was an Alienist, and thus a man immersed in the latest scientific inquiries. If anyone were to offer you a job, it would be him. If anyone were capable of looking past your… affliction, it would be him. Not solely because you were a woman, which was queer enough on its own. No, you are something far worse than a working woman.

You’re an Alpha.

Biologically, you knew it was completely normal for a small percentage of the population to be both female and Alpha. It was no more or less rare than male Omegas. Most of the population - about 60% - were Betas. The ideal, frankly, for many. Devoid of pesky extra hormones and impulses, a Beta can live a relatively normal life without the pressures of an Alpha or Omega. Betas have scent glands, but their scent is weaker, less obtrusive, and their nose is not as keen as the other designations. Betas have only their primary gender characteristics to worry about. Secondary gender has little to do with their lives.

Alpha males are less rare, and idealised by the wealthy elite who can afford to handle their more difficult impulses. They’re stronger than a normal man, with scents as aggressive as their impulses, and anger issues abound. Omega females are similarly idealised, though still held to the same standards, if not stricter, than a normal woman. Prim and proper and never lifting a finger to do more than birth babies for a strong Alpha. One can even raise their station considerably by virtue of being a strong Alpha male or a fertile Omega female from a lower class family that might entice a higher class mate. 

Male Omegas and female Alphas are more rare than their counterparts, and often looked down upon in high society. Your parents had been certain you would be an Omega like your mother before you. So certain, in fact, that they had sent you to an Omega prep school - education provided to young Omega ladies to prepare them for their future life, and the submissiveness that would be required of them. Even unpresented, your parents had been able to enroll you based on your mother’s designation. When you presented at age fourteen, you were surrounded by Omegas, and completely shell-shocked. You were thrown into a rut completely out of your control, and had to be dragged bodily from the building by several Beta men who performed security for the school.

Locked in your bedroom, you ached, nearly tearing yourself apart with need and confusion and disgust. After a week of torment, you were finally released from your confinement to face the wrath of your parents. Your ‘little episode’ as they called it, had been reported upon in the society papers, and you were made a mockery of on multiple fronts. First, that you were female and an Alpha. Second, that you had been placed in an Omega school in the first place. Third, that you presented there, were thrown into a rut, and had to be dragged through the streets like a rabid animal.

You had not entered the light of society since, at your parent’s behest. They cared for you, to a point, however they were now tasked with finding a male Omega for you to mate with. They could have tried to find you a Beta, who likely wouldn’t care so much about your designation, however your parents were of a purist breed. Alphas and Omegas mated as far back as designations had existed. You almost thought they might break the streak just to get you pawned off on someone else. Your reputation had improved since your presentation, thankfully. No one stared, and mostly, no one gossiped.

You were, however, bored. Bored of being confined. Bored of taking rut blockers and bathing yourself in scent blockers just to never leave the house anyways. Bored of seeing nothing but the small neighbourhood around you. Bored of life. So, you decided to get a job. You hoped that having a purpose beyond ‘wait for someone to find you an Omega to rut into the ground until one of you gets pregnant’ would spark some joie de vivre in your bland, grey life. An unwise decision, according to your parents, but one they weren’t going to interfere with for now. You know that they assume you’re going to fail, and that’s likely the only reason they’ve allowed it.

On a cold Autumn morning at half past eight, you walked into the Kreizler Institute in your most demure but professional dress, high collar pulled up to cover your bare neck and contain some of your scent. Despite being bathed in scent blockers, you were paranoid about an incident. Your reputation couldn’t handle it. Nor could your sanity.

“Hello, I’m here for an appointment with Dr. Kreizler at quarter to nine?”

The receptionist looks up at you for a moment, studying you curiously, then sighs as he stands from his desk. His bland, calming Beta scent fills your nose as he approaches to lead you along, and you do your best to breathe and calm your racing heart. You’re led to Dr. Kreizler’s office, and the receptionist knocks twice, then leaves. His calming scent abandons you, and the nerves creep back in.

“Come in.” An accented voice calls from inside, and you tentatively open the door, doing your best to look as passive as possible. Signs of aggression in a male Alpha might be forgivable, but the same was certainly not to be said for a female Alpha. Even the slightest sign of confidence could be interpreted as aggression by many, and you were trying to make a good impression. You peek around the door to see a man sitting alone at a desk in one of the most beautiful offices you’ve ever seen. It’s quite grand, lined with countless bookshelves that you want to peruse though you’d never dare. The furniture is opulent but comfortable, and the room is far more spacious than you expected.

Dr. Kreizler himself is of average height, with a sturdy build. His facial hair is perfectly groomed, and you imagine he takes great care of himself in every way, for his appearance is immaculate. His clothes are obviously expensive and well-tailored, and he chooses his outfits to suit him quite impressively for a man of science. You’d always imagined they’d be more dowdy and less handsome. He looks at you with no real warmth to him, but he’s calm and collected, and not necessarily cold.

“Ms. L/N, I presume?” He breaks the silence, and you step into his office hesitantly, nodding.

“Yes, Dr. Kreizler. Lovely to meet you.” You reply, and he nods, gesturing towards the chair across from him. He doesn’t try to get up and pull it out for you, which you appreciate since there’s truly no need. He’s about to be your boss, hopefully. You don’t expect him to treat you like a delicate lady when you’re anything but. You sit in the offered seat, smoothing out your dress and offering him a polite smile. He smells medicinal in the way of scent blockers, but they must be quality like yours, for you can’t get even a whiff of his designation.

Somehow, you secure the job. Dr. Kreizler blinks when you tell him your designation, looking you over for longer than is necessarily comfortable, but otherwise has very little reaction. He surveys your typing skills, backhandedly praises your knowledge of medical terminology, then gives you a dubious but curious look when you admit to reading his works. When you prove it by quoting him, he softens, seemingly noticing how much you’ve bristled from having your knowledge discounted. He tells you you start tomorrow, and that a requirement of your job is that you take rut blockers and apply scent blockers, which isn’t a problem since you already do both of those things. You depart with nothing more than a handshake and a nod, heart nearly beating out of your chest with excitement for the job you’ve managed to land yourself.

~

Nearly eight months pass in the blink of an eye. You grow closer to Dr. Kreizler, who appears to be the only person willing to treat you normally despite your queer designation. He trusts you and your opinion, asking you endless questions about yourself. He treats you better than anyone else you’ve ever met despite his moods, and always apologises after a day when he’s been particularly snippy, which you appreciate. He notices sometime into your employment your fixation with biting yourself when you’re nervous. First, chewing the skin around your nails, which escalates into biting your thenar eminence when your parents put pressure on you to quit your job and stop making a fool of yourself.

One day, he dares to ask about the news in the society pages. He’d been thirty-one at the time, and expressed a certain sadness in regards to how you’d been treated. It isn’t easy to talk about, but he listens as if you’re riveting, and you’ve never had someone find you interesting in any way that wasn’t cruel. You tell him about how you’d been prepared to be an Omega your entire life. You knew what to expect - the hormone changes, the physical changes, the emotional volatility. You were ready for it. And then, one day, you became something wholly different than expected with zero preparation for how to be that thing. You felt something akin to a monster, only worsened by how you’d been confined with Omegas when you presented.

Dr. Kreizler listens with a certain sympathy on his face as you explain that you’d tried to leave the room when their scents got overwhelming. That you didn’t want any of them, nor did you want to attack or hurt anyone. The only reason you’d even fought the security guards back then was because one of the Omegas was crying, big fat tears rolling down her face, and you could fix it. You knew in your gut that you could, and that you were supposed to. Already, raspy, unused little chuffs were rolling in your throat, subvocals full of comforting tones. Alphas were meant to make Omegas feel better, to protect and nurture not just your mates but any vulnerable person who needed you. It was instinctual. They tried to stop you from doing what you were meant to do, and your body took over. You weren’t going to hurt her - you had no sexual feelings towards her whatsoever. Then, your rut set in, caused by the crying and the aggressive action against you by those security guards, and the scent of hundreds of unmated Omegas.

Your instincts had been made a mockery of in the papers. You were turned from a scared fourteen year old girl into a wild animal maddened by her impulses. It was framed as why women shouldn’t be Alphas - your emotions were too volatile to be mixed with the fire of aggression of an Alpha, or so they said. Dr. Kreizler reaches out at one point, touching your arm so gently you could barely feel him, and you realise that you’re crying. He apologises for the sensitive subject, but you can see in his eyes that he wouldn’t have stopped prying if he had more questions. He’s kind, but his curiosity sometimes makes him just a little bit cruel, prone to poking and prodding until he gets what he wants.

Only a day or two later, he finally tells you why he understands and empathises with you so much. He’s an Omega. Like you in reverse, he’d been believed to be an Alpha from birth, and was sent to an Alpha prep school. Your stories were mirrored, except that his presentation had been significantly more discreet. He’d presented young, while visiting home for a weekend, with only his family in the house. You envy him for a moment, swiftly followed by relief that he hadn’t had to endure what you had. Unlike you, his designation was able to be hidden, and very few knew the truth.

It bonds you. Both of you, oddities, controlling your designations as best you can in a world that finds you unusual and distasteful at the very best. You are a constant ball of tightly wired control, but you allow yourself small intimacies with Dr. Kreizler. You tell him more. He inquires as to the nature of your biting habit, and you admit to the level of control you need to have at all times, and that the biting was always a compulsion but has only grown more frequent and harmful as you got older. Thankfully, you haven’t bitten anyone else. Dr. Kreizler calls it self-harm, and you do not refute him, though you do tell him that you aren’t trying to hurt yourself. Dr. Kreizler makes attempts to curb your habit, but the gloves he gives you only dull the pain and keep you from biting the skin around your nails.

Not long into your employment at the Kreizler Institute, the doctor begins solving crimes with John Moore, an Alpha who struggles with his own warring physical and emotional needs. You like him, at least partially because he doesn’t try to posture at you and prove his dominance as the biggest Alpha in the room. You wouldn’t want to have to be involved in a fight like that, because you aren’t sure who would win, and you know it would be worse if you did. Then comes Sara Howard, the calmest and strongest Beta you’ve ever met in your life. You like her quite a bit, and you like her even more when she, when told your designation, simply shrugs and asks you if your female nature makes you less of an aggressive arse than a typical Alpha. The Twins come along shortly after, and to your surprise, the good doctor demands you join them as well. You take notes and type them up for the team, and copy ‘borrowed’ police documents without a hint of shame.

Suddenly, before you even realise it has been so long, spring is upon you. Your least favourite season, with rain clouds looming high in the sky every other goddamned day. You begin keeping a spare bottle of scent blockers on your desk at work just to reapply when you have to go out in the rain. Which is, regrettably, often. On one clear day, you head out with Dr. Kreizler to examine a crime scene not too terribly far from the Institute. You hold his arm politely, poised and elegant the way you’re meant to be as a well to do woman - Dr. Kreizler always gives you the confidence to play the role you’ve always been meant to play, despite your lack of surety. You needed to play your roles in public, and you especially needed to keep yourself buttoned up to avoid attention.

You meet John and Sara at the crime scene, and Sara sticks close to you while John draws the scene and Dr. Kreizler makes observations that he expects you to write down despite the speed at which he makes them. Thank goodness for Sara, filling in any blanks of words that you might’ve missed. By this point, John no longer tries to protest your involvement at crime scenes, though he always gives Dr. Kreizler a judgemental look when he shows up with you. You’re not bothered by the blood and gore, despite Mr. Moore’s concerns. The smell is a bit much on your sensitive nose, but blood doesn’t turn your stomach the way it does for others (him included). The nature of the crimes - the murder of young boys who were only children - was more disturbing to you than the gore itself. You were very curious about the crimes, in fact, though you did your best to keep that to yourself to avoid appearing odd.

Eventually, Dr. Kreizler determines he’s seen enough, and he offers you his arm as he turns to leave, the motion casual now after so long travelling the city together in the name of criminal inquiry. John does the same to Sara, but she pointedly ignores it, stepping out through the door behind you both. Only a few minutes into your walk, the skies turn, the clouds grow dark, and it begins to pour rain down upon you. Together, you all run towards the shelter of a covered overhang between two buildings, and you ring out your clothes as much as you can, panic sparking in your heart. You’re soaked through, and it's dangerous to catch a chill, however your concern is not for your health.

You can already smell yourself. The woodsy, spicy scent rolls off of you, made worse by your nervousness. John sniffs the air as subtly as he can, but you notice him, and your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment and nervousness. The scent of figs, geranium, vetiver, cedarwood and citrus fills your nose, sweet and tangy, with a hint of floral. Your tension eases, and you take a deep breath through your nose, instinctively soothed by the scent. And then, you seem to put two and two together.

Dr. Kreizler.

Sweet and floral like an Omega. The scent was your boss, and his scent soothed you in the way of compatible Alphas and Omegas. Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You step back from the Omega and press your wrist to your nose, huffing on your own scent gland just to try and drown out the smell of him. The good doctor gives you an odd look as he squeezes some of the rainwater out of his shirt, unaware of the dilemma you’ve found yourself in. Your good fortune doesn’t last. His pupils dilate quite suddenly, and he sniffs, then rubs his nose as if unsure what he’s experiencing. His brows furrow, and he takes a deep breath through his nose to try and process the scent. Finally, his gaze settles on you, and you don’t recognise the look in his eyes. It’s heavy, and you feel the weight of your designation settling around your shoulders as you finally connect his expression to one you’ve seen before.

Hunger.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and John raises an eyebrow at you. A myriad of emotions cross your boss’ face in a flash, but none of them seem particularly negative, always accompanied by that intense hunger. The doctor lifts a hand to delicately pluck open the top button on his shirt, and then the second, showing off his bare neck. You can see the soft bump of his scent glands, and your body burns with the knowledge that he’s exposing them to you. It’s a blatant invitation. Unbecoming of an Omega, typically, but not unheard of. John sucks air through his teeth, and your hackles raise instantly as you position yourself between John and Dr. Kreizler.

“What exactly is going on?” Sara asks, her voice tight with some amount of distaste at being out of the loop.

“It’s-” John begins, taking a half-step closer to you, then cuts himself off as you give a quick display of your teeth. He retreats back, his gaze slowly trailing over the doctor before he rips it away and turns his back on you to instead face Sara. You’re only distracted from him by the preternatural awareness of someone leaning over your shoulder, a deep inhale only an inch or two from your scent glands startling you. Dr. Kreizler’s eyes are nearly black when you look back over your shoulder at him, panic and hunger swirling together in your gut as you observe what you’ve done to your intelligent and calm boss. This is your fault. He’s fine around John, who wears only light scent blockers if any. You’ve done this to him - devolved him to his baser instincts.

“Dr. Kreizler…”

“Laszlo.” He corrects you, tipping his head back and to the side to expose his neck to you, and a high-pitched, awkward ‘Oh!’ slips from your lips. Your cheeks are on fire as you look away from him. He reaches out, skimming his thumb over the scent gland on your right wrist, an intimacy that was reserved for mates or family. The tangy scent of slick reaches your nose, and you panic, pointedly keeping your eyes away from the prominent hard line in his trousers. John pats you on the shoulder gently.

“We’ll leave you here, I suppose. I should get Ms. Howard home. I trust you’ll be able to get each other home safely, yes?” He asks, and you gap at him.

“Yes, thank you, John.” Laszlo replies for you, and you only nod when he gently nudges your ribs. You start to take Laszlo’s arm, but he takes yours instead, and you turn your gaze to the sky as his crafty fingertips stroke across the slight bulge of your bicep. Like male Alphas, you were gifted with a certain strength that went far beyond what any other woman your size would be capable of. You hid it well under clothes that were just a little bit bigger, which is only made clearer when Laszlo stares at your arm in surprise as you walk. His pupils are already blown, eyes half-lidded with blatant desire, but the scent of slick gets stronger and you get more and more protective. You reach up to your neck, unbuttoning the collar of your shirt and giving it a shake to disperse more of your scent, hoping to cover up the scent of his desire.

It earns you looks, but it’s worth it to avoid anyone else being able to smell the slick on your Omega. You wonder if it’s running down his thighs. You wonder if he’s hard as a rock in those perfectly tailored trousers of his. You wonder how sweetly tangy his slick would taste should you follow his silent requests and bend him over the first chance you get. There’s a couch within maybe twenty feet of the front door of his house - you could bend him over it, pull those expensive trousers down over his round little ass and spread him open. Lap up the slick pouring from him and stroke his pretty little cock until he falls apart. You could make your Omega cover his own couch in cum, then get him to lick it up while you make him fall apart on your knot where he belongs.

“Alpha.” Laszlo murmurs, and you blink, finding yourself just outside the door to Laszlo’s home. You look at him, surveying his somewhat disheveled appearance, his eyes wide with hopeful desire. The smell of slick and ripe Omega fills the air, and you shake your head to clear it. You were calling Laszlo your Omega in your head. Claiming him. You were being an overbearing Alpha, drowning this poor Omega in your scent and forcing him into this needy state. You bite down on your hand, sharp teeth sinking through your skin like butter and filling the air with the fresh iron scent of blood. The pain grounds you, cutting through the hormones and thirst, and satisfying the ache in your jaw to bite and claim and make Laszlo yours.

“Go inside, Omega.” You insist, mouth stained with blood, opening the door for him from behind his back so he can’t see what you’ve done, and he heads inside with the clear expectation that you will be following him, “Goodnight, Laszlo.”

“Wait-” He begins as he notices the scent of blood, turning to see you sinking your teeth back into your hand as you slam the door closed behind him and run. You get home in record time, and instead of going through the front door, you scale the wall through the backyard to your window then sneak into the bathroom to scrub yourself raw in the bathroom. You normally don’t sleep in scent blockers, but you do tonight, and you take an additional dose of rut blocker just for safety. Now that you know how good Laszlo smells - now that the scent of ripe, virgin, needy Omega is stuck in your nose - how are you supposed to go on without bending him over his desk?

You bite your hand until your brain goes fuzzy, then wash the blood away in a bit of a trance, bandaging yourself up. You crawl into bed in a daze, burying your face in your pillow and falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.

~

Walking into work the next morning is unnerving. You’ve bathed yourself in more scent blocker, and brought an additional dose of your rut blocker to take midday just in case. You’re wearing a dress with a high collar just for further coverage. A couple of people throughout the Institute take a second glance at your bandaged hand, but you ignore it, focused on getting to work. Without your left hand, typing will be slow going, but you can manage. You resolve to act as if yesterday didn’t even happen, and you hope that Laszlo won’t be too angry with you. You’ll apologise again if he seems angry.

You stand before the large door to his office, hesitating to take a steadying breath before you push it open. Laszlo stands by his desk, dressed elegantly in a white shirt, an ornate dark green vest with gold threading, and a pair of black trousers. His glasses sit at the end of his nose, and he’s reading through some of the papers you’ve typed up. He looks up as you enter the room, and you freeze as he smiles at you, warmer than you expected in the best case scenario. He puts the papers on the desk, circling the desk to sit his bottom on the edge of it.

“Good morning.” He greets you, and you blink, then nod your head quickly and head for your desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Kreizler.”

“I told you to call me Laszlo. I still desire that today.” He replies, with a weight to his voice that you know is meant to imply something more, but you’re too anxious to even acknowledge him. You hurry to your desk, and miss Laszlo frowning at your back in consternation.

“Of course, Laszlo, I apologise.”

“Is your hand-”

“I took care of it. Thank you.” You reply shortly, rubbing your good hand over your hot cheeks, then flipping open his journal and getting back to work. Laszlo tries to talk to you a couple of times throughout the day, but you keep it professional as much as you can. He sweeps past your desk at one point, and you feel the ghost of his fingers across the back of your neck. You shiver, glancing at him, and he makes and holds eye contact with you before demurely dropping his gaze to the floor. His submissiveness sparks something in you, and you have to swallow hard and take deep, soothing breaths to calm down. You turn back to your work, and Laszlo huffs an annoyed breath behind you.

~

Several days pass, and you fall into a steady rhythm with Laszlo. You’ve begun reapplying scent blocker throughout the day to avoid bothering your boss, and despite the way he looks at you, you think it might be working. He hasn’t made any kind of moves on you so far, but you can feel his gaze burning into you, and it always makes you nervous. One evening, you visit his home with John and Sara to discuss the case, and Laszlo makes a brief trip to the bathroom before returning, smelling so strongly of ripe and ready Omega that you find yourself biting your cheek to keep from growling at John.

The other Alpha seems as confused as you, and even remarks privately to Laszlo that his scent blockers have worn off, but Laszlo simply shrugs.

“Am I not allowed to take them off in my own home, John?”

Mr. Moore has nothing to say to that, but he keeps his eyes on you as Laszlo sits on the other side of the couch you’re perched upon. It takes every ounce of control in your body to avoid biting through your hand again, and when it very clearly becomes too much, John gives you a tidy excuse to go home by rounding up Sara and departing with you both. Much to Laszlo’s disappointment.

~

A knock upon your door is not what you expect two days later while your parents are attending a party and event outside of the city. You open it tentatively, almost afraid of what you’ll find, and John Moore stands upon your doorstep. In his arms is a beautiful bouquet that he appears to be trying not to sniff too much - given the slightly red state of his nose, you assume he might be allergic. The flowers are beautiful, but as a well-to-do lady, you know their meanings as keenly as you know your own soul.

“Mr. Moore, may I ask why you’re attempting to court a fellow Alpha? It isn’t unheard of, of course, but my parents would never allow-”

“No!”

“Beg your pardon?”

“No, sorry, sorry, they’re not from me.” John replies shortly, then hands the bouquet over, “Laszlo asked me to deliver these for him.”

“Laszlo. As in, Dr. Kreizler.” You state blankly, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Do you know any other?”

“Of course not. John, Dr. Kreizler has no real interest in me. This is surely a mistake.” You insist, trying to give the bouquet back, but he shakes his head firmly.

“No, you can discuss that with the good doctor yourself. I’ve done my part.” John insists, and you frown as he stalks away quickly, sneezing at the bottom of the steps. You close the door, carrying the flowers inside and looking them over.

Borage, to deliver a blunt or direct message. Pink camellia, to convey longing. Red carnations to convey heartache, and edelweiss for devotion. Nasturtium was a blunt choice, conveying conquest and a foreseen victory in battle. Savory to add spice and convey interest. Red roses for love and seduction, and red tulips to convey passion. Red hyacinth for intense passion and adoration, jasmine for sensuality, and orchids for seduction.

The message of the bouquet is shockingly blunt. A bouquet like this would be inappropriate, and should you tell anyone about it, you’re certain Laszlo’s reputation would be damaged. You stroke the petals, carrying the bouquet up to your bedroom and splitting it into smaller bouquets. One goes onto your vanity, another on your night table, and a third in a vase on your windowsill.

In return, you leave a bouquet of your own on his desk. Blue saliva, to convey that you think of him fondly. Chamomile to request patience in your lack of surety. Fennel for flattery. Apple blossom, to convey your preference for him over others, and clematis to show appreciation for his mental prowess and beauty. And then, to send a clear message, you attach tarragon for lasting interest to lavender for distrust and rue for clear vision. You want to make it clear that while you hold affection for him, you distrust his lasting interest and that his thoughts are clear. The following morning, you come in to a single flower on your desk.

Blue hyacinth for constancy.

~

Over the next couple of days, Laszlo is a bit gentler in his pursuits - for you can call them nothing less, with how keenly he observes you and tries to gentle your heart to him. He pries no less than he used to, but he does his best to stop before he goes too far. He asks you questions about yourself, talks to you about your interests, compliments the way you’ve styled your hair, and compliments your work. He wears a lighter scent blocker going forwards instead of the near-impenetrable one he wore before. It gets you more used to his scent instead of being completely overwhelmed every time he takes it off when you go to his home after working on a case. You’re beginning to wonder if perhaps he is serious about his intentions. You’ve never heard of an Omega pursuing an Alpha like this. Short term, certainly, but usually only while they’re in preheat and wanting a specific Alpha. It’s been just over two weeks now, and he has not relented.

You go into work a couple of days later to find a small box on your desk, and you open it slowly, hesitant, only to find a lover’s eye pendant inside the box. You recognise the colour in an instant. You also recognise the portraiture. John Moore painted this, and it is Dr. Laszlo Kreizler’s honey-brown eye. John has perfectly captured the very light crow’s feet at the corner of Laszlo’s eye, and his lovely long lashes that you’re somewhat envious of. The portrait is beautiful, and you stroke your fingertips across the gold frame, a small smile pulling at your lips. You put the pendant on, tucking it down into the bodice of your dress, holding it against your chest as if it might become a part of you with enough contact.

Laszlo watches from his desk, a smug smile on his face as he shuffles through his papers, pushing his glasses up his nose when they slip down. You’re so pleased that you don't even protest when he invites you to Delmonico’s with John and Sara, though you know you’ve trapped yourself.

“Your parents thought you were going to be an Omega?” Sara asks at one point through the evening, and you agree, awkward but not necessarily uncomfortable divulging in the present company.

“They did. I was… quite a surprise.”

“Did they have a nesting dowry for you?” Sara asks softly, as none of these matters pertain to her and you know she is endlessly curious about them. You smile fondly at her sincerity, and the lack of judgement she’s shown you.

“That might, perhaps, be the only benefit of them thinking I would be an Omega. I have a nesting trunk from when I was a child.” You reply, and you politely pretend that you don’t hear Laszlo’s sharp little intake of breath. Sara laughs, a wide smile on her face as her gaze darts over to Laszlo, then back to you.

“Oh, that’s very special.”

“Indeed. My father has also set aside a suitable nesting dowry to compensate for anything missing. I also…” You trail off, cheeks getting hot as you become a little embarrassed.

“What is it?” Sara presses, and you give the tiniest shrug of your shoulders.

“Well, I was taught to embroider, of course. But I also learned to knit, and sew. I made a baby blanket when I was younger, and little matching booties and a little hat.” You admit, and Sara gasps with delight, leaning closer to you over the table. You notice John also leaning in, a soft look in his eyes that you’re especially fond of - he’s so sensitive, he makes your heart melt, “I’ve been working on a blanket as well, for… well, most of my life since I presented. I’m almost finished, in fact.”

“That’s wonderful.” John comments, and you smile demurely, “What a lovely gift for your future Omega. I envy you the skill - I’m sure many Omegas would be thrilled with such an offering.”

“It must take you so much time.” Sara adds, and you nod your agreement.

“Oh, it does. I work on it every night after work. I had a lot of time after presenting - my parents didn’t let me go out much, for obvious reasons.”

John frowns a little, as does Sara, but she reaches across the table to cover your hand on your glass.

“You’re a welcome addition to our team. I’ve never met an Alpha with such strong control over their instincts.” Sara muses, and you bite your lip, guilt flooding you as you think of what you’ve done to Laszlo. Certainly, his behaviour is your fault, right? He wasn’t interested in you before you smothered him in your scent.

“It is a constant struggle.” You admit, turning your head as you hear a small clatter and smiling fondly at the sight of an Alpha with his arm protectively around his heavily pregnant Omega. She waddles, cheeks aglow with motherly mirth, her hand cupping her round belly as she squeezes between tables. Her Alpha pulls out her seat, tucking her in at their table, and you sigh happily at the clear love between them. You turn your gaze back to the table to see similar looks on John and Sara’s faces, though Laszlo instead looks surprisingly… sad.

“Laszlo?” You ask quietly, and he blinks, looking at you with a certain longing in his eyes that makes you squirm in your seat.

“I always wanted to be a father.” He admits, quiet enough that it’s nearly a whisper. You stare at him for a moment, shocked at his vulnerability, and slide your hand across the table to brush your fingertips across his knuckles.

“You will be, one day.” You promise him, and you only realise after saying it what that sounds like. You want to correct yourself, but Laszlo gives you a look so soft that you melt, your heart pounding in your chest. You pull your hand away, turning to look at the others, until a familiar scent reaches your nose. You freeze.

“John.” You murmur, and he nods to indicate he smells it as well.

“What is it?” Sara asks, and you swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

“Dr. Kreizler, I believe it’s about time that I escort you home.” You state instead of answering her, and his pupils blow before your very eyes. He stands swiftly, and the scent gets stronger, sweet and tangy slick begging to be bred. You crudely dip your fingers in the water glass in front of your plate, rubbing at your scent glands until the blocker begins to wear off. John watches with a certain knowing sadness in his eyes, while Sara frowns, out of the loop.

“I will handle the bill.” John states, and you nod your thanks to him. Your scent fills the air, and you slip an arm around Laszlo’s waist possessively, leading him towards the entrance to the restaurant. Once out of sight of the dining room, you tuck Laszlo into a dark corner, unsure how you’re going to make it home with him in this state.

“Laszlo, dear, I need to scent you in order to get you home safely. May I?” You ask, and Laszlo shivers visibly, tilting his head to the side for you.

“Please.” He whispers, and you cup the back of his neck, rubbing your chin against his scent gland delicately. Your other hand sweeps down Laszlo’s back, and you feel your cheeks burn as you touch a wet patch that you realise means you’re touching his ass. Your hand will smell like his slick until you wash thoroughly - the scent of slick lasts for ages. Laszlo is like a furnace against you, and you do your best not to be too obvious about your body’s reaction to him as you hold him like something precious in your arms. And he is. God forgive you, he is. You know you’ve done this to him, and it is a betrayal of his trust in you that you’ve manipulated him somehow into losing himself like this. And yet, it feels so right to have him so close to you. His scent combined with yours is heavenly. How could sin be this sweet?

“That should last you for a little while.” You whisper, pulling away reluctantly with every ounce of strength in your body, and Laszlo whimpers. You are gentle but firm as you lead him from the restaurant, his hand holding your bicep tightly.

“I meant it.” Laszlo murmurs, and you startle at the sound of his voice, so focused on walking towards his home.

“Pardon?”

“The flowers. I meant it.”

You let out a quiet sigh, petting his hand on your arm gently, soothingly, “I know, Laszlo. I know.”

This time, when you leave Laszlo at his home a short few minutes later, he makes an attempt at getting you to come inside instead of leaving him alone.

“This is what I want. And it is what you want, whether you will admit it or not.” He snaps when you begin to protest, and it takes everything in you to restrain from baring your teeth at him for taking that tone with you.

“What I want is not important. Go inside, Laszlo. You’ll think about what you truly want a bit more clearly in the morning, and appreciate my restraint.” You insist while backing away from him, turning to flee not a moment later. Thankfully, you’re faster than him even if he did try to chase you, and once again you enter your bedroom through the window. You bathe in silence, trying to figure out what to do with yourself. Shame fills you as you slide your hand between your legs, your other hand against your nose, breathing in the scent of Laszlo’s slick like the disgusting monster you know you are.

~

There are gloves on your desk. You’ve finally removed the bulk of the bandage on your hand, but you find it constantly irritated by everything you touch, and clearly Laszlo has noticed. Even last night while eating dinner, you’d struggled with holding your fork and knife without the bandage protecting the sensitive bitemarks. You lift the gloves, sighing at how soft they are, but the scent rolling off of them hits your nose and makes your face burn.

He’s scented them. Rubbed his pretty little chin on them until they smell so strongly of him that you want to bury your nose in them and huff for dear life. And yet, you can’t, because Laszlo is watching you keenly, and has been since you walked through the door to his office. You wonder if he regrets giving them to you. You wonder if he’s finally come to his senses, and realises you’re an overbearing Alpha knothead. Perhaps he’ll fire you.

You spiral until the door to the office opens, and John steps into the room with a lead. A prostitute he knew had indicated that her friend had heard something about the case and was willing to talk to you all. You stand with your notebook, following the men out of the office and down the street, your head buried in the clouds enough that you don’t even notice John and Laszlo whispering feverishly to each other. In fact, you don’t notice much until you’re brought into a rather high class brothel. Immediately, you smell the scent of ripe Omega and virile Alpha, and you instinctively posture in an almost mirror of John Moore. A young woman catches your eye, smiling with faux-shyness, though she straightens up as she notices obvious signs of your designation. You stand aside from the others, taking notes as you go, writing quick descriptions of anyone who looks at you three for too long.

“Here for business instead of pleasure, Alpha?” A young, redhead Omega woman asks, approaching you with a sultry smile on her face. You offer her a faint nod, lips quirked up into a smile as you try to look benign and uninteresting. She only seems to smile wider.

“I’m just taking notes for my coworkers.” You inform her, and she hums, sweeping a hand across your lower back as she circles you. You stiffen, but don’t remove her hand, painfully aware of appearances and how you may come off as aggressive even in these sorts of situations.

“You know, I almost didn’t even notice you. All these Alphas come in here, puffed up like peacocks, scent rolling off of them like they dumped a bottle of perfume over their heads. And then there’s you.” She smiles coyly, skimming her hand over your bicep where it bulges under your puffy sleeves, “I can’t smell you at all.”

You swallow, watching her intently, “Not at all?”

“Not even a little bit.” She pouts, leaning in far too close to your neck and breathing in deeply, and the only thing that stops you from yanking your wrist out of her delicate grip is the many eyes on you both, “not even up close. You must wear the really good scent blockers. You smell even less than a Beta.”

Your mind reels, and your growing panic begins to ease somewhat as you’re distracted by putting your thoughts together in a coherent order. You blink into awareness as Laszlo steps between you and the Omega woman, his hand pulling hers away from you, the slightest hint of a hiss slipping through as he breaks the contact.

“You’re making her uncomfortable.” He informs the Omega as if she didn’t realise, and she pouts.

“Aww, I’m sorry sugar, I can make it better for you if you like?”

Laszlo bares his teeth at her in a threat display that sends excited shivers racing down your spine, and you rub his arm gently to soothe him.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” You murmur to him, and he leans into your touch, “Did you get what you needed?”

“I did.”

“Then, let’s go. I’m sorry I couldn't help more.”

John joins you both and you all leave together, with the artist quickly filling you in on the conversation they’d had with his acquaintance’s friend. You listen, but your mind is warring with conflicting thoughts, until finally, you stop midstep.

“Are either of you able to smell me?”

“Pardon?” Laszlo asks, but John looks almost knowingly at you. There’s an understanding in his eyes, and it makes you uncomfortable, like when you find something out that everyone else appears to know.

“No, we can’t smell you. Aside from when the rain washed off your scent blocker, I’ve never got even a whiff of your actual scent.” The artist informs you with a gentleness to his tone, and you nod, the truth sinking in.

“Ah.”

“Quite.” John agrees, and you nod thoughtfully. Your worldview of the last couple of weeks tips on its head. How is it possible that you’ve been influencing Laszlo’s hormones and feelings with your scent if he isn’t even able to smell you? And if it isn’t possible, and thus you haven’t been influencing him, then what does that mean? What is going on? Does that mean that Laszlo actually does want you? Does that mean that all of the displays from Laszlo are real? What are you meant to do about that?

You’re the Alpha, but he’s the man. Suddenly, the rules become so much more complicated. Do you propose courtship, or does he?

You should, certainly, as the Alpha. But will he be offended if you do? He’s been pursuing you this entire time, surely that means he’s intending on proposing courtship to you, right?

What gift do you give him to propose courtship? It’s traditional to give something deeply personal and, preferably, luxurious. This gift represents what you want from the courtship, and can be largely symbolic instead of personal - expensive fabrics for comfort of home, jewellery for wealth of life, exotic foods for abundance of resources, children’s items for a large family. The options are endless. These gifts are not returned by the Omega if they should reject a courtship proposal either. Many Alphas nowadays only give an Omega something truly special if they know that their intended will accept them - otherwise, they go with something less personal and more symbolic. What if you give him something special and he doesn’t want it? What if he doesn’t want you?

Panic sparks, catching fire in your veins and boiling through your blood. You can feel your heartbeat pounding. You can feel it. The throbbing pulse of it in your ears drowns out all other sound. Your heart is a frightened bird in the cage of your ribs, frantically slamming against the walls of its enclosure and breaking its neck against the bars. 

You’re spiraling. Based on the looks on Laszlo and John’s faces, you’re visibly spiraling. You feel yourself moving but have no control of your own limbs. John grabs you suddenly, wrestling your arms down to your sides as the fresh scent of blood fills the air, and a sharp pain breaks through the anxious fog swirling in your mind. You roar as you’re restrained, instinct and panic building upon each other as you are guided into an alley out of view. John chuffs soothingly against your ear, big chest practically vibrating against your back with the effort of calming you down as he gets your wrists into one hand. The other grabs the back of your neck to squeeze and scruff you like a family member might scruff a younger Alpha. It breaks through some of the panic, and you take a deep, ragged breath of cold, fresh(ish) air to try and calm yourself down. Laszlo’s warm hands cup your face, and you lean into his palms, his quiet purring finally breaking through that last instinctive fight or flight response that had sent your mind into overdrive.

“Las.” You whisper, and he rubs his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the tears streaked upon your face. The scent of iron sticks in your nose, and you kick yourself when you notice you’ve bit down around the scent gland in your wrist the way you used to when you were younger and far more fearful. Or had you ever really grown out of the fear? Had you ever actually healed from the trauma of your presentation? Or had you simply learned to cope as best as you could while maintaining the appearance of sanity?

“Shh, Alpha, we’ve got you.” Laszlo promises, and you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. John chuffs softly, and you shiver something fierce as he rubs his chin against your scent gland in the way an older brother might - a little too rough, but affectionate and soothing.

“I… I think I’m okay.” You whisper, and John slowly releases your arms, rubbing your shoulders to help work out the inevitable pins and needles. You turn towards John, rubbing your chin over his scent gland gently, and the chuff you let out is a little choppy and disused. He’s blushing when you pull away, and his warm, woodsy scent sticks to you, blending with your own in an interesting way that feels very comforting. It wasn’t completely unheard of for two Alphas or two Omegas to get together, though it was certainly not the norm, and wasn’t a well-regarded decision. It was somewhat interesting to find how well your scent blended with John’s, in a way that to some might indicate you were sexually compatible, but to you felt far more like a familial relationship. You didn’t smell anything like your Alpha father, but your scents blended well, just as your scent blended well with your mother’s.

“You stink.” Laszlo informs you with an almost playful sneer, and you laugh at the disgruntled look on John’s face as you offer Laszlo your arm and let yourself by led from the alley, finally feeling like yourself again. 

~

Just over a week later, you place a box upon Laszlo’s desk. For once, you’ve managed to make it to the Institute before him, and you adjust the phthalo green gift box a couple of times to make sure it looks perfect. You adjust the ribbon, fluffing the bow up, and nearly jump out of your skin when Laszlo clears his throat behind you. Your cheeks burn as you slowly turn to face him, clearing your throat before you start talking, hoping to cut in before he has a chance to speak and throw you off your plan.

“I know that I might not be the ideal partner, and that you might have reservations about both my societal standing with regards to my recent and past public embarrassments, and my capability as an Alpha. But… but, should you accept me as your Alpha, I would love you in whatever way you desire to be loved. Not in the way that someone, or many someones, determine is the best way for you to be loved. Not in the way that I want to love you, Laszlo, but however you wish to be desired, pleasured, revered, and adored. I will give you anything you ask for - no, anything you desire at all, for I will endeavour to meet your needs before you even have cause to ask. I will always respect your intelligence, and swear to never make you diminish yourself to improve my own image. I will worship you in place of the God so many pledge their soul to. I will protect you, and any family we may or may not have. I will share in this life with you, should you… should you simply want me to.”

Your breath comes shaky, your nose stinging as you bite back a more emotional response, and you finally lift your gaze from the box in your hands to look Laszlo in the eyes. He looks soft. You pray he isn’t upset with you. You pray you’ve read this right. You beg every deity you’ve ever heard of that perhaps, just this once, you’ve gotten it right. Just this once, you’ve managed to convey yourself in the way you wish to be perceived, free of any chance of misinterpretation.

“You’re asking to court me?” Laszlo asks, his voice so soft, it’s barely a whisper. An exhale of shaky breath, disbelieving, and you swear you can almost hear his heart pounding. Or perhaps it’s your own, combined with wishful thinking that you could perhaps affect him as much as he affects you.

“I am.” You breathe, then hastily shove the gift box into his hand, a hint of panic in your movements. You’re the worst Alpha, too anxious to portray the smooth, easy confidence that so many Alphas are seemingly born with. Laszlo clears his throat, stepping past you to set the box on his desk and open it slowly. Inside, he finds a long jewellery box and a wider jewellery box. In the wide box lie a gold and emerald set of cufflinks and matching tie pin. Folded underneath it is a handsewn handkerchief of phthalo green, embroidered with both his initials, and your own, in gold thread. In the longer box, he finds an ovular gold locket wrought with intricate scrolling, which contains a portrait of you, and on the other face, a piece of fabric that is so heavily scented by you that you’d be shocked if it ever wore off. A small clip keeps it clasped inside, allowing it to be removed and re-scented when necessary.

You wet your lips as Laszlo goes through each item in the box, and you feel your chest tighten as he comes across the handkerchief, which you’d dyed and sewn yourself, and painstakingly embroidered your initials upon. You’d also scented it, and your cheeks grow hot as he brings it to his nose, breathing you in. You have to grab the edge of his desk to ground yourself when you see his eyes roll back in his head.

“You made this for me?” He whispers, and you nod hesitantly.

“I… I wanted my first courting gift - should you accept me, of course, I wouldn’t presume that you don’t have other options…”

“I do not have any desire for other options. Finish what you were saying.” Laszlo interjects, and you take a shaky breath.

“I wanted my first courting gift to… well, it’s a bit of a cheeky message, I suppose. I apologise. It is simply that… Well, appearances can be deceiving.” You murmur, pressing your thumb gently into the tie pin, which unclips into two pieces to show a sharp blade of metal hidden within. Not a dagger, but enough to do damage and defend oneself. The cufflinks, you show him, contain a hidden compartment in which you’ve hidden two small folded pieces of paper. One is the words which end nearly every German fairytale, which you quite liked for its morose nature and odd romance.

Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute.

‘And if they haven't died, they are still alive today.’

The second is a quote from Gustave Le Bon’s The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind which you had spoken with Laszlo at length about in the early days of your work with him. The quote was one which you quite liked, and Laszlo teased you for enjoying it so much. It had been one of the first times that you had ever heard him laugh. Even then, you’d remarked upon how much you liked the sound.

An individual in a crowd is a grain of sand amid other grains of sand, which the wind stirs up at will.

The secret of the handkerchief is not difficult to find - You’ve embroidered a simple message upon the bottom right hand corner of the handkerchief in phthalo green thread, making it difficult to see but obvious to the touch. ‘You hold my heart in your palm.’ He rubs it between his fingers several times, staring at the message to try and see it against the softer fabric. Eventually, he tucks it into his vest pocket, then picks up the chain of your last gift. Laszlo rubs his thumb over the face of the locket, and you smile as he examines it for several moments before looking up at you.

“And what secret does this treasure hide?”

“You’ll find it.” You reply softly, “you need not answer me immediately. All of this is yours, should you want me or no-”

A warm, large hand cups your face, still wrapped in the delicate gold chain, and you gasp as his thumb traces your lower lip. The locket thwaps against your collarbone, and you stare into Laszlo’s honey eyes until he leans forwards and presses his lips against yours. Your first kiss is dry, and perhaps a little awkward, for you’ve no idea what to do with yourself and frankly hadn’t been expecting it. Both of your breathing is loud, shaky, practically panting through your noses as you smooth your hands over his waist to hold onto him. Finally, he releases you, then strokes his fingertips over the imprint of the chain of his locket on your face.

“I accept your proposal.” He whispers, “Come home with me tonight. We have much to discuss.”

Cheeks on fire, you brush your fingers across his cheek, brushing through his beard to stroke the line of his jaw, “I would… very much like to scent you. May I?”

Your Omega - you can say that now that he’s accepted, so long as you can keep his interest long enough to convince him to mate you - tips his head to the side to expose his scent gland to you almost demandingly. You lean in, breathing him in and gently rubbing your chin against his scent gland, and Laszlo gasps as you swipe your tongue across the soft bump. His pheromones are tangy and electric on your tastebuds, and while some might find it a little unpleasant, you chuff against his skin with approval. You only lean away from him when he gives a disgruntled chirrup, but before you can panic, your Omega buries his face in your neck and rubs his chin against your scent gland.

“You smell so good.” You whisper, and Laszlo purrs against your skin, chest vibrating something fierce as he tries to encourage your body to override the scent blockers you’d applied that morning. A whine rises in his throat, and you feel the need to fix it, and make your Omega’s distress go away.

“I’ll wash it off.” You mumble, and his purring kicks up a notch. You kiss his forehead, his temple, and then his orbital bone, “I’ll be right back.”

You return from the bathroom, freshly washed as best as you could, to see Laszlo sitting at his desk wearing his courting gifts proudly. He gestures to the door, telling you to lock it, which you do with a bit of reluctance simply because you would never want him to think that you only want him for sex. His left cufflink rests on the desktop, and you circle his chair, picking it up and putting it on for him with gentle hands. Once you’re done, Laszlo gently encourages you into his lap, and while you hesitate to sit on him, you settle on kneeling on either side of his thighs to keep most of your weight off of him. Laszlo immediately takes the invitation to nuzzle into your scent gland, and he moans softly at the smell of you, his left hand squeezing your hip tightly. He rubs his chin aggressively against your scent gland until his beard smells like you, and you’ve begun to smell like him as well. That blending of scents soothes you, and you relax against him, nearly jumping out of your skin when Laszlo licks your scent gland and moans quietly at the taste.

“Enough.” You mutter, leaning in to catch his lips again, and kissing him soft as butterfly wings, “I’m going to court you properly, Las. And as much as I want to worship you and show you how much I want you, I won’t until we get towards the end of our courtship.”

Laszlo groans quietly, squeezing your hip tightly, then gently pushing, “Get up, Alpha. We will discuss this tonight.”

~

Later that evening, you find yourself draped across a large, comfortable sofa in Laszlo’s home with your Omega laying with his hips between your legs and his head nuzzled against your chest. You comb your fingers through his hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp, and he purrs loudly, melting you into a puddle of happy goo beneath him. When you first arrived, you both had tried to talk briefly about your firm stance of not having sex until later in your courtship. Laszlo was firmly of the opinion that sex would only strengthen your bond, and that he was well aware that you felt for him beyond the sexual desire between you. You, on the other hand, wanted to prove yourself to him as a good, nurturing Alpha that wanted him for more than just a pretty little Omega to knot.

In the end, you promised to table the discussion for now, and instead pulled him onto the couch with you. Laszlo was touch-starved, and you were adamant about fulfilling his very clear need for some snuggles. If you were being honest with yourself, you may admit you were a little touch-starved as well. Nothing felt more satisfying than having your Omega’s weight on your chest, his weak arm tucked between him and the back of the couch, and his good arm wrapped around you. Feeling the tension in his body bleed out of him as you pet his hair, and the way he nuzzles against your chest needily, his purr almost deafening - nothing could be better.

You press your lips to the top of his head, and he coos, leaning his head back to blink up at you so that you press your lips to his forehead instead. His long, pretty lashes brush against his skin as he closes his eyes, purring and nuzzling closer to you. Gentle as can be, you kiss his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and then the tip as well. You brush your lips across his cheeks, then tip his chin up, making eye contact with your Omega before you lean in to kiss him properly. Your lips move softly against his, deepening just a little when Laszlo tilts his head and pulls your lower lip into his mouth. With a soft chuff, you nip him softly, lapping at the roof of his mouth, and laugh as he gasps at your audacity.

Apparently he enjoys your audacity, because he cups your face, kissing you hard and licking into your mouth clumsily but eagerly. You sigh happily into the kiss, eyes rolling back in your head as he sloppily kisses your chin, sucking and biting your lips, his hips pressing ardently into yours. Laslo moans at the pressure against his erection, clearly already rock hard and leaking slick. You pet his cheeks, running your nails through his beard as you catch and suck on his tongue. You’re lulled by his purring, practically in a trance as he kisses you, your skirts pushed up nearly to your hips and your bloomers on full display. A soft moan slips through Lazlo’s lips as he ruts between your legs with little pulses of his hips, his knee pressed under your thigh to keep your legs spread.

“Las, darling.” You murmur against his lips, and he whimpers, biting your chin when you break the kiss, “you’re getting over-excited, little Omega.”

“Need you, Alpha.” Laszlo moans against your lips, and you sigh blissfully when he tilts his hips, the line of his cock rubbing perfectly against your cunt even through your layers. It feels so good - too good - and you struggle to regain your self-control. Laszlo’s nostrils flare as he catches the scent of your arousal, spicy and warm, and he groans, already starting to move to get a better whiff. You grip his hips to stop him and roll the both of you over, adjusting to make sure his arm doesn’t get trapped, and Laszlo gives an eager chirrup as you sit atop his hips.

“Relax, Omega. We’re just cuddling.”

“We could be doing more.” Laszlo reminds you, grabbing at your hip and looking up at you like he wants to devour you. You smile despite yourself, leaning down to kiss him again, then nipping the tip of his nose.

“We need to talk, Las.”

“I know. Where would you like to begin?” He asks, and you get up from the couch, pushing your skirts back down. Laszlo sits up so you can sit down, then drops his head into your lap so you can resume petting his hair.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to be a proper Alpha. I want you to understand what you’re getting into. I don’t want you to be… to be disappointed in me. I don’t want you to be unhappy with me, or suddenly realise you don’t want me. That’s why I want to abide by more traditional courting rules, despite the lack of… need for them, I suppose.” You murmur, and your Omega sighs quietly, like he expected the topic but hoped you wouldn’t bring it up as well.

“I know what I’m getting into. I know you. I know your fears, and your desires. I know the little things that bother you day to day, and how easy it is to bring you joy. I know the way you feel about yourself, and what you are. I know the trauma that weighs on you regarding your presentation, and I can empathise in a way that few others could. I understand how you feel about your responsibilities as an Alpha, and how your caring nature has affected that view. I know that you believe that your father is a bad example of an Alpha because your father did not show the same care and love to your mother as you do for me when they had been together since they were young adults, and we only just began courting. I know that unlike seemingly every other Alpha I have ever met - including John, who I consider a very good example of an Alpha - you believe that I hold all the power in our relationship. I know that you suffer from a severe need for control, not of others, but of yourself. Induced by your presentation, and the subsequent ridicule you received, and executed in many ways including your self-biting habit. I know that you would hurt yourself before you ever hurt me, either emotionally or physically. I know that I trust you enough that you are one of the only people who know the truth of my arm.” Laszlo practically rants to you, his voice gentle but passionate as he shifts up until his lower back is resting against your thigh, his upper body resting against yours and his head pillowed on your chest. You wrap your arms around him to support him, rubbing his arm with one hand and his stomach with the other.

“I want to give you the chance to change your mind. Once I have you, I won’t ever be able to bring myself to let you go, Laszlo. Already, the idea of having to let you go is… is nearly inconceivable. You have to have the chance to know me and… and choose not to keep me. Otherwise I would never forgive myself for claiming you, knowing that if you regretted it, it would kill me to release you.” You admit, and Laszlo takes a shaky breath, clinging a little tighter to you.

“I won’t change my mind.”

“Neither will I.”

~

You wake to hazy light filtering through the gauzy curtains, and the warm weight of Laszlo nestled against the front of your body. He’s curled up tightly, your knees scooped behind his to press yourself firmly against his back, and your arm is looped possessively around his waist. You’re dressed in a pair of Laszlo’s sleeping pants and an old shirt of his, unprepared for this impromptu sleepover that you’d been conned into by your Omega, but you won’t complain about getting more time to hold him. You nuzzle your face into the curve of his shoulder, breathing in the sweet floral smell of him straight from his scent glands, and he relaxes in your embrace. There’s a tangy note to the air that registers more and more in your mind as you wake up, blinking your eyes open to look at the warm expanse of Laszlo’s freckled and beauty-marked skin before you.

Something stirs in your chest, and you feel the sharpness of your own fangs against your lower lip as you chuff instinctively. The beast inside of you awakens having your Omega so close, and you tamp down on your impulses as best as you can even as you feel a swelling and growing between your legs. It’s not an extremely familiar sensation - you haven’t often played with your anatomy the way you can as a female Alpha - but you recognise it enough not to panic. The tangy scent settles in the back of your throat, coating your tongue, and you finally connect the dots. The spice of your own arousal begins to fill the air as you stroke your hand in slow, deliberate circles on Laszlo’s stomach.

“I know you’re awake, naughty little thing.” You whisper, and Laszlo purrs, turning his head to look at you with lust-blown pupils.

“Alpha.” He murmurs, practically a moan, “I can feel you.”

“I know you can. You’re tempting me with this sweet Omega cunt, aren’t you?” You growl, running your hand over his ass and squeezing gently. A new wave of tang fills your nose, and you nuzzle against the back of his neck, licking a stripe up to his ear.

“Need you.” Laszlo purrs so prettily, tilting his head to expose more of his throat, and you take the invitation to rub against his scent gland possessively.

“I can smell it on you, Las. So, so needy. How did I end up with such a ripe little Omega slut?” You croon, and Laszlo arches against you with a whimper, “Must’ve done something right to get a chance with a sweet little thing like you.”

Laszlo shivers, grabbing your hand to force it under his shirt, and you splay your fingers out over his belly possessively. His body hair tickles your palm as you stroke over planes of bare skin, chuffing softly against his neck. He rocks his ass back into your pelvis, and you gasp against his shoulder at the firm pressure against your growing erection. As soon as he feels it properly, Laszlo moans, reaching back to try and touch you. You’re not quite fast enough to grab his hand, and you groan as it closes around your cock, the pressure too much and simultaneously exquisite.

“Gentle, Las, gentle.” You murmur, and Laszlo lets go, rolling over so he can grab at you a little softer. He slips his hand under the waistband of your borrowed pants, and you gasp for air as he rolls his thumb over the head of your cock. You look down at yourself, and thank God that you look relatively how you expected. The last time you’d seen your cock was during your first rut, in a miserable week locked in your room as a teenager. Since then, you had gotten hard a few times, but never looked at yourself as you took yourself in hand or humped a pillow. Your cock is large, as is typical of an Alpha, with a rounded bulge at the base that would later swell into your knot.

“Want it.” Laszlo mumbles, and you laugh quietly, hooking your fingers in the edge of his waistband to slowly pull his sleeping pants down under his cock. He moans as you close your hand around him, stroking in slow, gentle pumps of your hand. He’s leaking slick from his cock, coating your hand and easing the glide, but you are far drier, and it’s a little uncomfortable. You guide him onto his back, laughing as he gives an eager whimper as you pull his sleeping pants down out of the way. You press your cock against his, wrapping your hand around the both of you and setting a firm but eager pace. 

“I’m going to make you come, Las. Can’t have anyone smelling all this slick pouring out of my sweet little Omega and thinking your Alpha isn’t taking care of you. Is that what you want? You want people to think your Alpha isn’t taking care of you? Am I neglecting you?” You coo, and Laszlo shakes his head, clinging to his bedsheets.

“No, Alpha, you’re not neglecting me. You’re taking good care of me.” Your Omega insists, and you nuzzle against his throat, rubbing your chin against his scent gland.

“Needy thing. Such a little slut, I don’t know if you’ll be able to make it through the courtship period. I’m surprised I didn’t wake up to you climbing onto my knot.” You tease, and Laszlo groans, his cheeks pink as he stares up at you with half-lidded chocolate eyes.

“Close. Alpha, please, close!” Laszlo groans, and your laugh is laced with love and affection as you stare down at your Omega.

“Mine.” You whisper, and he nods frantically, bucking his hips up into your grip.

“Yours. Yours!” Laszlo cries out as he reaches his orgasm, coming across your fingers and his own stomach. You prop yourself up above him, letting go of his cock and instead jerking yourself off above him. Laszlo pants for breath, his good hand stroking up and down over your side as he stares hungrily at your cock.

“So fucking pretty. Can’t wait to claim you, Las, can’t wait to make you mine.” Your pace falters as you get closer, the scent of spent and happy Omega sending you reeling. Your breathing is heavy, practically panting for breath as you rut into your hand.

“Come for me, Alpha. Want it.” Laszlo begs, and you groan, spilling across his trembling stomach. He’s covered in you, his own cum drowned out by your heavy load, and you nuzzle against him lovingly as you lick the sweat from his throat. You drop your hand, swiping your fingers through your cum and rubbing it into his scent glands while Laszlo stares up at you with wide eyes. Once he’s covered, you tear your shirt over your head and clean up his stomach. You pull up his sleeping pants, then your own, peppering kisses across his face.

“I need to go home to change, sweetheart.” You murmur as you roll him onto his side and snuggle up against his back, “let me feel you for a little while before I go. And you better not wash that off. I want everyone to know who you belong to, and that I’m keeping my Omega happy.”

~

You spend almost every night at your Omega’s house for the next two weeks despite your parents’ concern for what remains of your reputation. You’ve moved your nesting trunk to Laszlo’s spare bedroom, along with a suitcase of your clothing and other belongings to avoid having to go home in the morning before going to work. Every night, you curl up around your Omega, showing him the love and affection he so desperately needs. You help him dress every morning, eat breakfast with your hand holding his weaker one, take a carriage to work with him, and leave with him every evening. You give him a music box at the end of the first week of courtship, and you can’t help but smile every time you hear the gentle tinkling of it.

At the end of the second week, you give him a silk phthalo green robe that made you think of him, heavily scented just for him. He wears it every morning from then on, and you beam as one lazy Saturday, he puts on the gramophone in his family room and walks around in his robe. You sneak up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist and using the other to grab his hand and spin him to face you.

“What are you doing?” Laszlo asks, and you grin, guiding his weak hand to your hip.

“Dancing with you.” You hum teasingly, and he rolls his eyes at your cheek, letting you bully him into a fairly acceptable waltz. Neither of you are particularly good dancers, but you make it fun, and you delight at the small smile that tugs at his lips as you use your strength to lift him just barely off the ground so you can spin him with you. When you put him down barely a second later, he lifts his strong arm and spins you, and your heart beats wildly in your chest at his playfulness. You both dance around together happily, laughing when you trip on the edge of the carpet and nearly topple the both of you over.

After a few minutes of dancing and nearly an hour of recovery cuddling on Laszlo’s sofa, you both get ready for your day and take a walk through the park. Lunch is a picnic of snacks you made for the both of you, and Laszlo reads to you while you trade between giving him a piece of food, and then yourself. He smiles every time you try to feed him mid-sentence, unable to help himself despite his obvious distaste for being interrupted every few seconds. On your way home, you stop by a jeweler to pick up your latest gift for Laszlo, and he demures at your side as you are handed a ring box. He tries to peek over your shoulder to see what lies inside when you pop it open to look at it and approve the piece, but you turn away from him, tutting.

“I’ll give it to you in a minute, sweetheart, have patience.” You coo teasingly, and he has to work not to pout since you’re both in public. When you get back home (when did you start calling it home?) you lay with your head in Lazlo’s lap while he reads to you, and you glance up at him through your lashes to catch him glancing at the pockets of your poofy navy dress. The next time you look up at him, you catch him staring again, and you giggle, startling him out of his reverie.

“You really want your present, don’t you, sweet?”

Laszlo purses his lips, and you grin, sitting up.

“I suppose I should give it to you, shouldn’t I? You’ve been very patient.” You muse, pulling the ring box from your pocket and opening it with a flourish. Inside lays a stunning cameo ring modelled after yourself, the lines smooth and reminiscent of a marble statue. It’s white on a backing of black stone, and the ring is made of gold with delicate scrolling. Inside the band lies your initials, a possessive statement just for him, and you watch his face soften as he studies the ring carefully. A heady sigh leaves his lips as he strokes the pad of his finger across the cameo of your face, his eyes going half-lidded.

“This is… stunning. It must have cost you a fortune. You didn’t need to-” Laszlo begins, and you cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a huff.

“I wanted to. I want to spoil my Omega, and show him how much I adore him.” You interrupt him, and you watch his eyes go half-lidded and dreamy.

~

It begins with a trip to the opera. In the last week of your courtship, you had been sleeping at your parent’s home more often, preparing your things to be moved and finishing up your final gift for your Omega. Laszlo had warned you early on that he didn’t have a nesting trunk of his own for various familial reasons, though his mother had given him a blanket that she treasured. To compensate, you had gone through your entire trunk to see what might be missing, bought several expensive fabrics that you thought Laszlo might like, and arranged for a shopping trip with Sara and John to give him what he should have had to begin with. In order to distract Laszlo while Sara and John schemed up his surprise, you had made the mere mention of being interested in going to a show. Your Omega jumped on the opportunity with open arms, arranging for you both to go to dinner and the opera together.

It began with the opera, but now, had somehow led to you being pushed up into a dark corner during intermission while Laszlo shoved his hand under your voluminous skirts to stroke his fingers against your cunt. You bite your lip to keep quiet as Laszlo strokes his fingers across your clit, murmuring praise against your throat as he works you into compliance. You’re on half-doses of your rut blockers and heat blockers in preparation for the end of your courtship, and the evidence is obvious in how you can’t keep your hands off of each other. Laszlo had even tried making a case for why if he fucked you, it wouldn’t count, because there wouldn’t be any knotting involved. His desire to bend and rewrite the rules was duly noted, but you were adamant about waiting.

Less so now, with two of the good doctor’s fingers buried in your cunt, his skillful thumb rubbing devastating circles around your clit.

“Las, someone is going to catch us.” You moan quietly, and Laszlo purrs, nipping at your scent gland.

“Not if you stay quiet.” He retorts, and you scoff at his brazenness.

“You’re meant to mingle during intermission, Las, someone will notice us missing.”

“They won’t find us. Let me make you feel good, Alpha, you spend so much time devoted to my care - shouldn’t I be able to devote a little to yours?” Laszlo asks, and you chuff, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Please, Las.” You moan, and his purring gets louder as he moves his fingers faster, lapping at your scent gland eagerly. Pressure builds inside of you, white hot pleasure compounding until a swift flick of Laszlo’s thumb sends you tumbling over the edge. You bite down on Laszlo’s shoulder to avoid being too loud, trembling against him as he guides you through your orgasm. Panting for breath, you run your fingers back through Laszlo’s hair and pull him up into a proper kiss.

“You’re so beautiful when you come.” Your Omega whispers against your lips, and you sigh blissfully, petting his tummy lovingly.

“S’been a while since I came like that. You’re so obsessed with my cock.” You murmur, and Laszlo scoffs, gripping your hip tightly. Heat shoots through you, burning under your skin as your Omega nips and sucks your lower lip into his mouth.

“I want all of you. I can’t wait until you finally let me sink into your warm, tight cunt.” Laszlo corrects you, then pops his fingers into his mouth to clean them while you stare with blown pupils and half-lidded eyes.

“We should get back to our seats. Intermission should be over soon.” Laszlo comments, and you nod obediently, following him in a satiated and happy daze. He’s smug and you know it, but you don’t mind it after getting to come in the middle of an opera show.

~

After a lavish dinner, Laszlo snuggles up to you on the carriage ride home, blissful with the knowledge that in only one more day, he’s able to stop taking his heat blockers. After that, he’ll never need to take them again if he doesn’t want to. One more day and he can have his Alpha’s knot, and get the chance to experience fucking his Alpha in his nest, and maybe even finally become a father. He can’t take his hands off of you now that you’ve got him used to being touched whenever and however he likes. He’s never considered himself anything close to spoiled before, but now? Now, he knew he was overindulged. Every night without you in his bed was a struggle, and this last week, his sleep had been poor at best.

“Las? We’re home.” You murmur, and he sits up a little, just the way you say ‘home’ sending butterflies through his stomach. He slips from the carriage, offering you his arm and smiling at the way you take it without any offense. He loves that you take such good care of him, but he also loves that you let him care for you without acting like it’s some sort of insult to your designation. You let him push you around, most especially when you both are playing, even allowing him once to scruff you and push you down onto the bed beneath him. Caged in by his body, you let him bite into your shoulder, his still-clothed hips rutting against your bottom, treating you like you were his Omega instead of the other way around. No other Alpha that he knew of would be so confident and self-assured in their designation that they would allow him that. You let him bend you over however he likes, pinning you down beneath his weight and threatening against your ear to tie you up. He loves to see you beneath him, most especially when you’ve removed your corset and he can feel the soft curve of your back under his hands.

Omegas love soft things, and you are the softest thing he’s ever touched. Skin soft as silk, lips like flower petals, breasts plush like the expensive pillows on his sofa, and hair always well-cared for and smooth because of how much effort you put into brushing it every day. He covets you. Laszlo can’t imagine not having your softness now that he’s luxuriated in it for so long. He thinks about you so often it almost distracts him from his work - your scent, your voice, the way you hold him, the way you sneeze, the way you laugh when you don’t expect to find something funny, and the way you smile when you see him and your eyes sparkle like you’ve never seen anything more beautiful in the world.

Laszlo opens the front door for you, biting back a grin at the dainty little curtsy you give him with a cheeky smile on your face. He follows you inside, and you pause, giving a very unconvincing gasp that instantly draws his attention. He pauses partway through removing his coat, almost instinctively giving a confused chirrup before he asks what’s wrong. He finishes removing his coat, hanging it, then approaching you to help take yours off as well.

“Oh! What is this?” You ask, and Laszlo raises an eyebrow at your odd, theatrical tone. He slips his arm around your waist from behind to peer over your shoulder, pressing a couple of kisses to the curve of your neck. In the centre of the floor lies an ornate trunk of dark wood with gold clasps. He raises an eyebrow, lifting the latch with all the care one might use while handling a bomb, and opening the trunk trepidatiously. The green lined interior protects its contents, though they won’t be in the trunk for much longer - considering the look in Laszlo’s eyes, it’s obvious that matters little to him, for he’s white-knuckling the lid.

“You did this for me?” He asks in quiet awe, and you giggle, while John and Sara step out from around the corner. They’d complied with your flare for the dramatic despite claiming Laszlo would be unnerved by the surprise until it was revealed to him.

“Not without the help of your friends.” You reply, touching his lower back and beaming as he reaches into the trunk. The first thing he pulls out is a pillow made of fabric so soft it feels like butter, but filled with stuffing so firm that it is evidently made for support. Sara steps forwards, rubbing the scent gland on her wrist against Laszlo’s in a quick, platonic show of love.

“It’s supportive. For your arm. I hope it gives you some much-deserved comfort.” She hums, rubbing your tricep as she steps up next to you, “I don’t have a particularly strong scent, but I did scent it for you. Your Alpha told me you’d like that.”

Laszlo shivers, and you rub his lower back supportively. He puts the pillow down, picking up the first blanket in the trunk, a silky thing that runs through his hands almost like liquid.

“I thought you’d like the colour. It’s… well, it was for a dress, but I asked if it could be hemmed and made into a blanket for you because it’s so soft, and the blue is so unique.” John explains with pink rising in his cheeks, “The tassels are made with one of my old shirts, and I scented it too. Your Alpha insisted it was okay.”

You hum your approval despite how unusual it is for an Alpha to allow their Omega to nest with materials from a non-familial Alpha, squeezing Laszlo’s waist as he processes these gifts from his closest friends. Laszlo pulls a thinner sheet and pillowcases from the trunk, which you indicate are a gift from Teddy, and then a thicker winter blanket that came from the Isaacsons and his staff. Finally, at the bottom of the trunk lay his final courtship gift. He recognises it immediately although he’s only seen it once, very early in your time working for him. He had visited you at home while your parents were away with family, desperately needing notes you had taken of the case to confirm a conclusion he had come to over dinner. It was too late at night for a man to visit a woman, but propriety had never been one of Laszlo’s key skills. You had been working on the blanket when he arrived, and he caught sight of it when you invited him inside. He’d been stunned by the embroidery work, and covetous even then when he only knew you as his employee, and the gentlest Alpha he’d ever known.

Now, he holds the delicate blanket in his hands, rubbing the embroidery between his fingers and marvelling at how soft it is. He nuzzles his face against the fabric, breathing in the heavy warm smell of his Alpha, noting how different parts of the blanket have traces of variations of your scent. He can smell a younger you working on this blanket throughout your life, preparing it for your future Omega. For him. He thinks of you then, gentle hands carefully, painstakingly sewing, dreaming of having him to yourself one day in the future. He wonders if you imagined anyone like him when you dreamed of your Omega while a younger you worked on the blanket. He can smell the anguish of your just-presented self starting the blanket as you languish in your isolation. He can smell the hope of your young adulthood, the lack of surety as you reach the age most young women are mated, and the hopeless despair as you drift closer to the age of spinsterhood. More recently, he can smell your desire, your hope, your happiness, and most key of all, your love.

“You finished it.” Laszlo murmurs, and you smile, nuzzling your face into the back of his shoulder.

“I did. It is part of why I slept at my parent’s house for a time, despite how much you complained about it and tried to get me to reconsider.”

“I didn’t complain that much, szerelmem.” Laszlo corrects you, and you snicker, rubbing his hips as you press yourself up against his back even in the presence of your friends. Neither Sara nor John seems upset about it.

“I’m sure you believe you didn’t. You didn’t have to listen to it all day while trying to type up your notes at work.” You mutter against his shoulder, and Laszlo scoffs playfully, stroking your hand on his belly.

“Home smells more like you.” Your Omega comments after a moment, a smile growing on his face as he begins to put the pieces of what you’ve done together. He’d been dreading the move, worried about looking useless in front of your parents, as he wouldn’t physically be able to carry as much as you.

“John, Cyrus, Stevie, the twins, and Sara were kind enough to move my belongings into your home.”

“Our home.” Laszlo corrects you, twisting his head a little and kissing the high point of your cheek even though John and Sara were right there.

“Our home.” You agree with a smile, “say goodbye to your friends, little Omega. We’re going to go through your nesting materials and start building your first nest.”

Laszlo’s breathing instantly deepens, and you nuzzle your nose behind his ear as he swallows, then clears his throat. As he turns, John puts his hands up immediately, cheeks pink.

“Yes, right, well, I’m happy for you both. I… uhm, I hope the nesting goes well. I will escort Ms. Howard home.” John insists, his embarrassment clear. Sara laughs, but for possibly the first time you’ve ever seen, she accepts John’s arm and, based on her body language, appears to escort the Alpha from the Kreizler home. Once the door closes behind them, you slip your hands under Laszlo’s vest to pull his shirt out of his trousers, then skim your hands up under both layers. You splay your hands across his belly and he sighs blissfully as you rub your teeth against his scent gland.

“Go upstairs, sweet thing. I’ll bring all this upstairs so we can strip the bed and get your nest ready, okay?” You purr, and Laszlo shivers excitedly, then heads for the stairs at a quick pace, his cheeks pink with desire. You watch him go with a smile, bending and lifting the trunk easily despite its solid weight. Laszlo’s honey-brown eyes stare down from the landing, and you can’t help but smirk as he licks his lips before he continues up the steps at a quicker pace. You follow, leisurely, the sound of your Omega’s loud purring from the bedroom reaching your ears despite the distance. As you enter the room, you find he’s already nearly stripped the entire bed, and you croon praise at his eagerness as you set the trunk down next to your own. Laszlo preens, opening the trunks while you finish stripping the bed and securing it against the two walls. Together, you line the bed with pillows, then trap them in place atop the bed with a secured sheet. Once that is finished, you back off, petting Laszlo’s arms and helping him take off his vest so he’ll be more comfortable as he works.

A nest is an Omega’s role, and they take great pride in them. It’s an instinctual process, seeming to come naturally to them, and you’d seen countless Omegas work on them when you were in prep school. You yourself had tried, but you didn’t have the same passion for it. That maybe should’ve been a sign. Laszlo, you know, has never built one before, but his eyes light up as he begins to tuck blankets into place. First, thicker layers to protect the shape of his nest and provide comfort. Then, he moves on to softer layers that will feel good against his skin. Pillows are added for extra plush, and you’re happy to see that he finishes the bed with the blanket you made for him. You praise him throughout the process despite understanding very little of his decision-making, knowing he needs to hear how good he’s doing. He’s doing this for both of you - it should be appreciated as the gift it is. As the gift he is. It’s a long process, made longer by the way that Laszlo keeps pausing to adjust, tuck and re-tuck blankets, and fluff pillows. Finally, however, he appears to be happy. His purring is near deafening as he sits in his nest, feet tucked under him as he surveys his little kingdom like a little prince.

“Look at you, sweetheart. You’ve done such a good job.” You croon, and Laszlo tips his chin up proudly, “Can your Alpha come in?”

“Now.” Laszlo insists urgently, and you obey, crawling up into the nest carefully to avoid messing anything up. He kisses you the moment you’re close enough, and you sigh happily into it, pulling him closer.

“Such a good Omega. Are you excited for your first proper heat?” You murmur as you kiss the point of his cheek. He nods eagerly despite a hint of trepidation.

“Nervous, but I am excited.”

You smile.

“May I confess? I am too. But, I can’t wait to mate you and make you mine. I can’t wait to give you children, however you want them.” You purr, and Laszlo groans quietly, his hand fisting in your dress.

“Take this off?” He asks, and you raise an eyebrow. It takes a moment before you concede. He’s been so good this entire time, and you know he wants so desperately. He’ll probably be in heat by the morning at this rate. Who are you to deny him? You let him help you strip out of your layers, and you don’t stop him when he gets to the last piece of fabric blocking you from his sight. He takes it off carefully, with your help, pupils blown to the size of saucers as he takes you in. You help him with his shirt, and then his trousers, pausing at his undershirt.

“Are you sure, Omega?” You ask, and Laszlo agrees before you can even finish the question. He presses you back into the nest once he’s as bare as you, both naked as the day you were born despite it only being early evening. You let him take control, fueled by the elation of finishing his first nest and getting his Alpha’s enthusiastic approval. He purrs as he licks his way into your mouth, devouring your lips in his eagerness, his hips gently rolling into yours as if he can’t help himself. You gently push him back, and he whines, but you shush him as you stroke his cheeks and kiss his nose.

“Does my pretty little Omega want to mount his Alpha?” You ask, your voice soft and velvety, and Laszlo groans weakly.

“Please. Please, Alpha, need you. Let me, please, I’ll be good.” He begs, and you smile at the unbridled lust in his eyes as you crawl onto your hands and knees, then sink down until your face is pressed into the soft fabrics of his nest. Presenting for your Omega. You’re shocked you aren’t struck by lightning immediately.

“Fuck.” Laszlo mutters, and you’re shocked at his cursing, but you’re more shocked by the feeling of him rubbing his cock against your cunt sloppily.

“Gentle, sweetheart.” You murmur, and he nods as he presses the head into your soft warmth. It’s bigger than your fingers. Bigger than anything you’ve had before, but you’re eager and wet enough to ease the glide. Nowhere near as wet as an Omega, but enough to let Laszlo thrust his hips and not hurt too badly as he sinks all the way in to the hilt. There’s a bit of a pinch, but you grin and bear it for your sweet Omega.

“Feels so good. You feel so good, Alpha, oh god.” Laszlo breathes, kissing his way up your spine as he crawls over your back to use his weight to force you further into the nest.

“Nice and slow, Omega. You’re my first, remember? I’m all yours.” You coo, and Laszlo practically sobs against your shoulder, nodding his head mindlessly.

“Mine. So warm. So soft, Alpha, I need-” He cuts himself off, groaning and balancing as best as he can, “can I move? Please!”

You stretch out beneath him, getting comfortable on your knees before nodding with a blissful sigh. Laszlo takes a moment to find the right pace for him, choppy and short thrusts to start that seem to be mostly born out of desperation at the intense feeling of being inside of his Alpha before he finally gets a hold of himself and slows down a little. He’s thicker than the average Omega, but average in length, and he fills you perfectly as if you were meant for each other. Soft moans fall from your lips as he begins to thrust deeper, slower, supporting himself on his good arm as best as he can. You push up a little to give him something to lean on, supporting his chest with your back, and he presses kisses against your neck in appreciation. 

It feels like heaven to have your Omega inside of you. He’s so eager, hips rutting into your ass and drawing little ‘ah ah ah’s from his lips with every thrust. You groan for him, and he moans in response, nuzzling his face into your neck to try and cope with how good you feel wrapped around him. You reach between your legs, stroking your fingertips across your clit in loose circles, then tighter as you build yourself closer to your orgasm with every thrust. Your Omega’s angle has him rubbing against a spot inside of you that feels like heaven, and you shiver as you get closer and closer, your cunt fluttering around Laszlo’s cock. You don’t expect him to last very long, and he doesn’t, but you’re not surprised. This is also his first time, and he’s been waiting a very long time to finally get to come inside of you - you’re honestly a little surprised he even lasted as long as he did.

When he comes, it is far more than you were expecting. His hips stutter as he fucks his cum deeper into you, and you moan as that sudden feeling of fullness triggers your orgasm, sending you reeling. You press your face into the sheets, practically drooling as your Omega floods your cunt with his spend, and part of you hopes it takes just as much as you hope it doesn’t. You know Laszlo wants to carry your first baby, and you’re bound to put pups in him during his heat - it would be inconvenient to be pregnant together, even as much as it would be blissful. 

You groan with surprise as Laszlo’s sharp little teeth sink into your mating gland from behind, his hips pressed tightly against your ass like he’s trying to keep everything inside you with his weight alone. You’re claimed. Your Omega has claimed you - made you his and only his, so long as you claim him in return. Blood trickles down your throat, but Laszlo chases it, licking it up with that clever little tongue. You sink deeper into the nest, happy little chuffs escaping you as newly-mated bliss sinks in bone deep. 

“You’re going to get oversensitive, my little Omega. You can pull out, sweet, it’s okay.” You purr, and Laszlo adjusts on his knees as he laps at your new bond mark. Finally, he pulls out of you, then curls up around your back with his hand stroking your hip and belly.

“I love you.” He murmurs, exhausted, and you smile as you snuggle closer to him.

“I love you too, Omega. Sleep. Your heat is going to settle in soon.”

He’s asleep before you finish speaking.

~

You wake to the scent of tang and sweetness cloying and heavy, filling your nose and sinking into your brain almost like it’s taking control of you. You blink awake, breathing in deeply, and a heavy weight rubbing against your soft heat tells you everything you need to know.

Laszlo’s heat has settled in, and your little Omega is desperate.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” You croon, and Laszlo moans in response. You sit up and find your Omega achingly hard, his thighs and the blankets beneath him soaked with his slick. Licking your lips, you pat his hip, “Up. Present for me if you want my knot, Omega.”

Laszlo’s on his knees in an instant, legs spread and sunk down into his nest so eagerly he looks desperate.

“Sweet little slut. Look at you.” You praise him, stroking his hips, smacking his pert little ass, then sliding your hand between his legs to cup and stroke his cock, “God, you smell fertile. I can smell how badly you need my knot, Omega. You’ve soaked your new nest.”

Laszlo whimpers, and you grin, settling in behind him and swiping your tongue over his twitching hole. A fresh wave of slick rolls down his perineum, and you coo mockingly as you lick it up.

“Never seen an Omega this slutty, Las. I could put my big cock in you in one thrust and it wouldn’t even hurt you. No prep. Is that what you want? Want me to fuck you nice and ruthless?” You ask. Your Omega nods against the blankets, drool pooling under his pretty little mouth as he moans for you. You stroke his cock gently, grip loose and lazy as you roll the flat of your tongue across his hole.

“Need it, Alpha!” Laszlo cries, and you chuckle, biting his asscheek.

“Need it, huh? Need my cock in your tight little Omega cunt? What’re you gonna do if I don’t give it to you?”

“I’ll die!” Laszlo insists dramatically, and you laugh as you get up onto your knees behind him, rubbing your thumb across his twitching, leaking cunt. The head of your cock sinks into Las so easily it’s like he’s sucking you in, and his heady moan is loud and pleading, drool pooling under his mouth. You take it slow despite being able to feel that you don’t need to - Laszlo is truly deep into his heat already, sleeping through his preheat just like you’d hoped. He’s wet enough that his slick squelches as you pull out then sink back in deeper, displaced by your cock and welling up around the rim of his perfect hole. You lean over his back, adjusting your hips to let yourself sink deeper, and Laszlo sobs as he feels your knot pressing against the rim of his cunt. 

“Please! Alpha, Alpha, please, knot me, I need it!” He begs, and you nuzzle against his neck as you pull out, then push back in nice and slow. Laszlo’s cunt clenches up around you, trying desperately to milk you as he comes for the first time of the day. You pet his hips, praising him for making a nice little mess of his nest, then pull out of him and thrust in again without giving him a chance to breathe. He sobs for more as you begin to fuck him in earnest, deep and a little rough, but nowhere near the fast sloppy thrusts of a rut-crazed Alpha. You’re mindful enough that you’re able to treat him right, dropping a hand between his legs to stroke him as you fuck deeper into him, your cockhead kissing his cervix.

“You want my pups, Omega?” You tease, and Laszlo moans wordlessly, his eyes rolling back in his head as he presses back on you in answer, “Ohh, good answer, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck a baby into you, make you round with my seed. I’ll keep you nice and knotted your whole heat so you have no choice, yeah? Is that what you want? Your Alpha to fuck her knot into you and keep you brainless on it until your heat passes?”

“Yes!” Laszlo cries, and you grin against the back of his neck as he comes again, covering your hand as much as the nest. He watches with half lidded eyes as you lift your fingers to your lips and lick them clean, and you giggle as his cock gives a weak throb in response. He’ll be hard again in a minute, but you don’t give him the chance to recover. Instead, you use your knees to spread his legs further, lifting his hips a little and setting a brutal pace. You want your Omega brainless on your knot, and you’re going to get it. You want to relish in the experience before your rut settles in and makes you wild.

“You feel so good, Las. So fucking good. Sweet little virgin Omega cunt so tight around me I don’t even know if I’ll get my knot in. You’re so wet. Such a good little breeder slut, slick dripping down your thighs, fucked out around my cock with every fucking thrust. S’getting creamy.”

Laszlo pushes back on you eagerly, and you groan as your knot slips past his rim, then back out, and the reaction is immediate. Your Omega cries out as he rocks back on you, and each time your knot slips inside, he sobs with relief. Each time it slips back out, he moans with frustration.

“Want my knot?”

“Yes!”

“Want me to bite your pretty little neck, make you mine?”

“Yes! Please, Alpha, stop teasing!”

“Gonna milk my cock with this perfect Omega cunt?”

“Alpha!” Laszlo’s cries grow more desperate, and you pull him back against you, pushing his head to the side so you can sink your teeth into his mating gland. He screams, and you push your knot into him one last time as you finally come together for the first time. A guttural groan rattles your chest as you lick his mating bond clean, your hands stroking down over his body to pull him closer. Your knot swells, locking you both together, and you use your strength to carefully move you both onto your sides so you can snuggle up against your mate while you fill him up. Laszlo moans quietly as you rub his belly, feeling the slight bulge as you pump him full of cum.

Soft snores fill the air as you relax into your nest, and you kiss Laszlo’s shoulder, proud to have put him to sleep on your knot. You know it won’t last long. You can already feel your rut setting in.

“Rest while you can, sweet thing. I’m going to make you a father, just like you asked me to.”

~

Your vision is hazy. Desperate, hungry, thirsty, love, need. It all burns through you as your rut sets in, and you hold Lazlo tighter to you as you fold him half, his knees nearly up to his ears. You’re knot-deep inside of him, fucking your own cum out of his sloppy hole as he cries out for more, more, always more. Your perfect little Omega. All yours.

“Mine.” You growl, and Laszlo sobs a loud ‘yours!’ in response as you fuck his rim with your knot. Over and over again, feeling it stretch around you, wanting you to lock with him again. You’ve filled him countless times already over the last couple of days, putting him to sleep on your knot as many times as you can to give him just a brief break. Bathed him, fed him, rubbed cream into his body and then did it all over again every single day for nearly a week. It isn’t a surprise. Being on suppressants this long is ill-advised. Normal heats and ruts only last a few days once they’re regular. Four at most.

“Alpha!” Laszlo cries, and you kiss his mating bond, forcing your knot into him and pinning him there, then wrapping your hand around his cock and stroking it until he screams as he covers his belly in cum. His chest vibrates as you growl your release, your knot locking into his soft body for hopefully the last time this heat cycle.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet.” You murmur, and Laszlo pants for breath, nuzzling his cheek against yours. 

“Love you.” He whispers, and you kiss him softly, and briefly since he’s already struggling to breathe.

“Love you too, Las.”

~

Laszlo Kreizler walks into the Institute three months later, hand cupping his rounded belly, while you fuss over his every step. He looks unimpressed, mouth in a tight line as you growl at an orderly that drifts too close. Neither of you are going to be able to work much longer - Laszlo is growing quickly with his first pregnancy, and you’re an overprotective mother hen. You rarely let anyone near him aside from John, Sara, Cyrus, Stevie and the twins. You barely let him out of your sight, and you know he’s getting a little sick of it.

“Alpha.” Laszlo hums to get your attention, and you turn to him instantly, your arm tightening around him as you hang on his every word, “you’re making it hard to walk.”

“You don’t have to walk.” You retort, and Laszlo raises an eyebrow, “I can carry you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!”

“No! We’re in public.” Laszlo snaps, and you pout, nuzzling his mating bond.

“We don’t have to be. They know you’re leaving soon - everyone is ready for it. We could go home. I could take care of you. Rub cream into your belly and do that thing you like.” You tease, only to get a smack to the arm.

“Preposterous. I can work longer than this.” Laszlo insists, and you sigh, pecking his temple.

“Whatever you say, Las.”

He makes it another week, and only because of his stubbornness.

Many months later, he gives birth to your first child, a baby girl with dark hair and honey eyes who cries her lungs out from the moment she takes her first breath until the moment she’s laid upon Laszlo’s chest. He holds her, and you hold him, nuzzling your nose into his sweaty neck as you tell him how much you love him. How perfect he is. How perfect she is.

“What will you name her?” You ask quietly against his ear, and he purrs, stroking his daughter’s tiny little hand.

“Adelaide.”

“Adelaide it is, then. Adelaide Kreizler.”

[the-ravening]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @zsparz and @six-demon-bag for tagging me! ❤️

1. How many works do you have on ao3? Only 12, because I am a baby writer.

2. What's your total ao3 word count? 86k

3. What fandoms do you write for? Winterbaron, or more accurately, Zemo/everyone

4. Top five fics by kudos: Let's do a top 3, since top 5 would just be like half my fics.

Something Sweet to Eat (142 kudos) Extremely underage Halloween fic, bunny boy Zemo shows up trick or treating at Bucky's house Adopt, Don’t Shop (123 kudos) Omegaverse, bratty teen Zemo is for sale at an Omega kennel and Alpha Bucky goes shopping Gift-Wrapped (113 kudos) This was the first fic I ever posted (just a few years ago) and I'm still pretty proud of it. Just a silly Winterbaron rimming PWP, but it's hot

5. Do you respond to comments? I try to, I always mean to, but I think I'm a bit behind right now. I know there are some amazing comments on Home to Me from last year that I still haven't replied to and I feel bad about it all the time.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably Under Lock and Key (what a mess we’ve made), the Heinrich/Helmut Zemo dadcest fic I wrote for @ex0rin where I followed her hurt/no comfort philosophy of leaving him on the floor crying.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I don't know if I really do happy endings? I have PWPs where the happy ending is they both come, if that counts. 😅 Let's say... Ink Kissed (with violent precision) where tattoo artist Bucky gives his client Zemo a dick tattoo, and Zemo ends up quite happy with the tattoo as well as the rest of the service.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I've only gotten one or two of the world's mildest hate comments. I guess my ships are sufficiently niche that no one cares about them.

9. Do you write smut? Yeah! Do I write anything other than smut? No.

10. Craziest crossover: I've only written one crossover, A Suitable Course of Treatment, Bucky Barnes/Laszlo Kreizler from The Alienist, which isn't crazy at all because as we all know, Laszlo has Zemo's face. (If it counts, I once started a Dir en grey x Sailormoon fic where the band members magically turned into Sailor Scouts, but I did not ever get far on it.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, the aforementioned Adopt, Don’t Shop was co-written with @violenciorp and @tales-from-a-maphia-don, because Vio lovingly bullied us into it, despite me and Mel ostensibly not being into Omegaverse.

14. All time favorite ship? I've jumped ship a lot over the years, but it's gotta be Winterbaron, since this is the ship that finally got me writing and posting and getting really involved in a fandom.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The first serious attempt I made at writing in this fandom was this teen Zemo necrophilia thing, and I wrote the necro part but none of the plotty stuff leading up to it. I still dream of finishing it, in an abstract way where I have no motivation to ever work on it.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I'm pretty good at rhythm and flow and making my prose sound musical? That's something I focus a lot on and I tend to read aloud while editing to make sure it sounds good to my ear.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Probably plot and dialogue, and figuring out how to include technical details of things I know nothing about. But most of all procrastination, my arch-nemesis.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I personally avoid it, because I find it annoying to have to look up the translations in the middle of reading. I prefer to just say they're speaking in whatever language but write the dialogue in English.

19. First fandom you wrote in? J-rock RPF in the early 2000s, but I mostly just did a bit of RP and never got far with any fics I started.

20. Favorite fic you've written? Sometimes it feels like every new thing I post is my new favourite, haha. But I thiiiink my fave has been Something Sweet to Eat since I wrote it (the Halloween fic mentioned earlier), because it's probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written to date. I am truly the main audience for that fic and I'm very happy with it.

No pressure tagging: @violenciorp, @tales-from-a-maphia-don, @thepiper0fhameln, @ex0rin, @unlikelymilliner, @evenmyhivemindisempty, and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in!

[mlmxreader]

╓┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╖

     WHO I WRITE FOR 

╙┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╜

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

List of all the characters I write for and am willing to take requests for 

┏━━━━ ★ ━━━━┓

MORTAL KOMBAT 

┗━━━━ ★ ━━━━┛

➵ Kuai Liang

➵ Johnny Cage

➵ Spawn

➵ Kung Lao

➵ Erron Black

➵ Bi-Han

➵ Hanzo Hasashi

➵ Reptile/Syzoth

➵ Jax Briggs

➵ Kenshi Takahashi

➵ Smoke

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╔═══.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.═══╗

BAND OF BROTHERS

╚═══.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.═══╝

➣ William “Wild Bill” Guarnere

➣ Richard “Dick” Winters

➣ Burton Paul “Pat” Christenson

➣ Eugene G. “Doc” Roe

➣ Lewis Nixon

➣ Ronald Speirs

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╔═════ ∘◦⛧ﾐ◦∘ ══════╗

CALL OF DUTY

╚═════ ∘◦ ミ⛧ ◦∘ ═════╝

MODERN WARFARE:

➛ Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

➛ Alex Keller

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

GHOSTS:

➛ David “Hesh” Walker

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

WW2 & VANGUARD:

➛ Robert Zussman

➛ Ronald “Red” Daniels

➛ Arthur Crowley

➛ Marcus Howard

➛ Richard Webb

➛ Arthur Kingsley

➛ Lucas Riggs

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

═════════════════════╕

RED DEAD REDEMPTION

╘═════════════════════

➽ Arthur Morgan

➽ Charles Smith

➽ Josiah Trelawny

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗

THE BOYS

╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

➱ Billy Butcher

➱ Black Noir

➱ Marvin Milk/Mother’s Milk 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╔═════๑♡๑═════╗

SCREAM

╚═════๑♡๑═════╝

⇢ Dwight “Dewey” Riley

⇢ Mickey Altieri

⇢ Mark Kincaid

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╔══════✮❁•°♛°•❁✮ ═════╗

TOM HARDY

╚══════✮❁•°❀°•❁✮══════╝

↪ Farrier (Dunkirk)

↪ Alfie Solomons (Peaky Blinders)

↪ Bane (The Dark Knight Rises)

↪ Eddie Brock/Venom (Marvel)

↪ James Delaney (Taboo)

↪ Pavel Sidorov/Leo Demidov (Child 44)

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼

⟿ Aragorn

⟿ Legolas

⟿ Frodo

⟿ Eomer

⟿ Boromir

⟿ Faramir

⟿ Thorin

⟿ Fili

⟿ Kili

⟿ Bard

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╱╲❀╱╲���╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲

TV SHOWS & FILMS (misc)

╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱

⇉ James Bond (Pierce Brosnan only)

⇉ Dr. Laszlo Kreizler (The Alienist)

⇉ John Moore (The Alienist)

⇉ Sierra Six (The Gray Man)

⇉ Dr. King Schultz (Django Unchained)

⇉ Holland March (The Nice Guys)

⇉ Tom Hanniger (My Bloody Valentine)

⇉ Pyramid Head (Silent Hill)

⇉ Lt. Horstmayer (Joyeux Noel)

⇉Elliot Stabler (Law and Order: Special Victims Unit)

⇉Dr. George Huang (Law and Order: Special Victims Unit)

⇉Chester Lake (Law and Order: Special Victims Unit)

⇉Brandon Beckett (Sniper franchise)

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

⇉John Wick (John Wick)

⇉Art the Clown (Damien Leone's Terrifier)

┏━━━━ ★ ━━━━┓

GAME OF THRONES

┗━━━━ ★ ━━━━┛

-> Bronn

-> Tywin Lannister

-> Jaime Lannister

-> Jorah Mormont

-> Jon Snow

-> Ramsay Bolton

-> Sandor Clegane (The Hound)

-> Robb Stark

-> Eddard Stark

-> Renly Baratheon

-> Oberyn Martell

-> Petyr Baelish

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

┏━━━◥◣◆◢◤━━━━┓

MARVEL

┗━━━◢◤◆◥◣━━━━┛

➬ Wolverine/Logan Howlett

➬ Magneto/Erik Lehnsherr

➬ Venom/Eddie Brock

➬ Carnage (symbiote only!)

➬ Charles Xavier

➬ T'Challa

➬ Gambit/Remy LeBeau

➬ Falcon/Captain America/Sam Wilson

➬ Blade

➬ Hank McCoy/Beast

➬ Forge

➬ Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

-ˏˋ. DC ˊˎ-

↦ John Constantine

↦ Bruce Wayne/Batman (Nolan only)

↦ Bane

↦ Slade Wilson

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

┏━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━┓

SUPERNATURAL

┗━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━┛

➩ Dean Winchester

➩ Chuck Shurley

➩ Castiel

➩ Balthazar

➩ Benny Lafitte

➩ Gadreel

➩ Crowley

➩ Bobby Singer

➩ Rufus Turner

➩ Mick Davies

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

╔═══*｡❅*⋆⍋✧ ✦ ✧⍋⋆*❅｡*═══╗

FALLOUT

╚═══*｡❅*⋆⍋✧ ✦ ✧⍋⋆*❅｡*═══╝

➲ Maximus

➲ Cooper Howard/The Ghoul

➲ Nick Valentine

➲ John Hancock

➲ Preston Garvey

➲ MacCready

➲ Sturges

➲ Paladin Danse

➲ Porter Gage

➲ Mason (The Pack Alpha/leader)

➲ Old Longfellow

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ you and Laszlo are different in many ways, some harder to ignore than others, but you share one latent predicament: affection.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.1k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ angst, kinda smut? (just male masturbation), alpha/omega social dynamics (including sexism against omegas), laszlo being a huge asshole, brief violence, mutual pining, really just so much pining

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

Cardamom. Fresh-cut grass. Something sweet, like honey or fresh wine; something he couldn’t quite make out.

He recognized it instantly as the smell of you, and it made him grimace as he stood up from his couch. When you’d been over yesterday to discuss a case of his, he had honestly contemplated not letting you sit on or touch anything, anticipating this exact issue. But he had been too considerate to say anything and now your horridly wonderful stench was all over the place.

“Mary!” he called out into the house, and she thankfully appeared quickly. “Would you take these cushions from the sofa and… clean them, somehow?”

She nodded, stepping past him to start gathering them in her arms, and he watched her with narrowed eyes.

Truth was, he would rather never have to spend time near omegas when avoidable. It was a distaste he preferred not to voice since many people, alphas and betas alike, discriminated against omegas. Laszlo’s issue was not with some foolish notion that omegas were less worthy of respect, or too emotional or whatever offensive stereotype one might conjure. Rather, his concern lied less in any prejudice against the omegas themselves and instead in his own fears about being an alpha.

He wasn’t blind to the way being an alpha gave him a certain advantage in society, but if he’d had it his way he would’ve been able to avoid presentation entirely and be a beta. Betas were, for their potential blandness, much more… predictable. And Laszlo had never taken issue with the idea of being boring and predictable.

Alphas, on the other hand, had a habit for being a bit primitive. Especially when they were around other alphas… and especially when they were around omegas. It was no wonder that he barely had any idea how to act around you; it was like the composed, educated, respected man disappeared, leaving the mind and body to fend for themselves as he tried simply not to make a fool of himself.

Some omegas might like an alpha acting that way, but you weren’t as frivolous as those sort; and even if you were, he certainly wouldn’t debase himself to impress you.

Would I? he was forced to wonder.

He scoffed to himself, realizing this was exactly the internal monologue he had been hoping to avoid in the first place. This was why he couldn’t be running around with an omega, even if ‘running around’ was more like sitting and discussing neuropsychiatric disorders.

It was a shame that he liked you so much, that you always had such insightful things to say, or he could just do away with you for good. Maybe it had gotten so bad now that he would do it anyways, but you were an invaluable partner now in his investigation, and he was seeing more and more of you, hearing more of your gentle voice which seemed to stir his soul effortlessly.

And smelling more of you… that damn scent that he couldn’t seem to shake. The only thing he feared more than catching a whiff of it in his home unexpectedly, was to never breathe the scent of you again.

When Mary had all the cushions in a haphazard pile and turned to step away, he found himself reaching out and opening his mouth to speak. “Wait,” he blurted out before he could stop it, and Mary turned with her brow raised expectantly. “I’ll just… take this one,” he mumbled awkwardly, plucking a small cushion from the top of her pile. “For safekeeping.”

She nodded, but he caught her smirking a little as she turned and walked away with the rest. Of course she knew, and he cursed himself for being so obvious with his fickle emotions; but then again, a woman as perceptive as Mary was bound to find out sooner or later… she said nothing, but saw everything.

Or, almost everything. He made sure to lock his bedroom door and wait until the entire house was asleep before holding the stolen cushion tight to his chest in bed that night, to make sure no one would see his humiliating predicament, his juvenile obsession.

When he closed his eyes and ran his hands over the cushion’s embroidered fabric, he could almost pretend it was your dress, he could almost imagine holding you like this.

But he’d hold you even tighter. He’d never let you go.

It was honestly a bit ridiculous that he already had an erection from only this, but his imagination was running wild and his body wasn’t so far behind. He knew if he opened his eyes, it would remind him how pathetic this all was and he would likely stop himself. So, instead, he forced his eyes to squint shut even harder as he slipped his left hand down the front of his pyjama trousers.

A strict regimen of rut suppressants meant that he almost never had to resort to this, opting to ignore any tension rather than relieve it. But this time, when his hand wrapped around the throbbing base of his cock, it felt better than he remembered; though still nothing compared to what he was imagining.

He wanted to be buried inside you, so deep your eyes would roll back a bit. He wanted to kiss your neck until you were breathing those pretty little sighs of yours that he'd heard from time to time.

Though he'd never bedded an omega in his somewhat sparse sexual experience, he knew from his studies that omegas were uniquely sensitive, especially to an alpha. He could hardly dare to imagine how it would feel if he made you come; surely it would be too perfect to do anything but knot you right away, and just the thought of that made his cock flex against his grip.

“Omega,” he mumbled to himself, wondering how it would feel if you called him Alpha in the same way; that might be enough to almost make him like being an alpha, for once.

Because really, he hated it so desperately, with such a passion. He hated being ruled by instinct, even if he managed to overcome it the overwhelming majority of the time (this moment notwithstanding). He hated craving something that he didn’t know how to get and that no one wanted to give to him. He hated that being an alpha meant being expected to be strong and dominating and aggressive when he was nothing like that. Even if he had moments of weakness that brought out his more instinctual side, he could never be strong with only one good arm; he could never protect you like you deserved. He could never hold you as tight as he dreamed to.

He could never be your alpha. But maybe he could indulge in his fantasy for just a few moments longer...

Perhaps you shouldn’t have put so much time into selecting your outfit, or you wouldn’t have been a quarter hour late past when Dr. Kreizler asked you to arrive at the Institute. As you scurried down the hall, trying not to walk too loudly since your heels echoed through the corridor, you just hoped he wouldn’t notice or say anything about it.

When you stepped through his office door, everyone— Sara, John, the Isaacsons, and Laszlo himself— looked up to stare at you.

“Ah, I was wondering if you intended to arrive at all,” Laszlo frowned.

“Well, I—” you began.

“It’s no matter, just shut the door behind you and try to keep up with the discussion,” he interrupted, turning around to write on the chalkboard again.

You nodded awkwardly, catching a sympathetic smile from John, before listening to the Doctor pick up where he left off.

Laszlo continued to be uncharacteristically curt with you— well, it wasn’t so uncharacteristic, but it was even worse than normal— throughout the entire meeting, regularly undermining your suggestions if not directly interrupting them, dismissing your ideas as fantastical or preposterous.

The others seemed to notice, in fact it seemed to make them similarly uncomfortable, but nobody thought to say anything and you spent the better part of an hour biting your lip to keep from either crying or cursing him.

You were relieved when Laszlo finally dismissed the team; you were the first to turn for the door, in fact, more than ready to get out of this nightmare of an office, but Laszlo addressed you specifically by name as the others filed out of the room.

“Yes?” you answered, noticing John nonchalantly hanging behind as well.

“Next time, try presenting some reasonable ideas, why don’t you?” Laszlo suggested to you sharply.

“Leave off,” John warned Laszlo, who didn’t even turn his attention away from you for a moment, though he did seem to heed the warning regardless as he cooled off slightly.

“It’s no matter,” Laszlo decided flippantly, “I shouldn’t have expected much else— it’s in your nature.”

You swallowed thickly, hearing John scoff at your side. “C’mon, let’s go,” he encouraged you quietly yet firmly. You gave Laszlo one shy glance, but he’d already turned to examine some papers on his desk, ignoring you completely.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” you mumbled sheepishly, turning and following John out the door and out of the Institute.

When you reached the street, you were prepared to start walking on but John held your arm gently. “Your apartment isn’t far from my grandmother’s house, why don’t we share a cab?” he offered.

You considered turning him down simply because you had been looking forward to a chance to wallow alone, but as he looked down at you, you realized you were better off with the company of a friend. “All right,” you nodded, “that would be lovely, thank you.”

John was able to flag a buggy down and was kind enough to help you in before following behind you, sitting across from you as you looked out the small window.

“Pay no mind to the Doctor,” John decided to offer as he interrupted the silence. You thought maybe he would just distract you with small talk, so you were surprised when he got right to it. “He’s always this irritable.”

“I just can’t imagine why he’s so irritated by me,” you sighed, hoping to regulate your tone to just somber and not heartbroken.

“I can,” John chuckled, and you shot him a glare.

“You’re agreeing that I’m irritating?” you confirmed, incensed, and he looked back at you with a slightly condescending smile.

“Not at all. It’s just that there are things about alphas that omegas can never properly understand.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because our minds are too simple, right?” you pressed sarcastically.

“No, no, not that,” he defended, getting a bit more serious. “You know I’m not the type to think those things about omegas; Doctor Kreizler certainly isn’t. I just mean, it can be difficult to explain.”

“Well, use that big alpha brain of yours and give it a shot, why don’t you?” you encouraged, crossing your arms incredulously.

“All right, don’t get upset with me,” he soothed. “Nobody who really understood alphas would ever accuse them of being logical, that’s the thing. Alphas certainly want you to think that, but… we’re really not so rational at all.”

You raised your eyebrow, confused, and he sighed.

“I mean, I suppose we can be, I know I try my best… but I think we both know that I have a few of my own vices.”

John did certainly seem to have a reputation with prostitutes, mostly betas but some omegas as well. Some mornings you could smell them on him still; and it made you appreciate that maybe a man like Laszlo wasn’t only putting on the appearance of solitude.

“Betas are really the only ones who have their heads on straight, the way I see it,” John decided. “I mean, think of Sara. Do you think before she does something, she wonders what omegas will think when she does it? Or what alphas will think?”

You chewed your lip. “No, I suppose not.”

“No matter what alphas try to tell you about how they’re the better sex, ultimately all we can ever really do is worry about omegas. And, I won’t speak for you, but I think the reverse may be true as well.”

“So… that behavior there, in his office, that was him… worrying about me?” you concluded.

“I think it worries him that he worries for you,” John specified, smiling like he’d said something profound.

But you were unimpressed, and you made that plenty clear by sighing and leaning back against the seat of the buggy. It was a long ride home, your mind racing with reimaginings of how Laszlo had spoken to you and what a more outspoken version of yourself might have done, but you had to admit that even in silence it was better with John nearby.

Perhaps even preferably in silence.

You waited a few days, hoping to find your mood improving, but it only seemed to get worse. Each day you thought about Laszlo— everything about Laszlo, annoyingly enough, but especially the inconvenient fact that he couldn’t stand you.

John apparently had his own theory about it. He seemed to imply that Laszlo had some underlying attraction to you, something he could help as an alpha dealing with an omega— and while that idea made your heart skip a beat, it seemed too good to be true. He would’ve said the same thing if Laszlo was kind to you, wouldn’t he? So what difference does it make?

No matter the cause, you didn’t want to leave it unaddressed any longer. That was what compelled you to drop in at Dr. Kreizler’s home one foggy and grey evening— the kind where one could smell the incoming rain in the air even without an omega’s keen senses— knowing he wasn’t at the Institute this time of day.

Mary let you in, showing you to the living room to wait for him; you would’ve sat on the couch, but you noticed all the cushions were missing with a befuddled expression. Mary seemed a little amused by your confusion before she left to return to some task in the back garden, and so you just let your eyes wander over the room to pass the time. Laszlo’s collection of books was impressive, of course, as were the bottles of medications and salves stored in shelves. You noticed rut and heat suppressants among them, and you were pleasantly surprised since heat suppressants were often considered to be controversial— a form of birth control, in the eyes of many, and therefore often thought of as sinful. But of course a man like Laszlo wouldn’t think of things that way; you admired his progressiveness.

You turned from the shelf when you heard him enter the room; he seemed surprised to see you, understandably. “I apologize that I didn’t call first, but I wanted to discuss something with you,” you explained.

“Something you couldn’t call to discuss?” he presumed, making you frown.

“Well, yes, or I would’ve called. You know, Laszlo, this may surprise you but I actually don’t try to irritate you,” you explained, already losing a bit of your patience.

You didn’t often call him by his first name, not to his face at least. Apparently, he didn’t care much for it. “It must come to you naturally then,” he nodded.

“Then why do you keep me on the case? If I’m so frustrating and fundamentally unhelpful?” you interrogated. You expected an immediate response, but he stammered over his words for a moment.

“Well—” he began, stopping to sigh and glance at the window. “Is it especially hot out today?”

“Um, no,” you answered, confused. “It’s rather temperate.”

When he looked at you again, something had changed in his expression. “Oh,” he sighed, “you— you should go.”

“Doctor, you haven’t answered my question,” you reminded him firmly.

“Yes, I’ll tell you another time, but I have matters to attend to,” he rushed, starting to look a bit unwell as he coughed and started fuss with his tie.

“Are you all right?” you asked, stepping closer and seeing him step back in turn— but he tripped, trying to catch himself with his weak arm and failing completely. He hit the floor with a hiss, dark brown hair falling out of its style and into his face as he grunted in pain.

“Doctor!” you gasped, running to him as your heart pounded. “What’s wrong?”

But in your heart, you knew. In fact, it wasn’t just your heart but your whole body that told you it was his rut. He looked to be in such pain, panting and tugging at his stiff collar, face already turning a bit red.

“Laszlo,” you sighed, reaching down and starting to kneel with him, but he slapped your hands away.

“Get out,” he breathed, ragged and dark.

“No, you need help,” you asserted, reaching for him again and nearly screaming with shock when he jumped up and roughly shoved you back.

“How dare you say no to me, in my own home, like I am your inferior?” he snarled. “Get out!”

“I… I can help you…” you whispered shakily, trying not to cry, unable now to save your dignity as your caring omega instincts kicked in— as well as your latent desire.

“And what makes you think I want your help? Have I not made what I want abundantly clear?” he bellowed, storming closer to you as you fumbled backwards. “Leave here, and don’t come back.”

Even with tears in your eyes and fear coursing through you until your hands began to shiver, you softly shook your head. “N-no, Laszlo, I won’t… I won’t leave you like this.”

For a moment, you thought he might relent, considering the way his expression softened. But just as quick as it came, it shifted to seething rage again and you didn’t even know what hit you for a moment— it was the back of his hand, striking your cheek so hard you almost fell to the floor, though you just barely managed to keep your balance.

It was only a brief moment that the two of you stood there, you holding your cheek as tears fell straight from your eyes to the hardwood beneath you while he just glared at you, chest heaving; but it felt like an eternity.

You couldn’t find the strength to meet his gaze again before you spun on your heel and scampered away, picking up your skirt with one hand and wiping your tears shakily with the other.

Fighting not to spare a glance back at him, you shoved the front door open and ran out into the sheets of freezing rain, finally taking the time to properly sob as you made a mad dash for the only address you knew for John Moore.

[baroness-brod]

Yesterday day I talked about Tonda being omega mom. But get ready for another omega Brühl character.

Laszlo Kreizler is an omega in hiding and you can't tell me otherwise.

At the time he was ready to go to the university Harvard was not allowing omegas to attend there so Laszlo just decided to hide his true gender.

Laszlo wears specially padded undergarments in case of slick leakage and probably is the cleanest Victorian era man ever because he regularly washes off his scent.

He uses artificial Alpha pheromones to keep up his cover.

I usually have hc that omegas can't grow out beards but I'll let it slip this time.

This is also the reason why he doesn't let people to close to him. Laszlo is simply afraid they would somehow find out his secret.

Laszlo only lets children hug him and touch him because he has strong maternal instinct and just wants to protect all his babies from the Institute.

He regularly takes time off for his heat. It's either his "week of case studying" or he just goes away into a secluded hut in the forest.

John Moore who is an alpha feels weirdly protective of Laszlo and doesn't understand why. After all his friend looks and smells like an alpha. But he can't help feeling drawn to him.

[worldofmarvelfics]

Daniel Bruhl (+Characters)

Please note that none of these works are written by me and all credits are returned to their respective owners. I’m just here to provide a list of fics that i personally love so that you guys can enjoy too!

Updated: 27/4/2022

Legend:

🦋One-shots/Imagine/Headcanon

🌼 Completed Series

❄️ Uncompleted Series

Daniel Bruhl

🦋 Black Lotus by @mypoisonedvine Hacker!Daniel 

a malicious hacker has taken ctrl control of your laptop and wants you to do some very specific things to get it back

🦋 Tom Foolery by @bruhlsbees Clown!Daniel

the one where reader fucks a party clown

🦋 Something Just Like This by @wayward-mikaelson

your father takes on a business partner, who captures your eye and makes your ex jealous.

Laszlo Kreizler

🦋 A Slow Game by @noforkingclue Dark!Laszlo 

You were his maid, just his maid, nothing special. At least, that’s what you saw yourself as. If you had known his plans for you maybe you would’ve thought twice before entering the lions den.

🦋 Broken Wing by @bruhlsbees

laszlo catches reader attempting to play the piano

🦋 Courting the Occult by @eli-the-thinker Vampire!Laszlo

People had tried to warn you against getting involved with him, society told tales of occult, blood drinking monsters who loved nothing more than to feed on young beautiful women. Many of your acquaintances claimed that he was one of them intent on keeping you as a source of life blood and pleasure. They may have been right, but either way, you couldn’t care less.

🦋 Mourning by @noforkingclue Dark!Laszlo

Laszlo pursuing a recent widow

🦋 Set a Foul to Catch a Foul by @rosemaremembrance

After having an erotic dream about Doctor Kreizler, you are entirely unable to get him off your mind. Much to his pleasure.

🦋 The Somnambulist by @rosemaremembrance

Doctor Kreizler takes a particular interest in your habit of sleepwalking, and elects to use hypnosis as a means of controlling your symptoms.

🌼 My Body is a Cage by @mypoisonedvine

working with Dr. Kreizler and his rag-tag team of investigators began mainly as a favor to John, your closest friend from childhood, but emotions complicated things (as they tend to) when you developed an interest in the enigmatic alienist. emotions, like instincts, are natural and hard to avoid. Dr. Kreizler tries to anyway, an alpha so suppressed he’s often confused for a beta. but you never made that mistake; no, your mistake was falling for him

Father Padre Antonio

🦋 Poor Unfortunate Soul by @rosemaremembrance

A priest walks into a bar. How does the rest of the joke go, again?

🦋Salvation In Destruction by @ultraintrovertedgryffindor

❄️ Confession by @norabrice1701

You’ve harbored a crush on your church’s priest for years, and after your first year away at university…well, don’t they say confession is good for the soul?

[f1yogurt]

Favorite Fics - f1yogurt

A compilation of my favorite fics, I needed a place to keep them all and I will slowly be adding more as I find them. Not in any particular order. Feel free to browse and give some love to these amazing authors!

(I'm not keeping track of which are explicit so Minors DNI 18+)

Daniel Characters

Laszlo Kreizler (imma be honest, all of these are my favorite)

Abandonment Requires Expectation - sub!Laszlo x Reader

go together like horse and carriage - Laszlo x John x Sara (drunk Laszlo is best Laszlo)

The Ripping Case of Ms. Delia Rodwick - sub!Laszlo x Reader

Good Boy - puppy play, sub!Laszlo x Reader

Laszlo Kreizler Headcanons - NSFW

Manuals of Love's Devotion - sub!Laszlo x Reader

Helmut Zemo

Baron Zemo Imagine - sub!Zemo x reader

Niki Lauda

Born to be Wild - Niki x fem!F1 Driver Reader

The Heist - spy!AU, Niki x Reader

Fluff Prompt - on the beach, Niki x Reader

eine ratte und eine maus - Niki x fem!Reader

Andrea Marowski

Throw Me a Bone - sub!Andrea x Reader

Sebastian Zöllner

The Artist and His Muse - mild sub!Sebastian x Reader

Born to Beg - sub!Sebastian x Reader

Best Boy - sub!Sebastian x Reader

WinterBaron

Drossel - trains, Bucky/Zemo on the run, malewife!Zemo vibes

WinterBaron Push! Verse - literally my favorite thing, kind of an AU, omega!Zemo x Alpha!Bucky

The White Wolf is my Alpha - omega!Zemo x Alpha!Bucky

Masterlists

cazzyimagines - Bruhl babe's dream

sub-danny - sub!Danny wowow

scuttle-buttle - so much goodness

rumblelibrary - lots of Niki and Laszlo!

mypoisonedvine - lots of characters beyond Danny too

dreaminrubies - assorted gems

kadeuuijib -sub!Danny

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster.  The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.  This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack  of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others.  Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies.  John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven. 

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together.  He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but  already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it.  A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp.  Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention?  To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one.  I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon? 

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch.  I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice.  I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts.  I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat.  The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man. 

[hereticpriest]

Masterlist

MDNI

Series

Mercy

Rating: Explicit 18+

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

To begin with, some warnings about this story: A/B/O Dynamics, Female Alpha, Male Omega, Some chapters may involve messing with the whole 'alphas are always dom and omegas are always sub' because I think nuance exists even in A/B/O dynamics, Fucking with the timeline (this is a blend of Canon, Legends, and original lore), Minimal use of Y/N (Explained in the first chapter), Reader is an alien species of my own creation and thus has a physical description, Familial bonds explored heavily, Clone rights explored heavily, Violence is more graphic than canon-typical however any graphic descriptions will be noted, AFAB reader, Not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes.

Read on AO3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Nine Point Five - Part Ten -

Miniseries

The Typist - Laszlo Kreizler and his Bitey Wife

Bite - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia

Chew - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia, prequel to Bite

Swallow - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia, prequel to Bite and sequel to Chew

Gulp - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft lactation and mommy kink, sequel to Swallow

Alpha Mine - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft Omegaverse, AU to The Typist series

Bokeh - Niki Lauda and his Photographer Wife (Mouse)

Muse - Niki Lauda x photographer!reader ft soft femdom and bondage and breeding

What Happens in Ibiza - Niki Lauda x photographer!reader x James Hunt ft threesomes, double penetration and anal

Life and Death - Niki Lauda x photograhper!reader x James Hunt ft heavy hurt/comfort and mild petplay

Brûlée - Dirk Brûlée and his Single Mama

Sriracha - Dirk Brûlée x single mom!reader ft sex toys/sybian

Red Carpet - Dirk Brûlée x single mom!reader ft breeding

Victory - Helmut Zemo and his Super Soldier

Pyrrhic - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader ft 14k of HYDRA being the worst and Helmut Zemo being a consent king

Clutch - Helmut Zemo x Reader ft daddy kink, Hydra hunting and impact play

Oneshots

The Bath - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader ft cockwarming

Ctrl and Power - Ernst Schmidt x Reader ft rough sex and secret relationships

Ganache - Tony Balerdi x Original Male Character ft food play and body worship

Requests and Prompts

Reader likes to come up behind Zemo and kiss or bite him

Roman Sionis fucking reader in his club and being a show off about it (and also he's a total switch)

Roman Sionis making female reader cockwarm him during a gang meeting

Obi-Wan Kenobi noticing female reader's tattoos after sex and pausing to enjoy them

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ Laszlo contemplates the consequences of his actions; after a painful rejection, you pay your good friend John a visit to soothe your spirits.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.1k (again)

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ more angst!! (hint: this is gonna be in every chapter haha), a kiss, fluff but also sad fluff (idk if that's even a thing but this chapter has it), john being mvp, discussions of misogyny/sexism

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

After he had so rashly sent you away, the last of Laszlo’s sanity was spent calling for Cyrus, the only member of his staff he trusted to overpower him if he were to go into a truly unbridled rage. He had the man send everyone of the house away, and to keep every door locked and window shut so Laszlo could go through his rut the way he’d gone through every other: alone.

He hobbled up the stairs, stripping a few layers on the way to try to combat the oppressive heat overtaking his body, burning under his skin. He couldn’t help but claw at his chest, trying to let the heat out, even though he understood on some level that only one thing could cure him now— the one thing he didn’t have, that he couldn’t have, that he would never have.

As he slammed his door shut and tossed himself into his bed, he clamored for the sofa pillow and discovered to his horror that the smell of you was gone from it now; he was crushed with the realization that he would never get a chance to know your scent again. You were gone forever, and with you his last chance to have a proper companion.

It had been years since he’d gone through a rut… either he had developed a resistance to his suppressants, or possibly his infatuation with you had interfered with their effectiveness. But of what he could recall of the last few he’d had, he knew he was in for a long and painful weekend.

The first night is always the worst. He usually told himself that to try to convince himself to get through it: that once he was done with this, he’d have survived the roughest of it and the rest would still be miserable but comparatively easy. Tonight, though, he couldn’t imagine getting through this. Pain encompassed him, swallowed him whole, pierced deep in his bones and called out for impossible relief.

It was typical for an Alpha in rut to pleasure themselves as thoroughly as they could without a partner to get them through it; but he was anything but typical, and for the first few hours he not only resisted the urge but suppressed it entirely. Even in such a delirious state, he knew his hand wouldn’t do anything to satiate him, and thoughts of you made everything better and worse all at once.

If he had known it would be this painful, and this sudden, he might have considered hiring a prostitute to help him through it, even though a companion for a rut is easily one of the most expensive services one can buy from such an establishment. The money had never bothered Laszlo, of course, just the principle of it. But then again, if he had known it would be this sudden, then it wouldn’t have really been ‘sudden’ anymore, now would it?

He’d never cried during a rut before, at least not that he could remember— in fact, he couldn’t think of the last time he cried at all. But, if he was being realistic, which he was still trying to be, then he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he cried over you.

Once he had swung open the door, John looked impossibly bewildered as he stuttered out your name. “What are you doing here? What— what time is it?!”

“You were wrong,” you sobbed, not sure if it was your crying or the cold that made you shiver violently.

“Come in!” John demanded, all but grabbing and pulling you in off the stoop. “Oh, you’re soaked— I’ll get you… a blanket, or a towel or something…” he offered, about to step away, but you grabbed his shirt and pulled him into you.

He relented, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his shirt.

“Would you mind… telling me what I was wrong about?” he asked gently. “I assume it could be anything; I’m wrong quite often.”

The joke would’ve made you chuckle any other time, but you were currently inconsolable. “You were wrong about… about Laszlo…” you answered between sniffles.

“Oh,” he sighed, but he didn’t sound like he really believed you.

“He doesn’t love me,” you assured firmly. “He… hit me,” you choked out, and John gripped your shoulders tightly to push you back and stare at your face with wide and wild eyes. He must have noticed which of your cheeks was still a bit swollen, because he reached up to hold your face instead and ran his thumb over it gently.

“You’re still so cold,” he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to the cheek Laszlo had struck.

At first, it seemed like a friendly thing to do. But then a heavy moment passed, and the air seemed to shift slightly. Your breath caught, he pulled back, and now it was just the two of you looking at each other with his hands still holding your face.

You swallowed, almost afraid to meet his gaze before he gently kissed one of your tears from the top of your cheek, the side of the other, until your eyes fell shut slowly.

Just as you thought that this might not mean what you thought it could, you finally felt his lips on yours.

He kissed you softly, for only a moment before he pulled away.

“John,” you breathed, blinking your eyes open, and he smiled a small, somber smile; he must’ve known just by the way you said his name that it wasn’t good news. “You’re… my greatest friend. And a great man. But—”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“And I hate myself for it,” you scoffed sadly.

"He's a bastard," John agreed. "I can't believe that he did that to you. Well, I suppose I can, but… I thought he was better than that."

"So did I," you shrugged.

He pulled you into another embrace and kissed your temple. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes and into bed," he decided.

The linens on the guest bed still smelled like John— rosemary, dark caramel, pine— and it was some impossible mix of soothing and irking. It felt wrong to be bathed in his scent like this, even if you recognized it as familiar and safe. Worst of all, even though you knew you shouldn’t want it, you couldn’t remember the scent of Laszlo.

You clutched a pillow and cried silently at the thought that someone you trusted, cared for, and just so happened to have fallen in love with could have hurt you so deeply. John was always talking about alphas and omegas, but this all felt rather personal: this felt like a problem that Laszlo had with you, specifically. And maybe it was better this way, that at least you were beyond 100% sure that he didn’t return your affections, because in a certain sense it was better than the state of confusion you'd been in before. But of course, right now you were longing to just be confused again.

A new scent filled your nose when you awoke: breakfast.

You rubbed your eyes, finding them to have that weird crusty feeling one has when crying just before bed, as well as seeing smeared mascara on your finger when you pulled away. Wow, I properly cried myself to sleep, you realised, unsure if you’d ever done that before.

Sitting up and stretching, you took a glance out the window and noticed it was much sunnier out than it had been yesterday. Something about rain always made the world a bit greener the next day; you looked forward to stopping by John’s grandmother’s garden sometime today, expecting it to be especially lush after yesterday’s storm.

But that would have to wait until after you investigated the kitchen, because something smelled absolutely delicious.

You clutched your arms around your torso as you stepped into the hall, wondering if John would question you for appearing in the borrowed nightgown. Instead he only gave you a quick glance from where he tended a pan on the stove, eggs and sausages inside.

“I figured I could get you up with food,” he smirked.

“Look at you,” you grinned, admiring how natural he looked cooking. “You must be that proper omega housewife I keep hearing about.”

“I find that making a hobby of cooking, as an alpha, irritates all the sorts of conservative types that one with taste prefers to irritate,” John winked, sliding the food out of the pan and carefully arranging it onto two plates. “If this isn’t enough, there’s fruit on the table as well.”

“I think this should be plenty!” you assured, admiring the bounty as he set in front of you and took his own seat. “You’re too kind, John, thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do for a friend,” he nodded.

In fact, John proved to be unendingly hospitable throughout the next few days, but not in that way which one might find oppressive or guilt-inducing. It was just like old times, when you were children, before either of you presented and you could run and play together all day without talks of an arrangement or affair spreading through the town’s rumour mill. He even took you to work with him once, where he showed you the ropes of sketching for the papers.

In the afternoons, you played cards or backgammon; his grandmother had you help with some tasks she was too shy or conservative to ask John to do, like resetting her cross-stitch loop or fluffing lace pillows.

In the evenings, you stayed up much too late, waxing nostalgic and philosophical until the both of you passed out well into the early hours of the morning, sometimes with each of you on either of the couches in the sitting room, other times with you in the guest bed and him on the floor beside it.

As you awoke one morning in exactly that arrangement, seeing him sprawled on the floor in a position that hardly looked comfortable, you indulged yourself in admiring his lax face under the soft yellow light of sunrise. It was a shame that it couldn’t be so simple as two great friends deciding they should love each other. After all, who better to pair up than an alpha and omega who had been close for so long, who got along better than some of their own kind did? But it just couldn’t be that way, because you didn’t love him. Maybe he had kissed you, but you wondered if he’d noticed then, too, that there was something missing. Both of you wished it could work, but you decided to be happy for the way it was now— a friendship, a great one that you couldn’t bear to lose.

You chewed your lip and glanced away as you wondered if you would lose it in the chance that you chose to pursue Laszlo; John had certainly lost his shine to the man after what had happened, and you undeniably should have, but the lovely sick feeling in your gut as you recalled him in your mind made it clear that you hadn’t.

“Hardly seven in the morning and you’re thinking too much already,” John noticed, surprising you since you hadn’t noticed him waking up in the corner of your eye. You glanced back at him, seeing him grin and adjust his hair a bit, having gotten quite out of order from sleeping on the pile of blankets. “Tell me what worries you.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t put it on you so early,” you frowned. “We’ll save my anxieties for the afternoon.”

“Perhaps for the best,” he groaned slightly as he stood up and brushed himself off, “I wouldn’t be much help anyways— I, for one, don’t start thinking at all until noon.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” you smirked.

Some sort of magic that the past two days had carried faded on the third, and both of you clearly noticed it though neither spoke of it. It was your omega’s intuition that told you Laszlo must have ended his rut by now— he’d either gone it alone or sent for a prostitute to see him through it, and you couldn’t decide which thought disturbed you more.

And it must have been John’s alpha intuition— not that anyone ever accused alphas of being particularly intuitive— that encouraged him to continue his attempts to distract you, throwing at you whatever he could think of to keep your mind occupied with anything but Laszlo Kreizler and his addictive cruelty.

Laszlo Kreizler and his glasses, the ones he wore when he had to do lots of reading and that fit him perfectly yet he was constantly adjusting.

Laszlo Kreizler and his cane, the way his fingers tightened around the handle of it when he was a bit stressed or irritated with someone, something you thought he didn’t mean to do and that nobody but you seemed to notice.

Laszlo Kreizler and his honey-brown eyes that carried so much more vision than most, saw and acknowledged everything, examined the world with admirable objectivity and shocking precision. It was too bad that they always seemed to turn to you with resentment.

Laszlo Kreizler. God, what a bastard.

“We ought to see a play!” John suggested suddenly over an awkwardly-silent tea time in the garden. “You used to drag me to see Shakespeare all the time, maybe I’ll return the favour.”

“I’m not in the right mind for the theatre, John, I apologize,” you sighed, setting your cup back in the saucer. “But you can surely find someone else to take.”

“Is that what you think I’m looking for?” he scoffed, catching your attention with his flippancy. “A theatre-going companion? I just want to entertain you.”

“Well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to be entertained,” you shrugged, too distracted to worry over the mixed metaphor.

“You know I take severe offense to any questioning of my horse-entertaining abilities,” John frowned. “I can imagine no greater insult!”

Though you tried not to at first, you snorted out a little laugh in spite of your desire to be irritated. He smiled too, reaching across the wrought iron table to squeeze your hand. “If not the theatre, then we can stay here and I’ll read to you. Or you’ll read to me. Or we’ll read together to grandmother— I bet she’d find it exhilarating if we performed a portion of Wuthering Heights, with you providing the voice of Catherine while I did Heathcliff.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, wishing you still had the spirit to find that idea exciting. Your mind led you quickly down a totally irrelevant path, until you forgot entirely what you and John had been discussing before. “Do you think maybe love is inherently terrible?” you blurted out somewhat randomly, though it felt to you like the natural thing to do. You looked up at him when he didn’t answer right away, watching him deflate slightly and lean back into his chair. “I just mean— I have to wonder if love is always going to be cruel, by nature.”

“I think you don’t know what love is, yet,” he decided, sounding a bit frustrated, or perhaps just disappointed. You sighed at the patronization. “You’re still quite young, you know.”

“Yes, that’s true,” you relented, standing up. “I’m sorry that I’ve found my mood to worsen so suddenly. You’ll have to forgive me— omega sensibilities and all— but I should be going. I’ve taken up too much of your time, John, though I’ve had a lovely stay in your home. Be sure to thank your grandmother in my stead when she comes up from her nap.”

You started to turn, but John stood too. “Now wait one minute,” he demanded, though it didn’t quite take since you stepped into the house and made your way to the foyer to put on your shoes. “I asked you to wait!” he reminded as he followed you.

Realising you would be too cold to deny him now, you stopped and turned, waiting for whatever it was he had to say.

“I guess it makes sense that you should go as suddenly as you arrived,” he offered, more patience in his voice than you expected or, frankly, deserved. “But I might not be ready to see you off.”

“You don’t need to see me off—” you began, but he wasn’t finished, and he raised his voice slightly to continue.

“For one, I don’t know where you’re going,” John explained flatly.

“Home, of course,” you answered quickly, reaching to the rack on the wall where your overcoat had been hanging and drying ever since you got here.

There was something unaddressed, but obvious, about the silence in the foyer as you slipped on the jacket. He didn’t believe you; and he shouldn’t.

“Are you going to go see him?” John finally asked tensely, struggling to hide his irritation. Contempt, even, though you couldn’t be sure if it was for Laszlo or you.

Honesty scared you a bit, but it was the least he was owed. “I think I have to,” you nodded, meeting his gaze again in spite of your guilt. “I hope I haven’t broken your heart, John.”

“By rejecting my kiss that night? Or by going now to pursue the man who mistreated you so poorly that you ended up on my doorstep?”

“Either,” you answered. “Both.”

“The first one, no. The second?” he continued, pausing before sighing a bit. “Well, I haven’t decided yet.”

“I’ll call you,” you offered as you turned to the door, but as your hand held the knob, his fell on top of yours. You turned back to him, finding a kindness in his eyes that made your own water immediately.

“If he hurts you again,” he began, slowly, “don’t tell me.”

“What?” you whispered, the second of that sentence entirely opposite to what you had expected.

“If you do, I’ll kill him,” he expected. “I’d hate to be called to sketch the scene of my own murder— I think I’d confess and end up in prison, and frankly, I just don’t have the constitution for it.”

You knew that he was trying to be funny, but you also knew that he wasn’t joking. There’s a very important difference.

You stood up on your toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, both of you sighing a bit as you did it.

“If he hurts me again,” you replied with a smile— the best you could muster through your attempt not to cry, “you’ll be the first to know. I always figured you’d be the friend I’d end up helping hide a body someday, John Moore.”

He gave you a quick nod and you sniffled a bit, wiping the smallest tear from your cheek as he let go of your hand, permitting you to go. You opened the door and stepped out, turning back for one more short wave before you made your way out.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ seeking closure, you find Laszlo and learn what really made him push you away.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ massive angst but also some fluff, somewhat graphic description of self-inflicted injuries (please please do not read if this would be triggering for you!!), making up after a fight

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

The sun warmed your skin on your walk, in a pleasant way— not the type to make you fear a burn tomorrow, if anything it soothed you slightly, and so you didn’t hail a cab even though it wasn’t an insignificant walk.

When you reached the corner of 17th and 4th, you hesitated; if you went left, you could go home. Right, and you’d be headed to the Kreizler residence.

John was right to get frustrated with you for going to Laszlo again. You were even frustrated with yourself as you made a right turn and headed the way you never truly believed you’d falter from. But, you could recall a time when Laszlo had actually been rather pleasant to you; at least, for him. You could recall the sensitivity and gentleness that attracted you to him in the first place. And even if you were well aware that you needed to move on from your affections for him, for his work alone you irrevocably respected him still; and, out of respect, you intended to clear the air before you decided if this was a professional or platonic relationship worth salvaging.

Alphas could get rash leading up to their ruts, after all, though society preferred to focus on the unpredictable moods of an omega approaching their heat; as much as that couldn’t explain every coldness of Laszlo’s, it was just enough to give you some consideration for his outburst a few days ago.

When you approached the house, you gathered yourself before leaving a knock that went unanswered. You furrowed your brow and rapped at the wood again, a bit harder, and though it didn’t garner a response from inside, it was enough to rattle the deadbolt— which made you realize it was unlocked. Nervously, you turned the knob and let yourself in, casting bright sunlight and your own shadow into the quiet foyer.

Memories of the last time you were here threatened to superimpose themselves right over where they’d originally occurred, but you looked away to shake them back into the recesses of your mind. You stepped carefully to prevent your heels from clicking and echoing too loudly, your heart beating a bit more quickly as your mind cycled rapidly between ideas that you might be alone or that you might not— and not being sure entirely which was preferable.

As you peered into the sitting area, you squinted at first, then widened your eyes at what you actually witnessed there: the curtains were drawn, and if it weren’t for the sun being so bright outside, the whole place would’ve been submerged in shadow. Instead it was just rather dim, yet clear enough for you to see the complete and total disarray his office was in.

Books on the floor, some pages torn out. Bottles of medications fallen from their shelves and scattered all over the room. Furniture ripped— nearly shredded, actually— and you had to wonder if it was really Laszlo that did all this, or some wild beast that came in through the front door after you left it open.

Instinctively, you began to attempt to tidy up: first the papers on his table and desk, then the medications and ointments (at least the ones whose bottles weren't shattered). You knelt on the floor to sort through them, occasionally quizzing yourself on what you knew about the drugs by name as you read each label; Laszlo used to lend you medical books to let you study at home, back when he was a bit more amenable to you. He stopped after a while, and you once found all the books you’d borrowed from him stowed away in some forgotten dusty corner of his study— like he couldn’t even bear to put them back on the shelf after you’d touched them. That was the first time you really suspected that he truly and thoroughly hated you.

You heard footsteps approach behind you and stop in the doorway, and when Laszlo called your name, you delicately stood up and turned to face him.

He looked easily more haggard than you had ever seen him before: his hair was unruly and unstyled (not to mention a bit greasy, like it had been sweaty and dried again without washing), his clothes were simply a pyjama set which appeared wrinkled and disheveled with a tear down the side, and most of all there was a darkness to his eyes… like he hadn't slept at all since the last time you saw him.

"It seems you're out of your rut by now," you observed coldly. "You look unwell. It must have taken a lot out of you."

"It took everything from me," he agreed, voice rough and exhausted. It tugged at a sympathy you hoped to ignore.

"What happened here?" you asked, wondering if it was insensitive but hoping there was some cause to his madness.

"I haven't had a rut in years, only a few since I first presented," he explained. "Some alphas are more practiced and as such can withstand their urges more easily. But I… well, I did this."

You weren’t sure what to say, so you didn’t say anything.

“And I did something else rather brutish, didn’t I? I struck you,” he recalled.

“Yes, you did,” you agreed. “Was that another symptom of your delirium?”

“No,” he stated firmly. “No, that was the last properly lucid thing I did.”

You exhaled through your nose, almost a laugh— because it was almost funny. Even now, he couldn’t give you any mercy. Not that you’d come here expecting any; you were in love, and hopelessly naive, but you weren’t stupid.

“You’re in the same clothes from before,” he noticed, “have you gone home since then? I wondered where you would go in that rain…”

The idea that he thought at all about what you might do after you were out of his sight took you aback. "Well, I've been staying with John and his grandmother for the past few days. I suppose I just didn't want to be alone after what happened."

"Is that why I can smell him all over you?" he asked, a hint of a sneer on his face; like he wanted to be angry at the same time that he knew he had no energy or right to.

You sighed and blinked down at the floor. "It's not just that," you admitted. "He and I… well, I suppose it's fine to tell you that we shared a kiss.”

“Only that?”

You wrinkled your brow a bit, looking up at him again but finding him looking at your skirt instead of your face. “Yes, just one kiss,” you answered, humouring him just this once but letting your impatience make itself known in your tone.

He sighed, a heavy exhale through his nose as he looked away from you. "It's a good thing I didn't find out any time in the past three days. I would've probably tried to kill him… and he would've easily bested me, in turn. But I suppose that's why you kissed him,” he shrugged slightly. “He's strong."

All this talk of John and Laszlo trying to kill each other was starting to wear on you; for once, you wondered if those things people said about how all alphas are at their core just hormone-ruled beasts of instinct were really true, which you’d never believed before because of gentle men like John and Laszlo. "Doctor, what are you talking about?" you asked with a frown.

"Well, that's traditional when alphas are competing for a mate,” he shrugged, like it was obvious.

"Laszlo, I— he's not my mate. He's not my alpha. We kissed but we ended the night as we began it: dearest friends, but nothing more."

"Don't pity me, it's all right. He's a fine man and you'd make a handsome couple."

You tightened your fists at your sides, daring to raise your voice. "Stop saying that! I don't want him, Laszlo!"

“Then what do you want?” he snapped. “Why are you here?”

You felt a little targeted by those questions, but decided to half-answer them. “I want to understand why you struck me a few days ago,” you replied.

"I was already becoming something I didn't want you to see, and I needed to make you leave.”

“But you didn’t need to make me leave! I wanted to stay.”

With a sigh, he reached up and began to unbutton his shirt— he seemed well-practiced at doing it with one hand, which made sense, and your breath caught when his chest was exposed. It was covered in dark red cuts, long and deep, clearly from his own hand. It was concentrated to the right side, since he did it all with his left, and your hand shook as it reached out to run over the marks.

“Oh, Doctor…” you breathed, “you must have been in so much pain, and all alone…”

“This is what I would’ve done to you, if I let you stay,” he explained. “And if it had to be one of us, then I’d rather it be me.”

There were so many things you wanted to say and yet none of them seemed to come to mind as your eyes began to water, fingers tracing over his newly-formed scars while he watched their path.

“I suppose I figured a slap was a little hurt to save you from much more. Though I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely capable of rational thought at the time. I think if you stayed even a moment longer I would’ve forced myself on you and that… I could never forgive myself for that.”

“Laszlo,” you sighed, “it wouldn’t have been forced, I would have given in to you.”

“Why? Because you’re an omega and your instincts guide you to submit to me?” he hissed, as if that were the worst thing he could imagine.

“Because I have feelings for you!” you shot back, surprised so much by his look of confusion that it knocked you right out of your state of frustrated outburst and into a moment of awareness of your own vulnerability. “Didn’t you know?”

“N-no, I… no,” he shook his head, speaking in a hoarse whisper.

“I figured it was obvious,” you chuckled sadly, softly.

He paused for a moment— one of those little infinite moments as you waited for his reaction. “I’ve been so awful to you,” he finally mumbled to himself.

You reached up to hold his face, watching his gaze run away from yours as your thumb stroked his cheek gently. “Yes,” you agreed.

He almost smiled— one of those sad, empty smiles that a man like Laszlo had mastered to perfection— and nodded slightly in the palm of your hand.

“And all this time, I loved you all the same anyway,” you added, making him look from the floor to your own eyes again, searching them for something carefully.

“What do I… smell like, to you?” he asked quietly, though he second-guessed himself instantly as he looked away. “Forgive me if that’s an odd question—”

“Jasmine tea,” you interjected suddenly, making him turn to you again. “A leather-bound book, freshly printed, opened for the first time. And bitters. There’s a pub on 82nd that serves an old-fashioned with bitters that almost smell right…”

“You go to pubs on 82nd street?” he asked, a little concerned.

“I go to that one,” you clarified, “nearly every night.”

He collected his breath for a second, and you became very aware of his chest being exposed by his unbuttoned shirt with the way it filled and sank for every breath. It was instinct that guided you to reach up and brush your fingers over his chest— over the scattering of soft brown hairs, over the freckles and moles and scars. Over a fresh wound that made his breath catch for a second.

Your gaze followed your fingertips at first, but then jumped up to meet his own; dark yet anything but threatening. There was something new in his eyes as they examined you… something you rather liked seeing, a softness he hadn’t allowed before. You glanced at his lips, wondering if you might impulsively kiss him, but you were pulled back to reality when they moved as he spoke. "Twice now, at least, you've seen me for the monster I really am. Why in god’s name are you still here?"

You wondered if you’d ever heard take anything in god’s name, and you wondered if it meant much if it was in reference to a god he didn’t believe in; you smiled slightly as you answered him. "I don't think you're a monster, Laszlo. I think you're so afraid of what you are that you wanted me to be afraid, too."

“And what I am— you mean an alpha, yes?”

You nodded.

“What I am is in love with you,” he corrected you softly. “That scares me much more.”

A lump formed in your throat, your eyes turning down to the floor again. You wanted to believe him, god you wanted to believe him more than anything, but you couldn’t give in to his moment of love after months of disdain. “I thought you hated me,” you mumbled.

“I imagine everyone thinks that. I certainly wanted to, it would’ve made things much easier…”

“For you,” you finished. “For you, but not for me. Because you never really thought of me.”

“No,” he disagreed with a sigh, stepping closer. “No, I thought of you constantly, that was what drove me to such lengths. I thought it would ease your plague on my mind if I pushed you away. It only made it worse, I’m afraid… and it cost me the only love I ever had.”

The way you bit your lip and looked away must have made it obvious that that wasn’t necessarily true; he perked up instantly, reaching up to hold your face, addressing you by name which was somewhat rare and made you look back up at him in surprise.

“You could forgive me?” he wondered aloud. “Tell me there’s a chance you won’t hate me forever.”

“I never hated you, Laszlo, not even for a moment,” you promised, “not even when I should have.”

He almost smiled at you, yet he still looked incredibly serious; it’s hard to describe his expression, but it made your heart sing. “If only I wasn’t unwashed and exhausted and a bit dehydrated, I’d consider giving you a kiss,” he admitted.

“If I wasn’t in old clothes after spending the weekend in John Moore’s spare bedroom, I’d consider letting you kiss me,” you replied coyly.

“The both of us need some time to recover, I think,” he suggested. “Go home, spend a night or two in your own bed. Maybe soon I’ll be presentable enough to come by and ask you on a date.”

Just the prospect of that made your stomach aflutter with butterflies. “All right,” you agreed with a shy nod, looking away in hopes of hiding your blush.

Realising there was little else to say, for now, you stepped back to leave— but he followed you with another step. “Wait,” he requested quickly.

“Yes?” you responded, turning slightly to look back at him.

“If I came by to ask you on a date, would you agree to it?” he asked.

“When you come by,” you corrected, “you’ll find out my answer for yourself.”

Your first order of business upon arriving home was a long, steamy bath; the kind so hot you only indulged yourself in it occasionally. An array of soaps, oils, and salts filled the damp air with fragrance— beeswax, bergamot, cinnamon, even cardamom from the East which had been a gift from your well-traveled great aunt— and it gave your mind and senses a chance to renew themselves.

After you’d soaked just a bit too long, you toweled off and were just about to slip into nightclothes (even though it was still just the late afternoon) when the phone rang.

You cursed yourself as you realized you’d forgotten to call John; if it wasn’t him, which it almost certainly was, you decided that you’d call him as soon as you were done speaking to whomever it was. But, just as you suspected, it was John’s low voice on the other end as soon as you answered.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly, and you hated to realise that he’d been worrying about you all this time.

“I’m perfectly fine, John— I’m even well, dare I say,” you grinned. “I’ve just had a bath and you know that always makes everything better—”

“You know surely that I didn’t call to hear about your bath,” he interjected, his frown clearly audible: you hoped your eyeroll was just the same.

“Well, it was really nice so you’re missing out,” you scoffed, “but I did visit the Kreizler estate. Laszlo managed to explain himself well enough, and I think it’s all water under the bridge now.”

“Really?” John pressed. “I’m curious what explanation could justify an assault so quickly.”

“Well, it doesn’t quite justify it, just helps me to understand why,” you clarified. “He was beginning his rut—”

“Wait, wait," John interrupted already. "Did you know? I mean, when he hit you, did you know he was going into his rut?"

You felt a little uncomfortable talking about such a subject with John, but then again, you talked with him about a large manner of private things. "I-I mean, I sensed it…"

His laugh was probably at your expense and yet it still eased your spirits. "You're more naïve than I thought!"

"What? Why?" you frowned.

"If you had told me…" he began, starting again. "Of course he would've kicked you out when he started to go into it: he thought he would hurt you. I could've told you that, if you'd thought to mention it when you came by."

"Oh," you sighed. "I didn't realise it was so obvious."

"Look, it isn't to say that he should've been violent with you," John clarified, "but I imagine he was trying to save you from worse. It's hard to think of a man as… stoic as Laszlo in such an animalistic state as a rut, but honestly it seems all the more proof that he goes really ballistic in them, don't you think?"

"Why would that be?" you wondered.

"I just mean that someone so rigid probably has so much locked away," John pondered.

"That sounds like something Laszlo would say," you scoffed, "if a little less eloquent."

"Significantly less eloquent, but you flatter me," John chuckled.

Before you could assure that you had no intention to flatter him, a ring of your doorbell pulled your attention away. "Oh, there's someone at the door," you spoke, to both yourself and to John.

"Hang up for now and answer it," John recommended, in that way that meant 'I won't be offended if you do.'

"I will, but I need to get dressed first," you realised.

"Oh," John sighed awkwardly, "you really did just get out of the bath…"

"I'll call you later, alright?" you promised.

But if ‘later’ was meant to be ‘later tonight,’ then you broke that promise... because once you’d dressed enough to answer the door and find the delivery on the other side, suddenly your night was fully booked with only longing.

It was a bouquet in a vase— a mix so vibrant and exotic that you could only identify about half the flowers in it— and though the sender remained anonymous, you knew they were from Laszlo.

You excitedly brought them inside to find the perfect sunny place for them, only then noticing that a small envelope was tied to the ribbon around the vase; but when you opened it (with perhaps a bit too ferociousness, due to your excitement), in lieu of a note you found a page from a book, torn out and folded up into a small square.

When you managed to get it unfolded, you saw it was an excerpt from a poetry book, faded and wrinkled but still plenty legible:

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.”

You read it over and over for the rest of the night, committed each word to memory, and imagined Laszlo saying them to you himself. He must've sent the poem because he knew he couldn't say the words himself. You didn't mind that, really; just to think of him seeing this poem and thinking of you and ripping it out of whatever book it came from to send you truly made your head spin and your heart soar.

You could only wait in ecstatic anticipation for when Laszlo would come by to ask you on a date. Even though it made you slightly antsy and threatened to overwhelm you, you were beginning to like the way that hope felt.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ a night at the opera leads to something more...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.1k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ sexual content (no smut yet, still 18+ only please), fluff, angst, discussion of self-inflicted injuries and pain, more laszlo self-hate in case you weren't getting enough from the last three parts

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

Even across the city, through the telephone, the sound of Laszlo’s voice made you beam so widely. You were just thankful he couldn’t see your dopey grin. “How nice of you to call,” you greeted, hoping to sound somewhat nonchalant.

“How lovely to hear your voice,” he replied— sounding a little restrained himself.

“Well, if you’d like, I can just keep talking for a while to entertain you,” you offered jokingly. “Give John’s ear a rest, eh?”

“I think I would, if I didn’t have business with you first,” he explained.

Your breath caught a little bit, and you covered the receiver in hopes that he wouldn’t hear it.

"Now, you know I dislike greatly to do this over the telephone," he began, but you didn't mind at all; your heart was racing just from realizing why he must be calling. “But I’d like to take you out for an evening— this evening, specifically.”

Your hand around the receiver clenched tighter, involuntarily.

“If you’d care to join me, Der fliegende Holländer is staging tonight,” he offered.

"I'd love to join you," you decided with a restrained smile.

“I’ll come with a carriage at seven,” he announced.

And in the time between him saying that and him making good on it, so much had happened.

For the first half-hour, you simply panicked. A happy panic, but a panic nonetheless.

For an hour and a half after that, you tried on almost every dress you owned, glancing to the clock often to try to decide if you had enough time to go buy a new one— which you obviously didn’t.

Finally, after picking a dress, you spent fifteen minutes not sure you made the right choice, but ultimately stuck with it. Then all that was left was jewelry, hair styling, and eyebrow grooming, and some rouge and powder and mascara and lipstick. So, nothing too time-consuming, at least.

You didn't have enough time to get it all done anyways, but then he had to arrive early as well— at 6:45 you still hadn't powdered your face as much as you wanted nor had you darkened your eyebrows or lashes. You almost considered making him wait until you were totally ready, except that you realized you'd never be able to effectively apply any makeup with your hands shaking from nervous excitement.

So, you were only halfway done-up when you carefully descended the stoop from your apartment to meet him by his carriage. For a moment his expression was unreadable as you descended the steps, but honestly it didn't really bother you because you were too focused on not tripping on your heel or letting your nervousness show on your face.

“You look exquisite,” he informed you, raking his gaze over your dress. “You are exquisite.”

Internally, you felt vindicated for being so meticulous in your choice of outfit. Clearly it was worth the turmoil. "Thank you," you nodded, reaching the pavement and standing just a bit closer to him than you normally would, "you look rather lovely yourself."

And he did, even moreso when he smiled bashfully and placed his hands on his tuxedo's lapel. "I'm always worried to look too ostentatious."

"Hardly ostentatious, though quite intricate," you compromised, stepping back to give him room to open the carriage’s door for you.

He climbed in after you, saying nothing, but you noticed his face a bit strained and his brow furrowed as he sat across from in the carriage. “Are you all right?” you asked, and he nodded a bit, but you didn’t quite fall for it.

You realised the problem when you saw him adjust slightly in his seat at the carriage began to move, wincing and hissing in a breath, tugging his coat a bit tighter— and your mind flashed to the way you knew he looked under that coat and suit, carved up by his own design. "Oh, are you still hurting?" you asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," he replied thinly, clutching his hands at his sides.

"You shouldn't be out like this, you should be home resting—"

"Nothing will keep me from taking you out tonight,” he assured. “My own self-inflicted ills have kept us apart long enough, don’t you think?”

You laughed a bit, hoping it wasn’t insensitive. “I think so, yes,” you agreed.

As silence fell, it wasn’t quite as awkward as it could be, but you still felt compared to break it, hoping to regather his attention from looking out the window

“The flowers you sent were lovely, by the way,” you spoke with a smile, seeing him look at you again though he looked to the floor first. “I only wish I could stop them from wilting as long as possible. And the poem…”

“The poem, yes— it was a bit sophomoric, wasn’t it?” he smirked nervously, glancing away with an uncharacteristically shy expression. “I apologize if it was too… saccharine.”

“No, Laszlo, it was lovely. I do mourn for the book who had his page so ruthlessly torn out, though,” you chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose I was a bit too inspired at that moment, but I’d read the poem so many times and always thought of you,” he admitted. “As soon as I had the chance, I wanted you to know it brought you to my mind. I only hope someday I’ll have the courage to compliment you with my own words, and no longer need to borrow someone else’s.”

“I don’t mind if you’re not particularly romantic, Doctor— you’ve already surprised me by sending anything.”

He nodded, and you could tell he’d taken that as an insult though you hadn’t meant it that way; he spoke again before you could correct yourself. “I’m hoping to both raise and exceed your expectations, if those are simultaneously possible,” he decided.

“I think they are,” you replied, “but I’m so unfamiliar with all of this that I’m not sure what my expectations are.”

He pondered that for a minute. “Expect a lovely evening at the opera,” he instructed.

“All right,” you smiled, “I can do that.”

The opera was quite nice, indeed, but it was inconsequential entertainment compared to the thrill of Laszlo whispering in your ear, translating the German lyrics for you. He must’ve seen you clutch the end of your chair’s handle when the heat of his breath tickled the back of your neck; surely he couldn’t have missed that, a man as observant as him. But then again, if there was any matter where he might be oblivious, it would be this one. It excited you, though, to imagine that he might suspect your desire for him, even though it embarrassed and frightened you a bit as well.

It was generally considered impolite, at best, for omegas to imagine such wicked things as your mind had conjured. You were well aware of that, and yet the mental images didn’t stop coming; you wondered how it would feel if he just reached out and rested his hand on your thigh through your dress, or if the tips of his fingers traced lightly over where your neck met your shoulder. Though it was childish, you found yourself anxious that he could see it on your face, or that he might use his elusive alienist mind-powers to just sense it, like your sin would emanate off of you.

But if he knew, would he judge and condemn you? Or would he indulge you?

Halfway into the first act, he held your hand. For the way it made your heart race you’d think he might’ve done much more than that, but just a little piece of his affection fed your romantic appetite easily.

“Will she be my angel?” he spoke gently into your ear, translating the Dutchman’s singing, and doing it so close that his lips almost brushed over your skin. “When from my terrible anguish, my longing for grace drives me on, dare I cling to the one hope left to me?”

Your eyes watered as you listened to Laszlo’s translation with one ear and followed the melody with the over, moved by the impassioned performance of the vocalist on stage.

“Dare I cherish the idle fancy that an angel may pity me?”

Soon, the song ended and the audience clapped, but he didn’t take his hand from yours to applaud nor lean back into his seat.

You gasped shakily as he pressed a chaste kiss just below your ear. “I struggle to control myself around you,” he whispered.

You weren’t foolish enough to ask him if that was a lyric from the opera, though part of you wanted to anyways. Good thing you were totally speechless as he kissed you again, lower on your neck, taking in a deep breath against your skin.

Just as you thought you might let him do almost anything to you right then, the lights began to rise, the audience began to applaud, and Laszlo hesitantly pulled away just as you awkwardly sat up in your seat.

The curtains drew on stage and you turned to him, hoping you didn’t look as obviously flushed as you felt.

“Would you like—” Laszlo began, but he stopped to clear his throat and started over again. “Would you like to visit the bar for some drinks during the intermission?”

“O-oh, um,” you stalled, “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ll drink anything tonight…”

“Then perhaps I’ll just take you to the bar with me and show you off on the way,” he compromised with a little smirk.

You laughed to yourself, not entirely sure how serious he was. “I wondered if you would be that sort,” you admitted.

“What sort?” he pressed.

“The sort to show me off, like you said,” you clarified. “You know, I thought maybe you were the sort to prefer to keep me close and all to yourself.”

A little moment of silence passed, only after which did you notice the way his expression had darkened. His eyes bore right through you, made a pleasant shiver run up your spine. Alpha, your body sung, but from the outside all you did was swallow and blink quickly. “All to myself,” he whispered thoughtfully, like he hadn’t realised it was an option.

“Which sort are you?” you asked patiently, but you knew it was a foolish question right away with his eyes drinking you in so shamelessly. He gave no response, and yet seemed to answer just well enough, if silently. “Are we going to stay for the second act?” you asked instead— a much better question, which he answered aloud this time.

“No, I don’t think we are,” he informed you quietly.

After a quick exit from the theatre and a tense carriage ride back to his home, Laszlo wasted no time nearly dragging you inside, holding you tightly, and all at once tossing you back against the wall in the foyer.

The rush of it came to a screeching halt when you whimpered at the impact, which seemed to shake him out of whatever state he’d been in before. “Oh, I’ve hurt you,” he presumed instantly, his passionate touches turning hesitant and fearful.

“N-no, I’m fine,” you breathed, hoping to shake him back into that frenzied panic your body was crying out for.

“No, you cried,” he argued, stepping back. “Oh god, we left the opera early— I should’ve let you stay, you never said you wanted to leave—”

“Laszlo, I—” you tried to soothe, reaching out, but he stepped away again.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked. “Do you think I’ll hurt you again?”

“Do you?” you pressed, realising that was what mattered more at the moment, and he shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I don’t think so. I don’t want to. But I’ve never felt this way— I’ve never let myself feel this way. I might lose control.”

Was it so awful if that’s what you wanted, though? "Alpha," you spoke under your breath, and for one moment, you caught a glimpse of the side of himself he was holding back— and you trusted him, even without his control. He was so afraid of his own desire, but you knew his desire wasn’t for your harm, if you could just help him see that.

All too quickly, he snapped back to reality. "Don't call me that," he winced. "Don't call me that unless you intend to never address any other man that way. I can’t take anything less than all of you.”

"Alpha," you purred again, and this time it nearly got through to him, until he had nothing left to hide behind but the truth.

"I can't…” he whispered, conflicted, though he stepped closer once again. “I can’t be what you deserve. I'm not strong, like other alphas. You should have a mate that can protect you."

"But all I want is you, Alpha," you sighed.

"I can't think when you keep calling me that…"

“Then don’t think,” you decided, losing your patience. “Just kiss me, god damn it!”

He did. Fucking finally, he did: sudden and passionate such that it almost seemed like he was a bit angry— you both were, frustrated in every sense. Your hands clutched at his waistcoat, near his collar, and his settled on your waist as he held you close.

It all happened so quickly, and even quicker it softened— no longer fiery and rushed, both of you sighing against each other as you realised this wasn’t anything but to be savored. You almost gasped as he moved his lips, feeling your whole body pull into his without much say from your mind on the matter; his hand crept a bit higher up your back as another tangled mindlessly into your hair.

The two of you stumbled backward into the sitting room until you bumped into a table, one he hastily helped you lift yourself onto; somewhat instinctively, your legs spread to accommodate his body pressing up between them. The feeling of him so close only stoked the flames of your need, making your body alight with energy and your mind foggy with lust.

“A-Alpha,” you stammered as he reached down to lift your skirts, running his hands over your legs as he panted just against your lips.

You didn’t even think to protest. The words “what kind of girl do you take me for?!” didn’t even cross your mind. You were totally ready to give yourself to him, entirely committed to letting him claim and mark you if he so desired— you wanted him to, really.

You needed him to, from the moment he spoke gruffly in your ear: “Omega…”

A whimper slipped through your teeth when he addressed you that way, your back arching of its own accord. As he began to work through the frustrating number of layers between his hands and your skin, you found your shaking fingers pulling his bowtie loose and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

When enough of it was out of the way, you instantly reached your fingertips beneath the starchy cotton to feel his skin bare for the first time. He yelped— quiet, but obvious— when your hand clutched at his chest, and you let go instantly to pull back and see you’d touched one of his cuts. You pulled his shirt aside and realised how little he’d healed at all since you saw them before; there was almost nowhere you could touch without hurting him further, and you wouldn’t do anything if you couldn’t do it without hurting him.

“Oh, Laszlo,” you breathed, “you’re in no state to— to…” you trailed off, feeling your face warm as you struggled to finish that sentence. “You’re in no state for anything strenuous,” you decided instead.

“Regretfully, I agree,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

“There’s no forgiveness needed when nothing wrong has been done,” you smiled gently, lifting yourself off the table to stand (without stumbling too obviously) and readjust your dress as he carded his fingers through his hair with a deep breath to recollect himself. “There will be plenty of time for… reckless passion.”

“I hope so,” he nodded.

For a moment, the two of you stood there quietly, looking at each other with no idea what to say. “I’ll retire to my own apartment now, I think,” you decided, transitioning the awkward silence into awkward conversation.

“Right; I’ll have Cyrus pull the carriage around and take you there.”

You were already turning to walk to the door, but you stopped when he reached out, gently wrapping his hand around your elbow.

“Wait,” he pleaded, and you turned to him again much too easily. “Before you go, let me kiss you once more.”

And you let him do that much too easily, too. He kept holding your arm with one hand while he rested the other on the small of your back, and you wanted so much to reach up and run your hands through his hair as he pressed his lips to yours— but you knew yourself well enough to know that if you did that, then it wouldn’t be long before your tune changed from ‘you’re still recovering’ to ‘take some morphine and nut up, cowboy’ which wasn’t quite the attitude you were hoping to have.

So, you only rested your hands lightly on his shoulders, giving in to the gentle deepening of the kiss and falling into that timeless, thoughtless void that your mind seemed to go to when he kissed you like this. You caught yourself chasing his lips for just a second when he finally pulled back, fluttering your eyes open just a second too late to find him catching his breath as he examined your face gently. You let your eyes fall shut again, though, when he ever-so-delicately ran the tips of his fingers over your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Twice more,” he whispered, and you giggled as you blinked your eyes open again and pushed him back gently.

“Now, if we start thinking like that, we’ll be here all night,” you rolled your eyes.

He gave you a look— a sort of look that gave away what his mind was picturing the two of you might be doing if you were here all night. Not only that, but a look that said I know you’re imagining it, too.

And though nothing was said, the idea that you were thinking about it together was so quietly titillating.

“Goodnight, Laszlo,” you spoke in a whisper that came out weaker than it had sounded in your head.

“Goodnight, darling,” he returned, opening the door for you, releasing you into the warm, muggy night air— and you only indulged yourself in one more glance back over your shoulder to wave at him from the pavement before you began the carriage ride home.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ you and Laszlo finally learn how to love each other the way you've been waiting to for so long.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 5k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ SMUT (finally!!! includes penetrative sex, knotting because a/b/o, implied loss of virginity but it's not really discussed, fingering, and laszlo being kind of a two-pump chump), alcohol consumption, fluff

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

It took him weeks to heal from the damage he’d done to himself in only a few days. But for as much of that time as you could be, you were there to help, tending to him in any way he’d let you. He seemed a little overwhelmed by all the attention, by your tenderness, but it was your nature.

And as for his nature, he was a proper gentleman— perhaps more than you would’ve wanted if you had it your way. Every little touch from him made your heart flutter, but it never seemed to be enough. Sometimes it would just be a hand resting on yours, other times he would appear behind you and gently kiss the back of your neck… but every time, he would step away too soon and leave you wanting. After months of courting, you had expected to get a little further than that.

Clearly, he didn’t want to take things too quickly with you— and it was probably better that way, but it made you feel embarrassed at your own impatience. You weren’t sure how he might react if you suggested taking things further. Would he scoff and rebuff you? Would he go on with it just to appease you, like it was a chore? Would he scold you for being so improper?

Hm. Maybe that last one wouldn’t be so bad…

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, making you look up quickly from your plate.

“Oh, nothing,” you hummed, adjusting yourself in his dining chair and taking a bite of the dinner he’d served you, trying to look natural.

“Do you honestly think that I can believe that?” he smirked, and you smiled bashfully around the forkful of roasted potato in your mouth before swallowing it.

“Fine,” you relented, “you always see right through me.”

“But I can’t see what it is that you’re thinking about that’s taken all your attention,” he added, lifting his glass of wine to take a sip.

“It’s not worth discussing now,” you decided.

“Why not?”

Laszlo’s persistence was inconvenient at times like that. “It’s not a polite topic for dinner,” you continued, hoping it would be just enough detail to get him to relax his interrogation. But he just laughed softly and shook his head.

“Since when have we respected the rules of polite society and their appropriate dinner topics?” he wondered. “I recall us both maintaining our appetites while discussing the more gruesome details of our latest case— more than a few times.”

You remembered that, too, and it oddly made your heart beat a bit faster as you sipped awkwardly at your wine. He stood up from his seat across the table and approached you; feeling a bit strange to still be sitting, you stood up as well, just as he was right beside you— almost too close, even, to the point that you couldn’t decide if you wanted him to step back or pull you closer.

“Tell me what troubles you,” he requested quietly. “It pains me to see you drowning in your own thoughts.”

“Because it reminds you of yourself?” you asked, joking.

“Yes,” he answered, not joking.

You nodded and cleared your throat a little, glancing down because you couldn’t bear to look at him as you spoke of this. Instead you stared at the intricate pattern in the silk of his vest, something sort of like vines or branches although it was a bit more interpretive than that. “I just was thinking…” you began quietly, trailing off to begin again. “Sometimes I think about that night that you took me to the opera,” you finally got out.

“I’ve taken you to quite a few operas in the past months,” he noticed, “you’ll have to be more specific.”

“The very first one,” you added, and though you weren’t looking at his face, you could hear his breath catch and you hoped that meant that he understood why you’d been thinking about that.

“Ah, yes,” he spoke quietly, and he must’ve leaned in a bit closer because you could feel the warmth of his words fanning over your neck. “Die fliegende Hollander.”

You nodded weakly. “Mm-hmm…”

“No wonder you’re still thinking about it,” he posited with the slightest hint of amusement to his voice, “you must be wondering how it ends.”

You dared to look up just as he was so close that you couldn’t see his face anymore— but you could feel it, pressed against yours as he tenderly kissed your cheek. You sighed and reached up to rest your hands on the lapels of his coat, biting your lip to hold back a whimper as he kissed his way down to your neck.

“It must be troubling you, the lack of closure,” he presumed. “Does it keep you up at night? Or does the anticipation thrill you?”

“Both,” you stammered out your reply, letting your eyes fall shut to better commit yourself to the way his lips felt on your skin. “I think about that night all the time, Laszlo. I-I’d never felt that way before, for anyone— and I’ve never felt it so much since.”

“Felt what?” he pressed, and you found a little more bravery to answer with your eyes closed.

“Desire,” you whispered. And when you felt him pull away, you opened your eyes to find him right there, looking at you with an uninterpretable expression.

When he spoke, though, you were able to interpret his tone: disbelief. “You don’t mean to say that you’ve never desired anyone else…”

“Not like this,” you assured. “Not this much.”

He lifted your jaw with delicate fingers and kissed you— you could taste the wine on his lips, sweet and dark just like him. Seeking more, you found yourself opening your mouth wider and letting his tongue dance with yours; it made shivers run over your skin until your hands were shaking where they had moved to rest on his shoulders.

A deep hum left his mouth and echoed into yours, something you’d never imagined before but was beautifully erotic. He pulled back just enough to examine your face, holding your jaw gently to keep you from leaning forward and kissing him again. You were so lost in the moment that your eyes stayed shut for a moment, your mouth open waiting for him to kiss you again; you were a little embarrassed when you came back to reality and saw him staring at you, but the look in his eyes was nothing less than enamored.

“I’ve been waiting so long, Laszlo,” you whispered, blinking up at him.

“We’ve only been courting for three and a half months,” he reminded you— he said it like he’d actually been counting the days but decided to round down to an estimation.

“Longer than that,” you returned. “Don’t you remember how I longed for you for ages before then? It’s probably been a year that I’ve wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Omega,” he growled, the depth of his voice echoing right through you; your fingers clutched at his coat as your head fell back, making it even easier for him to kiss all over your neck until you started to feel a bit raw from where his beard rubbed against your skin. Not that you minded it, you were too busy moaning as his hand lifted your skirt and slipped under it, running over your legs and massaging your thigh with just enough restrained strength.

“Alpha,” you whimpered in return. He was just inches away from where you needed him, and your back arched just imagining that he might finally touch you. “Don’t make me wait anymore. Make me yours, please…”

“Don’t speak that way,” he pleaded roughly, teeth just barely grazing over the skin of your neck. “I’m still trying to be chivalrous towards you…”

“The most chivalrous thing you can do for me now,” you breathed, “is to take me to bed.”

The way he clutched at your waist with the hand still outside of your dress, pulling you into him, made you think that he just might— but a clattering noise made you both startle and turn to the side, where you found Mary standing in the doorway with a tray dropped on the floor by her feet. Her hands covering her face did little to hide the way her tan skin had flushed to a deep burgundy.

“O-oh, Mary,” Laszlo choked, both of you awkwardly pushing the other away. “I didn’t think you— we didn’t—”

“Let me help you clean that up,” you offered as you dashed to kneel beside the mess on the floor. Mary joined you in gathering the dropped items (thankfully nothing had broken) as you flipped the tray back up to the right side and placed everything back onto it. Laszlo awkwardly stood aside, fixing his hair which had fallen out of its style from your fingers running through it; the absolute second that the mess was cleared, Mary held the tray and stood up, nodding at you and then Laszlo before she dashed back out of the room.

“Well, I think we’ve sufficiently traumatized her,” he decided as he cleared his throat. “Forgive me if I’ve robbed you of your dignity…”

“No, it’s all right,” you assured, standing up to approach him again. “At least we can know Mary won’t be telling anyone about what she saw.”

Laszlo offered a nervous smile at the joke. “Yes— perhaps that was a consideration of my own when hiring her. She’s seen more of my secrets than I ever wanted, but I trust she’ll keep them all.”

You raised an eyebrow as you reached up to run your hand over his chest one more time. “Am I another of your secrets?”

“Anything but,” he replied. “I’ve had to tell everyone I ever knew about the beautiful omega who’s become my constant companion— I’ve had to tell them twice, in fact, because they never believe me the first time.”

He loved to flatter you like that, and it was true that the news had spread far and wide; however, he overestimated his own role in that, since the papers and gossip mill had done plenty to get the word out about an eligible bachelor like Dr. Laszlo Kreizler finally finding a woman who might very well become his mate.

“But the last thing I’d like is to besmirch your reputation,” he added, “or to dishonor you.”

Oh, but you so desperately wanted to be dishonored. You were more than willing to give your honor up to him and thank him for taking it afterwards. If only you had the bravery to say it. “Thank you for dinner, Laszlo,” you heard yourself say instead.

He had arrived early one afternoon to take you to the opera— Die Zauberflöte this time— and you had asked him to wait outside your bedroom as you finished dressing.

You had sat down at your vanity. He had suddenly swung open the door, his silhouette appearing behind you in your mirror. You were only in your dressing gown, yet you didn’t protest.

And then it just… happened.

He all but pounced on you, spinning you around and pinning you back onto your vanity— knocking everything onto the floor, which you didn’t really care about or notice at this point. He kissed you roughly, running his hands over your skin as you began to push his jacket off, though you only managed to get a few buttons of his shirt open before he pulled back.

“I need you,” he begged, staring at you with his brown eyes darker than ever.

He wasn’t in his rut, nothing had triggered it— it was just the culmination of both of you waiting far too long to do this, and something about him losing control simply from having to wait for you to dress made you beam with pride at the same time you whimpered with need. “Have me,” you offered to him in reply, gasping when he instantly began to lift your robe, running his hand up your legs, clutching at your hips and rubbing the delicate skin there.

He kissed you quickly, but pulled back to watch your face as his fingers found your pussy, gently exploring you as you bit down on your lip to mask the sound of shaky breaths.

It certainly wasn’t how you expected this to happen, not how you imagined it at all; sudden and unplanned, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you back against the vanity. Half-undressed, sweaty and panting with your open mouth almost brushing against his as if you were too overwhelmed to even really kiss him.

It wasn’t what you expected, but it was everything you never knew you needed.

You were much too wet for how little he’d done to you— and your clit was already a bit swollen when he found it and began to rub it in slow, gentle circles.

He smiled when your hands weakly clutched at his shirt, your mouth fallen open into a whimper of a moan at the feeling. “Have you ever touched yourself here before?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” you admitted, “but I think I was doing it wrong…”

He grinned wider, leaning in to whisper to you as he continued to rub the spot, applying just a bit more pressure until you felt your hips beginning to rock in time with his movements. “Such a unique little organ,” he continued, “the only one whose sole known purpose is pleasure.”

Though the topic of his statement was scientific, with the tone his voice carried, it would never be confused for a professorial lecture.

“I can’t wait to show you every way I can make you feel good,” he added darkly, pressing harder on it just in time to make you moan loudly.

“I-I want to make you feel good, too,” you protested. He silently obliged your request as his free hand held your wrist gently, guiding you until your hand was pressed up against his erection through his trousers. Your eyes went wide as you felt the outline of his cock— it was so thick, and it hadn’t even knotted yet. How would it ever fit inside you? “It’s going to hurt…” you worried aloud.

"It won't hurt," he promised in a rough whisper, rubbing his fingers over your entrance carefully. "I'll get you ready first, keep you comfortable— and there shouldn't be any pain. Tell me if something hurts you, all right?"

It was his 'Doctor voice,' the same one he used when giving patients certain treatments or exams. Hearing him use it in this context was… wonderfully jarring.

One finger slid carefully into you, and even with how wet you were, it forced you to softly hiss in a breath. He moved it slowly and deliberately, twisting it slightly as he pumped it in and out. “How does this feel?” he asked quietly.

“Different,” you mumbled nervously, starting to move your own hand over the bulge in his trousers, but when you started to rub your fingers over the ridge of his head, he quickly pushed your hand away, pinning it down to the vanity by your wrist.

“Let’s not test my stamina any more than we need to,” he decided.

You couldn’t explain why you enjoyed him pinning your hand down like that so much, but it didn’t matter because he let it go to reach up and run his hand over your hair anyways.

Just as you began to feel more comfortable with one finger, he began to carefully add a second. It was a bit of a stretch, and you let out a sharp breath but he reminded you to relax, his free hand cradling your neck and stroking your jaw to keep you calm. “You’re doing so well,” he cooed, “just let me get you ready a little longer, I promise it won’t hurt you.”

You nodded and he pressed the second finger in beside the first, slowly sliding both deeper inside you, until his knuckles were pressed up against you and your head had fallen back against the wall in a low moan. “Oh, Laszlo,” you heard yourself whisper under your breath.

“A little louder, darling,” he prompted.

“Laszlo,” you said again, “i-it feels good…”

“I know,” he nodded, “it’s supposed to.”

Those two fingers curled inside you and hit something that made your toes curl. “O-oh,” you stammered, “fuck.”

You felt him smile when he heard you swear, thrusting his fingers just as much as he needed to make your thigh start to shake. And it was only made more intense by his thumb pressing down on your bud again, rubbing it firmly while he kept twisting his fingers within you.

Of course the moan you let out was loud and unashamed: you had no corner of your mind left to even feel shame anymore, not when pleasure had taken over every thought and tears began to spring in your eyes just from how intense it felt. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he noticed. “And so quickly… what a good little omega you are.”

That was pretty much the last thing you expected him to say, but it called to something deep and instinctual within you— as well as making you whine as your back arched to accommodate a chill running over it.

“Can you come for me, now?” he wondered.

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, Laszlo— I’ll come.”

“Do it, then,” he challenged. “Go ahead, Omega, show me how fast you can come for your Alpha. Show me you’re ready for my knot.”

Any chance at resistance you may have had was lost to words like that, and with a cry of his name, an orgasm washed over you suddenly— one unlike any you’d ever felt before. Slick coated his hand and ran down your shaking thighs, and he moved his fingers like he wanted to drain you completely.

Only once your moans of pleasure just barely crossed the line to cries of pain did he finally slow down, though he didn’t take his fingers out of you completely nor did he stop moving them. You were still catching your breath when he started to speak right against your ear: “You can’t even imagine,” he promised in a low, husky whisper, “the way it feels when you come on my fingers. I never knew anything could be so divine. I need you to do it again, before I fuck you.”

Hearing him talk like that had long-since removed any remaining functionality of your logical mind, and you moaned loudly as your head fell back against the wall.

He made you come again almost effortlessly, since every spot he’d already targeted had become more sensitive than ever, and it was a struggle not to scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear. You weren’t sure if you cared anymore if they did; you’d be fine with anyone and everyone knowing of the pleasure Laszlo was giving you.

You only held back because if you were too loud, then you wouldn’t be able to hear his voice in your ear, showering you in praises. “My beautiful omega, that’s it, just let go…”

Though he was immensely talented with his fingers, of course it wasn’t enough— even after two orgasms. “A-Alpha, need you,” you barely managed to croak out.

“You have me, darling, I’m right here,” he assured.

“No, I—” you stuttered over a whine, “I need you.”

He winced, but still managed to resist your plea somehow. “You’re not ready yet, Omega— I need to get you ready to take all of me.”

Just then, he added a third finger; the stretch made you whimper and arch your back, holding on tight to his shoulders. “Alpha, I— oh god,” you whimpered, hips beginning to rock in spite of the way the stretch pushed you to your limits.

“You can take it, can’t you?” he asked. “It’s not too much?”

If you were being honest, it was almost too much: but you weren't being honest, and you were going to say anything you needed to get his cock in you right now. “I can take it, Laszlo, please— I-I’m ready to take you.”

“No, you need a little more—” he began to disagree.

“Please!” you sobbed. “Alpha, I need to feel you inside me…”

He snarled at you, and he looked way too good doing it; you whimpered and arched your back harder, your body so desperate to submit to him. Thankfully, it seemed to work, as he carefully pulled his fingers out of you only to not-carefully-at-all start to unbutton his trousers.

Shit, it looked even bigger than it felt. A nervous swallow moved down your throat just as a new wave of arousal dripped from your entrance.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked you quietly. “Because once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you,” you assured quickly, moaning when he stepped forward and you felt his cock press right up against you; it was intimate, and of course it was, but it made your cheeks warm in a different sort of way to feel him so close and know that soon enough he would take you as his once and for all.

Just sliding his cock over your lips once was enough to coat him in your slick, and his head bumping into your swollen bud made a gasp catch in your chest.

“Omega,” he breathed, “I can’t wait any longer, I… I need to be inside you.”

“Please,” you gasped.

You watched his face, and he watched yours, as his hand reached down to guide himself into you. You bit your lip when the softer head of his cock pressed up right to your hole: already it was so wide that you worried how it would ever get in.

The first push of his hips forward just barely managed to overcome the resistance inside you, slipping the head of his cock inside— and you both moaned deeply at the feeling. You whined as he gave one slow, consistent stroke to fill you to the brim, your legs shaking slightly where they were holding his body close. You just barely heard him whisper your name, along with a little curse, and you spoke his name back to him in case he might’ve forgotten it.

“M-more,” you pleaded when he started to slow down, only satisfied when you felt his legs against the back of your thighs and you knew he’d given you everything.

His head fell onto your shoulder with a sigh, he himself starting to lose his collectedness now in the overwhelming heat of you, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Omega…” he whispered absently.

“Move, please,” you whimpered, and though he had intended to give you more time to adjust, he couldn’t resist anymore and began to rock his hips against yours.

You'd never felt so full; your urge was to tighten your fists and curl your toes, but his hand rubbing your back and his voice in your ear encouraged you to relax. "Shh," he cooed when you whined after a particularly deep thrust, "just breathe, darling, breathe with me."

"O-oh!" you gasped when he pressed his hips up to yours, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go— which was very, very deep. You relaxed, though, as his hand moved up to gently cradle your face, your jaw in his palm as his thumb rubbed lightly over your cheek. He stared at you very closely for a moment, seemingly in awe of you, before kissing you lightly and sighing against your lips.

"So beautiful," he whispered. “Tell me how it feels…”

“It feels perfect,” you answered, “I— I didn’t know it would feel this good…”

He smiled as he kissed you again, tasting your pliant lips and letting his tongue venture inside your mouth fallen slack into a sigh. You, meanwhile, couldn’t do anything but bask in the pleasure that washed over you— it wasn’t a relaxing sort of pleasure, like slipping into a hot bath. It was a challenge, it required something of you, but it was well worth it (and better than any bath, certainly).

And, also unlike a bath, it just got hotter. “I…” you began, but you weren’t sure what to say. Something was building in you, faster than you expected and egged on by his thumb finding your bud again and rubbing it slowly.

“What is it?” he whispered. “Tell me what you need.”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed in return, because that really was all you needed. “I’m… close…”

You weren’t sure if that was the right way to put it, but he smiled proudly when he heard you. “So eager,” he praised quietly, and it only served to arouse you further. It was sort of a backhanded compliment; he was ever-so-slightly mocking you, and you liked it.

“Ffffuck,” you stammered, feeling the tingling intensity starting to creep in from every side, making you shiver in a way that was very different than you ever had before.

Your walls began to flex before you’d even really hit the highest point of it, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth so you figured he must’ve felt it. “Yes,” he groaned, and you’d never seen him so lacking in composure. “Just like that, Omega, come for me.”

You fell apart instantly once he’d said that— it was a miracle you lasted this long, to be entirely honest, though it wasn’t very long at all.

Your teeth dug into your lip until you worried you might break the skin, trying to hold back your cries of pleasure, but even so it caught in your throat and was audible regardless. Laszlo, meanwhile, groaned deeply at the feeling, beginning to move a bit faster and hold you a bit tighter.

“I can’t hold back anymore,” he warned you roughly, panting out his breaths against your neck. “I-I’m going to knot you.”

Lost entirely for words, you only whined and nodded quickly.

Just a few thrusts later and he groaned deeply, hands clutching at your thighs as the warmth of his come began to fill you. You cried out weakly as his knot swelled against your walls, tears welling in your eyes; he struggled to soothe you while falling into his own pleasure, but he still managed to do it with gentle kisses and whispered praises. “You take it so well, my beautiful omega,” he spoke under his breath, rushed and uneven as he kept coming inside you. “Shh, it’s all right…”

You fought, ironically, to keep yourself relaxed. It was such a struggle to fit his knot in you, but it was worth the effort— you knew this was what you were meant to do, you could feel it in the way your body was thrumming with energy.

It took a while for it just to stop getting bigger, but at least then you could sigh shakily and start to try to get comfortable— because you’d be like this for a while. “Alpha,” you breathed, clutching at his shirt again.

He leaned in and kissed you, much more relaxed than before, and you really melted into him then; that went on so long that you couldn’t even estimate how much time might’ve passed, nor would you really want to. You were certainly missing the opera by this point, though once again, neither of you cared in the slightest.

Even with really only one arm doing the work, he was able to carry you to bed, where he held you tightly and kissed your face and let you drift in that place between sleep and wakefulness until his knot went down.

You both winced, slightly, when he finally pulled out. Both of you were somehow both numb and oversensitized at once, so it was a little uncomfortable for just that moment, but you hummed lowly when you were empty again and felt the warmth of his come begin to slowly leak from your opening. You didn’t even want to imagine how swollen and stretched you must’ve been there, after the way his knot had nearly overwhelmed you.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he offered quietly as he began to sit up, but you whined and reached out for him.

“Don’t go, Alpha,” you pleaded weakly.

“I’m not going to go far, I’ll come get you when the water’s warm,” he soothed with a gentle kiss to your cheek, getting up a moment later— you were too exhausted to watch him go, so you just shut your eyes and listened to his steps disappear into the hall.

You were half-asleep when he came back and helped you up; you were still half-asleep when he guided you into the warm water, humming to yourself as you slipped into it and keeping your eyes shut just to soak (literally) in the feeling of the hot water.

“My beautiful omega,” he whispered below his breath as he carefully helped you wash your face, cupping water in his hands and letting it run down your cheeks, unsticking the baby hairs that had clung to the thin layer of sweat on your forehead. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You smiled, finally finding the energy to blink your eyes open and find his face hovering not too far above yours. The next time his hand passed over your face, you held it with your own and gave a kiss to his palm. “My beautiful Alpha,” you replied.

He gave a bashful smile at that compliment, clearly it wasn’t the one he was expecting, but he didn’t look at all disappointed.

[mypoisonedvine]

Okay I’m sorry I’m sending this early because I always forget about the sleepover until late but I’m desperate for alpha Laszlo losing his shit when reader goes into heat 😬 (no pressure of course it’s just a thought, anyways you’re fantastic <3)

ah I would love to! smut ofc and breeding kink (what is a/b/o without breeding kink??)

As soon as he caught the scent of your heat in the air, he was done for.

All logic, all pretense, all self-consciousness left him and he operated purely on instinct, on the parts of his mind untouched by his scholarly ways. He usually felt a bit of guilt whenever he sobered up after moments like this: not so much for whatever he might have done, since you seemed to enjoy it, but just for the... animalistic way of it all. Though he was perhaps more equipped than anyone to understand that humans were, in fact, animals, he was also the type to despise it.

But all that would wait for when he came to again, after he'd knotted you a few times. For now, he could remain blissfully enchanted by his need to please you while your heat overtook your mind and body.

"Alpha, Alpha, Alpha," you sobbed with every thrust he gave you, so deep yet slow and patient. He clutched you tightly, holding you from behind, and nuzzled himself right up against your ear with a low growl.

"My Omega," he answered back between soft bites over your skin, "so desperate to be bred..."

"Yes," you whimpered, holding his hands where they wrapped over your chest. "Breed me, Laszlo, wanna be pregnant..."

Being called by name in a time like this caught him off-guard: it reminded him of the philosopher, the alienist, the scientist he used to be just less than a quarter hour ago, compared to what he was now. But it wasn't enough to slow him down, in fact he fucked you harder to watch you cry out for him.

Your heats made you so sensitive, so it wasn't any surprise how quickly you came undone for him, drenching the both of you in slick as your legs quivered; it was a good thing he could hold you upright with only one arm's strength, or you might've collapsed.

"I'll knot you," he warned in a whisper, and you moaned because you'd already lost the mental fortitude to speak. "I'll give you my knot, Omega, and fill you with my seed."

You whined in that way that he could tell meant you were pleading with him to do it, by now he could translate your sounds quite easily. Like, for example, the gasp you made as his knot began to swell meant 'I'm not sure it will fit.'

But it will fit. It always does.

He kissed your cheek and neck and shoulder as he came down from the high, knowing his knot would keep his come deep inside you for quite a while before it went down and he could do it all over again-- once was never enough when you were in heat, you needed to be bred over and over until you couldn't take it anymore... and then perhaps a few more times after that for good measure.

"Thank you," you sighed, a bit of sanity apparently returning to you.

"You should've told me it was coming soon," he sighed, "I wouldn't have left you home alone..."

Yes, it was quite the sight (and smell) to behold, Laszlo returning home from work to discover his beloved Omega had been in heat for hours, soaked and sobbing. It broke his heart at the same time that it hardened his cock in an instant.

Thankfully, he was home now, and prepared to take care of you for as long as you needed-- like any good Alpha should. And Laszlo, despite how he might seem to some at first, was a great Alpha.

[f1yogurt]

Fic Masterlist - f1yogurt

AO3 Link - much more organized than this list (and includes tags)

Taglist - please fill this out if you would like to be tagged in my fics

** indicates smut and Minors DNI 18+ fics

Daniel Brühl Characters

(It's my goal to eventually have at least one fic written for each of his characters so stay tuned.)

The Danny Bunch Headcanons

kinks** - sub! hc's about the boys and their kinks

facial hair - danny bunch and facial hair

Helmut Zemo

A Long Day - sleepy cuddles, Zemo x gn!Reader

Baron of Mine - spy!AU, Zemo x fem!Reader

Flirting with Royalty - Baron Zemo x servant!Reader

Pretty in Purple** - sub!Zemo x Dora Milaje

Hold Me Tight - huddling for warmth, Bucky x Zemo

Laszlo Kreizler

smut prompt drabble** - Laszlo x gn!Reader

Niki Lauda (find more in Classic F1 RPF)

Snapshot in the Fast Lane** - set in 70s F1, Niki x fem! photographer Reader

That Ferrari Jacket** - technically RPF but it's smut involving Niki's racing jacket, sub!Niki x gn!Reader

drunk!Niki headcanons

Andrea Marowski

Subby thoughts for Andrea** - sub!Andrea

Sebastian Zöllner

What a Brat Gets** - you teach Seb a lesson in patience, sub!Sebastian x Reader

Lieutenant Horstmayer

You're My Lifeline** - an A/B/O Joyeux Noel fic with omega!Horstmayer x alpha!Audebert x beta!Gordon (on temporary hiatus)

Cross My Fingers - part of the Joyeux Noel Halloween fic challenge! Horstmayer whump.

Dirk (All Together)

For Old Times' Sake** - sub!Dirk x fem!Reader (on temporary hiatus)

Classic F1 RPF

Snapshot in the Fast Lane** - set in 70s F1, Niki x fem! photographer Reader

Pit Stop - the first meeting (based on true events) between Niki & James

Love Will Keep Us Together - Niki, James, and many other classic F1 boys partying it up

That Ferrari Jacket** - smut involving Niki's racing jacket, sub!Niki x gn!Reader

In My Blood - a Niki Lauda drabble

Breakfast In Bed - a sleepy morning with Niki x James x John

drunk!Niki headcanons