#laszlo kreisler imagine

[thranduilsperkybutt]

Gif source:  Here

Imagine you're married to Laszlo Kreisler, and trying to get his attention since you're kind of jealous of the attention he gives to Mary.

--------- Request for @lady-bridgerton  ---------

He treated her like a delicate thing to be placed atop a shelf and dusted with a dedication that only he could pursue. The gentleness in his voice when he spoke to Mary would not always bother you; yet, when coupled with the softness in his eyes, you could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy creeping into your gut. An ugly thing it was, and you only felt it from time to time, but only when he gave Mary the kind of attention he was giving her now.

Nothing less than gentlemanly, of course, but still...

Had he ever been so gentle with you? With every interaction you’ve ever had, you seem to only bring out a passion in the man that sometimes burned with such an intensity that you wondered if it would not destroy you entirely. His attentions for you were directed with a certainty that you had never questioned. Your disagreements with him had once gone on for days, until you had found a better way to vent your mutual frustrations.

You watch as he thanks her reverently for the serving tray she’s brought the two of you in the midst of his studies.

No, you think, Laszlo has never treated you so gently.

There was a ring on your finger, though, was there not?

Mary is lovely, and you thank her in kind before she retreats, leaving you alone again with the man you are still at a loss to figure out, even after all this time. You study him as he sips the tea she’s brought, as if it will help you figure out the reason for the jealousy in your heart. It’s in vain.

“What has brought upon your silence? You were rather mouthy a moment ago,” he doesn’t bother looking towards you, rather than back at his documents. The raise of his brow is enough to tell you of his curiosity for your sudden disquiet.

“I was just wondering why you’ve never treated me with such gentle longing,” you know how you sound, and yet you can’t stop the words from tumbling. A pout forming at your lips as you round the desk before you, and only then does he look up.

His brow inches higher in surprise, “Now, don’t tell me you’re jealous...”

You don’t have to admit it for him to see the truth of it, but you do anyway, “Your attentions have never been so delicate to me as you are with Mary... and you know I’m a wonderer.”

His hand reaches for your hip, and you feel his grip through the fabrics and layers between you as he steps closer. Intense. Demanding. The jealousy inside you tells you he would never touch Mary like this. His hand not at your hip tips up your chin, tearing your eyes from the scrutiny of his collar.

His lips slip into a firm line as he performs his own scrutiny of you, but his eyes soften, “You have never needed gentle attention, though, perhaps I have been mistaken in thinking you did not want them.” Then, the twinge of a smile at the corner of his lips, when he teases dryly, “Perhaps I have been blinded by how amusingly disagreeable you can be at times.”

“How dare you! I’m not disagreeable,” you huff, crossing your arms between his proximity to you.

His chuckle is full of mirth, and you know then why he has never treated you the same as he does Mary, “But you’re quite disagreeable now, my love. You need not be so, if all you want is attention.”

You’ve never needed the version of himself that he holds out to Mary to kindly ensure she does not break. You’ve told him since the moment you met him what you’ve needed from him or how you’ve found fault in his arguments. He’s always known you were not so easily broken.

You prove him right with your snark, “If you would give me attention, I would not need to cause a show of it.”

“Mm,” he sighs in faux disapproval, but his smile is nearly matching your own as he leans closer to brush his lips upon yours, “an entertaining show.”

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Philophobia - Laszlo Kreizler (The Alienist)

FINALLY, I finally wrote an imagine for one of Daniel Brühl's characters after suffering a nonstop obsession with him and his work. It only took be three whole days, but honestly, I kinda fuck with this ngl.

Warnings: typical 19th century societal opinions and expectations, sexism, references to prostitution and murder, and major spoilers for season 1 of the Alienist

3.9k words🤙🏻 (so close to 4k but not quite, ah!)

~~~~~~~~~~

You had been working as an apprentice and assistant for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler for over a year now. Ever since you were a child, you had always had a fascination for the human mind, what makes people tic. You had been fortunate enough to even gain some level of respect from the Doctor, even to allow you to watch him work and occasionally ask for your impute if he were to have a case that could use more than one perspective.

You were proud that you were, most likely, one of the first women to ever be allowed to work with someone as proficient in his field as Doctor Kreizler. Though, of course, you had certain obstacles you had to overcome, like people not taking you seriously simply because you were a woman. You knew Laszlo respected you as an individual, but it did take some time before he allowed you to help take on the more severe, violent cases he had.

The murder and mutilation of the young boy prostitute on the Williamsburg Bridge had been one case you begged the Doctor to let you help with. John Moore, a friend of Doctor Kreizler, was very adamant that a woman should not be subject to such horrors. You had known Mr. Moore since you were a child, he was fairly older than you and was like a brother to you, which is why you had no qualms with telling him to kindly piss off, for you knew that a woman could do anything a man could. From then on, you became a member of Laszlo's team.

You very quickly came to realize your rapidly growing affection for Doctor Kreizler during the investigation. Well, truth be told, ever since you started your apprenticeship, you found the Doctor to be quite handsome and found his passion for helping his patients admirable. You loved watching how he behaved with his patients, how he treated them with the respect and kindness that their parents might have never given to them. You tried not to let it distract you, the last thing you wanted was for Doctor Kreizler to see you as some air headed dolt that wasn't fit for the job of an alienist. But on the contrary, Laszlo saw you as anything but.

Admittedly, Laszlo was a bit hesitant in allowing you to take on learning this way of life, which could be difficult, especially since alienists were already misunderstood and ostracized. His first impression when you two met, he saw how beautiful you were and instantly proved you were intelligent, he couldn't imagine why you would choose a career field such as his. Of course, he was glad you were interested and engaged in his theories unlike other simpletons he wasted his breath on. He saw you were truly passionate about psychology, almost as much as he was. It didn't take much convincing after that.

When Laszlo saw how involved you wanted to be with his team set to find the murderer of the young boy on the bridge, he didn't know why he felt a sharp tinge of fear in his chest. At first, he was just convinced that it was because you were considered the weaker sex, according to society at the time. And yet, Sara being an integral part of the investigation didn't give him the same fear. Laszlo just couldn't bare the thought of you getting hurt because of this case. When he made sure that everyone on the team knew that the killer's onslaught of violence could very well spill over onto them, he made sure to make direct eye contact with you; but you didn't let his opinion sway you. You were determined to stop this monster, just as much as everyone else, and nothing was going to stop you from doing just that.

It took countless hours and sleepless nights to locate and finally catch this John Beecham, just in time before he murdered another innocent boy, Joseph.

You, John, and Laszlo raced to the Croton reservoir, which was a drastic change of the plan from what you and the rest of the team had been told; but with Byrnes stalking Laszlo and the police at where you all originally thought the killer would strike next, Laszlo was one step ahead of everyone else it seemed. But upon reaching the reservoir, you were ordered to stay behind, John and Laszlo both agreeing that it was too dangerous.

You stood outside the building, pacing and tapping your foot impatiently. No, you were too on edge. You needed to see this through, and you didn't care about the danger.

You lit a candle upon entering the reservoir, dimly lighting your path through the maze of tunnels throughout the building. You felt your heartbeat thump in your ears as you followed the sound of distant footsteps and shouts, the slowly melting wax stinging your hand but helping you ground yourself to reality as you got closer and closer to the commotion.

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw the killer hovering above Laszlo, holding the Arkansas toothpick right to his face, John and Joseph passed out behind them. "I could take your eyes…" You heard uttered from the killer's mouth.

Over my dead body.

You didn't think as you pounced on the killer, swinging your arm across the man's neck and squeezing as tightly as you possibly could, hearing him let out a strangled gasp. Though your hold on him didn't keep for long. The man being much more stronger and bigger than you, he quickly reached his arm backwards and grabbed a fist full of your hair and slammed you into the concrete floor, knocking the breath out of you from the impact and the swift kick to the stomach you received afterwards. You could've sworn you heard Laszlo call out your name, but you instantly felt dizzy; you must've hit your head.

You thankfully recovered after a minute, but not soon enough. You scowled as you saw captain Connor standing in the corridor, holding a freshly fired pistol smugly. "Looks like I walked into a bloodbath." He smirked, keeping his gun raised directly at you and Laszlo, both of you rendered defenseless on the ground in pain. Connor grinned darkly at you, causing you to cringe in disgust. "Well, looky here, if it isn't Laszlo Kreizler's pet bitch. Shame I'll have to kill you too, what a waste of a pretty face."

You didn't have time to snap back at the Irishman, Laszlo much quicker in his response. "No, don't!" Laszlo shouted, his expression of anger so fierce it gave Connor slight pause, but he quickly shrugged it off with another smirk.

"Aw, don't worry, Doctor. I'll make her death quick and painless, I'm not a monster, after all." As time seemed to slow as Connor raised his pistol to your forehead, the sound of the hammer pulling back and twisting the cylinder was distant, and your first thought was that you couldn't believe you were going to die by the hands of a pig.

A shot rang out, echoing through the desolate halls of the reservoir.

You were wide-eyed in shock, staring up at the similarly shocked face of the captain Connor, bright red blood slowly seeping out of his mouth and promptly dropping to the floor, clutching the fresh bullet hole in his stomach. You looked to see Sara, holding her own pistol, smoke pouring from the double barrel. "Are you alright?" Her meek and timid voice spoke, gently dropping to her knees and laying a hand on your shoulder.

"I am now." You smiled breathlessly, reaching out and giving her a grateful hug. "Thank you."

Sara then went to John, waking him up and making sure he was okay too. You looked back at Doctor Kreizler, him staring at you with an intense but unreadable expression. He looked back and forth between you and the ladder that went up another level of the reservoir, noticing the killer wasn't there with everyone else anymore. You nodded to him, signaling that it was okay to pursue him, and off he went quickly.

Unfortunately, the bullet wound in the killer's back caused by Connor drained the life from him too quickly, Laszlo not being able to get the answers he was seeking. Now, no one would ever know why John Beecham murdered those poor boys. It was frustrating, and you couldn't even imagine how Laszlo must've felt, to spend all that time and effort, having nothing to show for it. But at least you stopped a serial killer.

Laszlo didn't speak to you at all after that, even when you all arrived back at the institute so the Isaacson brothers could run the autopsy. It felt as though he was upset with you, which, you couldn't really blame him for. You did refuse to listen to his requests, but you knew you made the right choice. Any minute longer and you might've actually walked into a bloodbath as Connor said. But the sharp pain in your side and severe headache that you suffered tried to convince you otherwise.

As the Doctor's assistant as well as his apprentice, you were immensely thankful that you had your own private bedroom that you could wallow in. After everyone went home and left you and Laszlo alone, you tried to go up the stairs to your room, wincing every so often when you accidently overexerted yourself.

Looking in your full body mirror after you undressed, you saw the black and blue bruises decorating the side of your abdomen. It looked as bad as it felt, you supposed. You started to regret your reckless ways, thinking of what you could've done better than to just tackle the murderer.

You jumped at the sudden knock on your door, quickly dressing yourself in a thin robe so you weren't completely naked as you opened the door, seeing Laszlo's face immediately calming your heart. Though upon seeing your lack of decency, quickly uttered an apology and turned to leave but you reached out and gently grabbed his arm. "I, uh, just wanted to see if you were alright." Laszlo spoke softly, noticeably trying to not let his gaze slip lower than your face.

You smiled weakly, nodding your head. "Yes, I'm alright, thank you." You lied. Due to the night you've both had, you didn't want to worry him, he deserved some peace and relaxation after the long investigation. But you quickly noticed how Laszlo's brow furrowed, his mouth upturned in a frown, his once concerned gaze turning cold. "Are you okay?" You asked back, even though it was completely obvious what he answer would be.

Laszlo tilted his head slightly, a tight-lipped irritated smile on his face. "You could've gotten killed tonight, you know that, don't you? If not by captain Connor, Japheth could've done more than just slam you on the ground."

You lowered your head in shame, not that you were ashamed of your decision, you just hated that you were correct on your theory that Laszlo was actually upset with you.

"John and I told you not to go into the reservoir with us, yet you deliberately disobeyed."

You couldn't help but scoff. "That man almost killed you, Laszlo! Who knows, if I had arrived one second later, you might've been killed."

"Japheth wouldn't have killed me."

"Really? How do you know that?" You asked irritably, rolling your eyes when Laszlo couldn't find the words to respond. "I don't regret my actions, Doctor. I'd do it again in a heartbeat." But as your next heartbeat pounded in your ears, another wave of sharp pain resonated through you, causing you to almost double over in pain, the only thing keeping you upright was your hand on the doorframe.

"Y/n?" Laszlo asked, panicked. "What's wrong?" Laszlo quickly helped you to your bed, even sitting down being almost too painful. You clutched your side, biting your lip in attempt to keep your whimpers silenced. But Laszlo noticed right away, reaching for your hand, giving you a tender gaze. "Let me see."

You internally sighed as you listened to him, hesitantly removing your hand and allowed Laszlo to gently open your robe. You heard him gasp quietly as he finally saw your side, his body tensing up almost as if he could feel the same pain that you felt. "Why didn't you say anything?" Laszlo scolded.

"I didn't want you to worry." You mumbled nervously, Laszlo's sullen face making you feel guilty. "I'm sorry."

Laszlo shook his head lightly. "Don't. Just lay down, you need to rest. I'll call for a doctor in the morning." And with that, he left your room in a hurry, shutting the door hard enough to make you flinch. You didn't want disobey his direct orders this time, plus, your body craved sleep.

As Laszlo said that night, he called for a doctor for a house call. Thankfully, your bruises weren't anything to be concerned about as long as you stayed in bed for awhile. Which wouldn't have been a problem if it weren't for the fact that you were pretty restless in general, so you knew you were going to have a hard time being on bedrest. And Laszlo was still upset with you, so that made the situation even worse.

Stevie and Cyrus were gracious enough to help take care of you instead of Laszlo, but you couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. On one hand, it would've forced Laszlo to deal with his feelings toward you, but you also didn't want to have to deal with his issues while dealing with your own, and you didn't know if you would've been able to handle the more intimate moments that came with being cared for if it was with Laszlo. Though, you decided that being ignored was worse.

Even when you were cleared to walk around, Laszlo rarely ever spoke to you, only when necessary, which irked you. You figured enough time had passed for him to get over your actions at the reservoir, but apparently you underestimated his ability to hold a grudge. You just couldn't understand why he stayed so mad at you, you were at your wits end and you wanted answers. And almost like Laszlo himself could feel your frustration towards him, he decided to go to the opera in attempt to escape.

Laszlo sighed when he saw you sitting patiently on one of his chairs in his living room, mindlessly flipping through one of his books. "What are you doing up? It's late. You should be in bed."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, Doctor." You stood up from the chair, a bit too quickly, wincing at the now dull pain, still reminding you that you had to pace yourself.

"How are you feeling?" Laszlo asked, for the first time since the doctor's visit.

"Oh, so now you care?" You scowled, allowing your bitterness seep through in your tone.

Laszlo huffed, gripping his cane tightly. "I never said I didn't."

"Well, you sure have been acting like it." You chuckled bitterly.

"Surely, I don't know what you mean."

You scoffed. "Really? You really don't know? You've been ignoring me for weeks, Laszlo. I just want to know why? And if it's really because I followed you and John, then I must say, you've been quite unfair to someone who just might've saved your life. Or maybe I just should've died then and there." Now, you knew that was a bit overdramatic, but once you started speaking your mind, you couldn't stop the word vomit.

You flinched when Laszlo threw his cane to the floor in anger, a loud clang echoing through the room. "I-" Laszlo started to shout, but quickly stopped himself, balling his hand into a fist and taking a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.

Laszlo hadn't meant to snap at you, truly he didn't; and he wanted to tell you that, but all words escaped him in that moment.

Back at the reservoir, Laszlo had a realization. When he saw you getting hurt by Japheth and almost killed by Connor, he felt terrified, terrified that he was going to lose you. Up until that point, you were just his apprentice and a friend, nothing more. He didn't realize how important you were to him until he almost lost you. Laszlo didn't want to feel this way, he figured he had suffered enough trauma and having unrequited feelings for someone would just add on to his list of problems. But you…you were so good, so pure of heart, someone who deserved much better than him. Maybe he had known that he had feelings for you, but he kept those feelings under lock and key, ignoring them and eventually, ignoring you.

Laszlo had a tendency of blaming himself for most things, you being hurt on the job was no exception. He should've had you go with Sara and the Isaacson brothers, you would've been okay if he had. Seeing your injuries just made his fear even more palpable, and he couldn't handle it. He completely shut down, locking himself in his own room, trying not to think about how he was leaving you alone to deal with your pain by yourself. And seeing Stevie and Cyrus hustle about the house, doing whatever they could to make your life easier just added on to his guilt. But ultimately, he knew it wasn't fair to you; and seeing your frightened expression, he knew he couldn't ignore his feelings anymore.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to shout." Laszlo sighed, removing his fur coat and setting it down.

"Please, Laszlo, tell me why. I…I miss you, talking to you." You felt your face heat up at your words, a simple confession that could just be interpreted as friendly, but you knew otherwise.

Similarly, Laszlo felt his heart beat faster than normal, not just by your words but your pleading soft gaze that he couldn't look away from even if he tried. Laszlo started by taking a deep breath, "I never meant for you to feel ignored. After all that happened, I needed time to think. About the case, about Japheth...about you. I didn't truly understand my feelings until that night, and as much as I hate to admit this to myself, I was scared. As soon as you were involved, nothing else mattered to me, not the case, not John, not the commissioner; as long as you were safe. And I know how terrible that sounds, but it's the truth."

You stepped forwards cautiously, reaching out to take Laszlo's hand in yours. He hesitated for a moment, and you stopped to look into his eyes with all the kindness you could possibly muster, and you were relieved to see him relax, untensing his shoulders and connecting his hand with yours with a sharp exhale. "The environment in which I grew up, it's difficult for me to open myself up to...this." He stared at his hand intertwined with yours, gently grazing his thumb over your soft skin. "I thought I could push these feelings away, but it seems I've failed at that too."

You gave his a sympathetic smile. "I understand." You didn't know the full extent of his childhood trauma, but you understood well enough how much it could affect a person, especially an innocent child. "I, too, tried to push my feelings away." You chuckled weakly, the feeling of Laszlo's smooth hand lightly brushing up your arm, causing you to shiver.

"And did you succeed?" The question was so simple, but the almost sultry expression in his eyes so fixed on yours told you he already knew what your answer would be. And you stuttered, unable to speak from how intense his gaze was; and you were almost convinced that you saw a ghost of a smirk when you gave up trying to come up with a response. "I suppose that gives me my answer."

Before you could attempt to respond once more, you were stopped by Laszlo's hand reaching up to gently caress your cheek, tracing a line against your jawline before coming to rest on your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his breath on you, mixing with your own, his lips so close that you could almost feel them brush over yours in a feather-light motion. "Tell me to stop, Liebling. Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll stop."

You exhaled shakily, bringing your hand to rest atop of his shoulder, feeling the fine fabric of his velvet waistcoat. "I don't want you to stop." You trembled, wavering but not reducing the weight of conviction in your voice.

Now sure of your desire, Laszlo shifted forward, connecting your lips with his with a vigor even he didn't realize he had in himself. You raised your hand to cup his cheek as he moved against you, his beard tickling your face, but it didn't bother you in the slightest. His lips were so soft, tasting of champagne that only added to the allure to the passionate moment. His tongue danced expertly with yours, making you weak at the knees, his hand gripping your waist tightly sending a rush of electricity throughout your entire body. The moan that almost escaped your mouth forced you to realize how quickly you both were getting carried away, and as much as it pained you, you slowed down and gently pulled away, a lightheaded smile playing at your lips.

"Not to be cliché but, I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that." You admitted bashfully, earning a light chuckle from Laszlo. He kept his hand on your waist, not ready to let go.

"Now that I've had a taste of you, I don't know how I'll be able to keep myself away from you." He half joked, causing you to blush even more furiously than you already were, but you could hear the underlying tone in his voice, the fear of what the future would hold for the both of you.

"Well, luckily, you don't have to worry about that, cause I'm not going anywhere, Doctor."

Laszlo shook his head slightly, hesitation coming back into his expression. "If we get a case like this again, if I can't protect you-"

"Hey," You interrupted softly, forcing him to look into your eyes. "this won't happen again, okay? I've learnt my lesson, and I'll be careful next time, if there's a next time. And I'm not helpless, you know. I know how to take care of myself."

"I just wish I could be the man you deserve, someone who makes you feel safe." Laszlo grabbed onto his bad arm, the distain for his physical handicap clear.

You smiled softly, kissing his cheek with a similar tenderness. "You already make me feel safe, Laszlo, only having one strong arm isn't going to change that. You're perfect just the way you are. I mean that."

Laszlo's heart swelled, your words making him feel just as warm as your hand on his jaw, gently tugging on his beard. He hadn't felt this way about anyone in a long, long time. He could have told you he loved you right then and there and he would've been genuine, but as the relationship was only just beginning, he decided to refrain, as hard as that was. But he smiled, knowing that one day your relationship with him would develop further and you both would be comfortable enough to tell each other anything and everything about your lives and how you felt.

And when that day does come, Laszlo vowed to himself to spend that whole day telling you how much he loves you, over and over again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The urge to write smut was stronggggg, but Laszlo is absolutely a virgin and I'm too down bad to write sweet first times, at least this time.

[roguelov]

Hand in Hand

Summary: Feelings for the Alienist starts to bloom and when Laszlo decides to make a move, where will that lead the two of you?

Reader: Gender Neutral

Word Count: ~1500

Warnings: Minor angst towards the end, but mostly fluff

Note: My first Laszlo fic ☺️ so they’re probably most definitely be more to come

Why him?

The esteemed, well-known, yet reclusive social outcast that was Doctor Laszlo Kreizler managed to capture your pitiful heart. And why may you ask? Oh, there were many reasons why. 

From the way he conducted himself, to his intellect, to his kind heart even if it was hidden by his more reserved exterior, to his eyes. Yes, his eyes. Eyes that still managed a childlike wonder in them despite the harsh times. To you, Laszlo was still like a child. Child who was constantly learning from the world around him, the ever changing and ever evolving world. Not to mention he had an edge of innocence to him, a pure childlike innocence still buried within him that you wished to protect. 

Within the first handful of days of being introduced to Dr. Kreizler, you understood what the faint flutter in your chest meant. You without any doubt was absolutely infatuated with the alienist. 

You, of course, was never sure if he shared those feelings in return. But, he did something that changed your way of thinking.

It began at a party. A dull event which he believed was unnecessary and unwanted on his part, however, it was John’s brilliant idea to get out and get away from those gruesome murders. Even for a short moment. If Laszlo remembered correctly John said it was ‘to relax the mind and to start refreshed tomorrow’. Laszlo scoffed under his breath. Refreshed? Hardly.

“Having fun, Doctor?”

A smug voice rang from his side. Laszlo flinched, but quickly recovered. He glanced to his right to find you smiling at him, a certain teasing smile you only wore around him.

Laszlo shook his head, “Not entirely.”

“Then you and I are in the same boat.” You stood next to him staring out to the sea of people and sipped your champagne. “Care to have another passenger on your lone ship of one?”

Laszlo peered over to you. You didn’t stare at him, only watched the people mingling. His eyes wondered downward to your free hand at your side.

Laszlo couldn’t deny the rush of attraction he felt towards you, and by spending more and more time with you he couldn’t push it aside any longer.

Love was chemicals and products of our upbringings; at least that was Laszlo told himself. Chemicals that influenced the brain and made practically anyone lose any sense of self. But he learned early on, he would gladly plead insanity when in your presence.

As those familiar chemicals coursed through him, his hand twitched towards yours. He didn’t dare stop himself, it may be his only chance. Carefully, almost afraid you may burn him in some way, he grabbed your hand.

You jumped at the touch as all the air was knocked out of your lungs. Swallowing down the instinct to run, you maintained a level-head to not arouse any suspicion. You gently maneuvered your hand around to slip your fingers between his. You squeezed his hand and he returned it.

“I would gladly allow you on my ship,” he whispered.  

Ever since the exchange, whenever and wherever you found yourself by Laszlo’s side, his hand found itself intertwined with yours. However, it never went any farther than that. Neither of you spoke of it, nor did you have the courage to bring it up.

Luckily, a chance would arise.

After a long night scouring over old clues, John finally declared everyone should return home to rest. Sara agreed along with yourself, Laszlo however only hummed in response. You doubt he was truly listening. John and Sara left, they offered to wait for you, but you said you will leave in a few minutes saying they didn’t need to. They shared a glance, but left together none the less.

That was moments ago.

Laszlo continued to stand over the table filled with books and stacks of notes as he ruffled through them hoping to find an overlooked clue. 

He sighed then glanced up surprised to find you still here, despite clearly hearing the door shut. You always managed to do that. His enigma. The way you could disappear and reappear out of his vision without a trace, the way he could never truly understand what you were thinking behind those beautiful eyes, the way you spoke you mind without any cares, the way he never knew where you were but somehow you were always by his side, and most of all the way his hand managed to fit perfectly in yours.

He cleared his throat, “Is there something I can help you with, Mx. (Y/L/N).”

You cocked an eyebrow as a smile graced over your lips. “I’ve repeated myself far too many times for you to call me, (Y/N), Laszlo.” 

“Right,” he bowed his head with an amused grin tugging on his lips. When he lifted his head back up he was greeted with your dazzling smile. “Is there something I can help you with, (Y/N)?”

“I was simply about to ask you the same.” You strolled closer standing directly on the other side of the table. “John and Sara left minutes ago to rest for the night, even if it’ll be minor, but you still manage to be working.”

Laszlo’s eyes widened a fraction. Have you been standing there for that long?

“You need to rest yourself, Doctor.” You glanced down at the notes and papers. The flash of red caught your eye. Moving aside a piece of paper, you found one of John’s illustration of a poor boy slashed apart. You frowned, “It’s not healthy to be up so late.”

Laszlo huffed through his nose. “Ridiculing a doctor? How ironic.”

You laughed once. “I suppose you are right, but I wouldn’t have too if you listened.”

Laszlo chuckled.

There.

Something pushed you, something demanded you to take those steps you desperately wanted to take so long ago. You strolled around the table to Laszlo’s side. He watched your every move. Almost afraid if he blinked, you would vanish. He turned facing you directly as you stopped in front of him. 

Slowly, you reached out. Your right hand found its perch within his. Like always. Your eyes connected with his in an asking way. He nodded, a miniscule nod. Carefully, you intertwined your left hand with his. He had to suppress a shiver, one with a mixture of disgust and pleasure.

“Laszlo?”

He didn’t realize he closed his eyes. Opening them, he was once again greeted with your soft smile.

“Can you answer something for me?” you asked.

“To the best of my abilities.”

“What am I to you?”

He blinked in shock. “Pardon?”

“What am I to you? What is this?” You lifted his hands up to your face showing him. Not wanting fear to hold you back any longer, you brought his hands to your lips. You pressed a gentle kiss to them. A dozen butterfly kisses over his knuckles. He let out a shaky sigh as his heart leapt at each delicate kiss. You whispered against them, “What can I do for this to be more?”

He was at a loss for words.

You stared at him with begging eyes, “Laszlo, please, answer me. I’ll do anything.”

“… anything?” He whispered in disbelief.

“Yes, anything.”

He pondered for a moment. His thoughts raced and raced until it was all a blur, until he was left with only raw emotions and no practical or logical reasonings. Yes, more than on one occasion he has imagined a life with you if the two of you more was involved, such as moving in together or possibly marriage, but –

Ah. There it was again.

A ‘but’ that always halted those wondrous fantasies, a ‘but’ that called towards his doubts and insecurities.

He yanked his hands from your own. A flash of pain crossed your face. He spun around from you keeping his head bowed. He finally offered you his answer, “Then leave.”

“Excuse me?” You stepped back horrified.

“I cannot give you what you desire, (Y/N). I am not the man you should seek.”

“Why is that?”

Laszlo looked over at you. His eyebrows furrowed together. “Why? You ask why when I know you know the answer. I am not a good man, nor a great one. I am an outcast of society, labeled insane much like my patients. If you choose to be by my side, I cannot save you from rumors and gossip. I –“

“All I ask for is a decent man, Laszlo, and you are,” you cut him off.

He promptly shut his mouth.

You stepped back into his space. Gently, you reached up and cupped his face so he could stare at you directly unable to look away. “You may not see yourself as good or great, but most people are not. Very few are great. And if you care so much, then I see you as great. No, more than great, you are a fantastic man with a massive heart. And do you think I truly care about all of those dull rumors? Let them talk about utter nonsense. Just let me be a social outcast with you.”

He sighed bring up his right hand to rest over top of yours.

“Besides,” you whispered, “you already let me onto your boat. It would be quite rude to let me drown now.”

He chuckled. “You are relentless.”

“I know.” You kissed his forehead. “You were in my grasp and I was not about to let you go without a fight.”

He closed his eyes relaxing into your touch, “And I thank you for that, Liebling.”

[cazzyvintage]

Could you please write a Laszlo piece using the following prompts: “if we’re gonna pretend to be a couple, you need to let me get you a bouquet at least. it’s february 14th!" and “yes. yes, I’ll be your valentine!” ?

"Do you remember what to do once we sit down?"

Laszlo sighed, taking your hand in his as you were fixing his bow tie.

"Yes y/n,, we've been over this already."

"I'm just making sure," you reply, giving his hand a squeeze before stepping back to observe the man.

You could feel the slight butterflies flutter in your stomach as you looked up and down at him. Indeed, he was handsome, with his well-groomed beard, slicked-back hair, high end tailored suit. You could even catch the hint of a floral aftershave. What stuck out most to you was Laszlo's expression. His eyes watched you as you took him in, he bounced on his heels, and his fists clenched slightly in anxious energy. You knew he was feeling out of his comfort zone, thinking about what he needed to do today, and you felt pity.

"You know, we don't have to do this if you really don't want to."

Laszlo pursed his lips together in a slight smile and shook his head.

"It would be rude of me not to turn up to this engagement, especially after I told John I would attend... with a partner."

"Well, you can only blame yourself for getting into his predicament," you joke, the corners of your mouth twitching up into a smile.

"I know next time to keep my mouth firmly closed. Now I believe Cruys should be ready with the calash."

Laszlo offered out his arm for you to take, which you gladly thought, secretly enjoying these moments to be close to the man who so usually pushes everyone away.

"First, though, I have another stop to make."

"Whatever for?"

"A bouquet."

You froze in your steps, glancing to Laszlo as you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks.

"Really now, Laszlo, there's no need to."

"If we're gonna pretend to be a couple, you need to let me get you a bouquet, at least. It's February 14th!"

You knew there was no arguing with Laszlo once he had set his mind to something, so you just nodded your head and let him lead you out of the institute and into the calash. You two travelled in silence for a few minutes until Cryus parked outside a flower shop, and Laszlo hoped out.

You thought he would only be a few minutes, just grabbing the easiest flowers and buying them, but ten minutes ticked by, and he was still in the shop. Needing to stretch your legs, you hoped out of the calash and walked around, trying to look into the shop to see what Laszlo was doing.

Five minutes later, he finally appeared, holding a bouquet full of many fresh flowers of all colours and sizes.

"Laszlo! This is- well, it's so pretty! You are spoiling me."

You reach out to take them, but Laszlo shakes his head, giving you a shy smile as his cheeks burn slightly.

"If I'm going to do this, then I am going to do this properly."

You watched in amazement as in the middle of the street, Laszlo got down on one knee, holding the bouquet of flowers in one hand and picking up your hand in his and placing a gentle kiss on it.

"Y/n, will you be my valentine?"

The words rushed out of your mouth before you could control them.

"yes. yes, I'll be your valentine!"

Laszlo's smile could only be described as giddy as he handed you the flowers and slowly got back up on his feet, huffing slightly.

"Thank you, Laszlo," you say, blushing tremendously at the gesture.

Laszlo nodded, his cheeks also burning and finding himself unable to think of anything to say apart from nodding to the calash.

Taking his hand in yours, you both get into the calash again, ready to go to John's family, and as you look over at Laszlo, you wonder what it would be like to be courting the man properly and how happy the thought made you.

Little Valentine's celebration

[marvelmusing]

Playing Chess

Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

The Alienist Mafia AU

My Masterlist

A/N: this could be considered a kind of dark!fic because there is violence towards the reader and suggested manipulation (but it might not be?). Like there’s genuine feelings underneath for both Laszlo and the reader, and they’re both manipulating each other for the sake of their work in the long run.

Laszlo Kreizler is New York’s most ruthless mafia boss. He’s viciously smart, he knows what you’re thinking before you’ve even thought it. He doesn’t need to threaten someone, he’s brought some of the toughest criminals to tears with his psychoanalysis of them. He’s the kind of man who will sit at his desk as he takes apart your psyche as casually as discussing the weather. There’s lots of rumours concerning his arm, but no one dares to mention it in his presence. John Moore is his consigliere, and he has proven his loyalty to Kreizler countless times over the years. Sara Howard is the family’s underboss. She had worked in law enforcement for years, before Laszlo recruited her. He saw her as a brilliant mind, being underpaid and overlooked by her colleagues. It took very little persuasion to convince her to join the family. The reader works for the secret service, they’ve been given the impossible task to get close to the infamous Laszlo Kreizler.

Dealing with Laszlo Kreizler is a lot like playing chess.

“You know, I get it now.” His head tilts ever so slightly aside, as you continue. “Why the majority of your employees are from the Institute. It must make it easier for them to do their jobs. They can’t tell the difference between the traumas of their past, and the trauma you’ve given them.” The blow has you falling to your knees, the muscles in your neck straining as your face is thrown to the side. You lick your lips, trying to ignore the taste of blood slowly filling your mouth. So that’s clearly a sore spot for him. He shrugs off his blazer, his eyes fixed on yours, and the dangerous spark in them has a shudder running down your spine. He very rarely loses his temper enough to resort to violence at his own hands. Because of this, you often forget how strong he is. You watch him as he hangs his blazer over the back of his chair, circling around his desk before leaning against the front of it, his eyes still on you.

“Leave us.” He demands, and his men comply immediately. He unbuttons his right sleeve, rolling it up to his elbow. Your eyes follow his actions as he reveals his forearm, his leather gloves still clad around his fingers. He extends his left wrist towards you, nodding at the button at the base of his sleeve. You move forward, still on your knees, and begin to undo the cuff and roll up his sleeve. He watches you intently, and you know he notices how your fingers are shaking.

“I’m sorry sir.” You say quietly, your words small in the near silent room.

“Not yet. But you will be.” He reaches down to take your chin between his fingers. His face softens somewhat when he sees you flinch slightly, and he sighs gently, “I apologise for reacting so harshly towards you. I can assure you that I will control my temper, in return you will never speak to me so unkindly again. Am I understood?”

“You’re not going to hurt me?” You ask in an almost whisper. His fingers caress your jaw absentmindedly, and you begin to lean into his touch.

“No drágám, I’m not.” He assures you, in such a tender voice that you feel the ache of what you’ve done in your chest. You swallow hard, as shameful tears burn behind your eyes. Your gaze falls from his face as you try and stop the tears from falling. He tilts your face back up to meet his eyes. “Although I would like to know the reason why you said such a thing about my family.”

“I don’t know.” You breathe out shakily, as the tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“You hurt my feelings drágám, you’re going to have to do a little better than ‘I don’t know’.” You flounder for an answer, all this back and forth, and the crying, is making your head ache. You continue to sniffle for a moment, avoiding his gaze, before he steps in. “I think I know what this is.” Panic races through you, he’s figured it out. “I’ve been spending too much time at the Institute, and you’ve felt neglected.” You look up at him, trying to look a mixture of guilty, surprised, and embarrassed. You open your mouth slightly, letting your chin wobble for a moment before closing it again, and nodding.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even know-“ you break off as a sob shakes your shoulders. He shushes you softly.

“While it is sweet of you, to need my attention, acting out like this is not an effective means. Understood?” Sometimes you honestly can’t tell if he’s establishing healthy boundaries or just fully manipulating you. You nod, shaking a few more tears down your cheeks.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he leans back he tilts your head aside, studying the mark he’s left on the side of your face. You can’t see his face at this angle, but his voice is a sorrowful half-murmur,

“Drágám, I’m so sorry.” You swallow hard, he does sound genuinely sorry, but you know you can’t trust anything he says. You tilt your head back to face him, and the two of you look at each other for a quiet moment. He trails his fingers against your uninjured cheek, and you do your best to look content with his gentle touch. “Why don’t you go upstairs and draw yourself a bath, hm? I’ll be with you in under ten minutes.” You let your smile widen and nod. He gives you a nod of permission to stand, and you go to retrieve his blazer before helping to slide it back over his shoulders. He smiles kindly at you as you do up his button, leaning down to press a kiss against the tip of your nose. “So good for me.” You try to ignore how genuine your reaction is to his praise. “Now drágám,” he says, a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes. “Remember to look extra sad for my men. I can’t have you ruining my reputation.” Your smile widens.

“Yes sir.” Once you’ve shut the door to his office, you ensure to hunch your shoulders slightly, hugging your arms close to your body. You don’t hold eye contact with any of the men for long, keeping your eyes wide and fearful, and the tear stains on your face certainly help. For good measure, you limp ever so slightly as you make your way down the corridor, feeling their eyes on you as you head towards your room. You know they were all exchanging smug looks at the sight of you. You know those looks will drop when the office door swings open, and he orders them to make use of themselves instead of lounging around his house.

°•. ✿ .•°

Your fingers shake a little, from the leftover adrenaline, as you mix the bath oil into the water. You’ve undressed, and sit perched on the edge of the tub while you trail your fingers through the warm soapy water. You don’t move when you hear Laszlo make his way up the stairs, or when he enters the bedroom, or when he leans against the door frame of the bathroom. Your eyes flicker to the mirror, which allows you to see nearly all of him as he watches you. Your eyes meet and you look down quickly, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m not mad at you, drágám.” You nod weakly,

“I’m still sorry, I shouldn’t have said something so-“ He steps forward, wrapping his arms around you.

“You’re forgiven. It’s alright now, I promise.” You look up at him with wide eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He says tenderly. “Now, we’ve both had a long day.” He kisses you on the forehead before gesturing to the tub. “Get in.” He nudges you gently and you climb into the water as he removes his clothes. He retrieves a small container from his pocket and soon joins you in the bath. You look at what he has in his hand curiously. “Will you sit on my lap drágám?” You nod and move over to balance yourself on his thigh. He scoops up some water in his hand before carefully cleaning your face, ensuring he is particularly delicate over the skin of your injured cheek. You wince slightly at the contact and he shushes you soothingly and encourages you with small praises. He opens the container from his pocket to reveal some sort of cream, which he begins to apply to your cheek. You hum quietly at the coolness of the cream, and you finally relax in his arms. Once he’s done you rest your head against his shoulder and let him smooth his hands over your body.

Dealing with Laszlo Kreizler is a lot like playing chess. You have to overthink constantly, question his, and your own, intentions, and be wary of everyone. Although, when your opponent is tender and charming like this, you almost forget what it is that you’re playing.

[sub-danny]

Kinkmas #10- Tit fucking - Laszlo

“You look so pretty dear,” you tell Laszlo, looking up at him from where you laid on the bed.

Laszlo straddled your waist, his cock hard and sticking up before you. You had stripped him of his clothes as soon as he had entered his home, so it was a good thing Cryus and Stevie were going out for the night. He couldn’t keep his hands off you either, pulling at your corset strings, grasping your breasts, littering them in kisses. That is what had led to you lying down on the bed with him sitting over you, his eyes hungrily resting on your breasts.

“Do you want to slip your cock within them?” you ask him, smirking at Laszlo’s startled face. “Do you want to fuck my breast's Laszlo?”

“M-may I?” he asks, stuttering from his nerves.

“Of course, love,”

He could barely hold back the smile. Quickly he spat on his hand and then coated his cock with the wetness. He slowly inched forward and pushed his cock between your breasts when he felt it was ready. Helping him out, you raised your hands to squeeze your breasts together to squeeze his cock between them. His breath staggered, and his strong hand had to grasp the bed headboard to steady himself.

“There we go, dear, doesn’t that feel good?” you tell Laszlo, moving your breasts slightly up and down as Laszlo slowly moved his hips back.

“F-fuck it does,” Laszlo manages to say, using one of the rare times he swears to express himself. He starts to thrust his hips in quick succession into your breasts, letting the warmth of them squeezed together pleasure him. You watched as Laszlo fucked your tits, his eyes lidded as his jaw went slack, obviously enjoying the pleasure.

“I-I’m, fuck, y/n, I’m going to come,” he finally gasped, his hand reaching out to caress one of your breasts as he continued to fuck your breasts as fast as he could.

“So soon?” you coo, smirking at him.

Laszlo flushed further but nodded, struggling to hold it back.

“It’s okay; you can come, dear,” you tell him, raising your hand to encompass the one on your breast. At your command, Laszlo shuddered and let out a loud moan as he finally came, ropes of cum hitting your skin as he came all over, still squeezed between your breasts.

Taglist: @i-am-dead-inside-666, @scuttle-buttle, @fictionlandslanddreams, @lieutenantn, @greeneyedblondie44, @lov3vivian, @edencherries, @theartbooshlr, @somethingthatsaysbubbles @rumblelibrary @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @idkwhat-my-name-should-be @bruhlpng @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @foolishroach @belle82devart @anteroom-of-death @lorna-d-m @littleevilme13 @danielcmgbruhld @janine007 @creme-bruhlee @droppdeadredd@wonderwoman292 @archangelproperty @nyx2021 @hb8301 @ffiitz @justicex101 @thisworldwecallsleep @t-r-i-s-h-a-w

Link to taglist

[rumblelibrary]

hii!! i saw your requests are open, if you’re not too busy could you write something about Laszlo falling in love with reader (she’s a friend of Sara’s and helping with the case) but he keeps trying to avoid his feelings and remain professional and friendly until then he gets jealous of Marcus (or maybe John whoever you think works best) and starts being mean and pushing her away and then John or Sara are like “really?? can you not see that she likes you?” and he apologizes and it’s all fluffy at the end??

that was a bit long sorry, i hope you’re having a great day💗💗

Worlds Apart [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Laszlo being his usual adorable dumbass

Author’s note: Thank you so much for giving me the chance to write your story, hope you’ll enjoy it 💗💗

The first time your presence graced him was on an infamous rainy day. He didn’t mind rain, but it was the kind of storm that forced kids inside the Institute and some of them really benefitted of the time spent outside. So when you appeared at his doorstep escorted by Cyrus, a little of wetness on your shoulders and your hat, arms tightly grasping a big bunch of paper folders, untouched by the heavy weather clearly at your expenses, you looked like a gift from the above.

“Sara Howard contacted me, My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I work for the Town Hall Archives” you introduced yourself, a polite smile softening him. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Kreizler” you added.

He blinked realising he was staring while your words moved past him without affecting him.

“Please, Sara told me you are going to be vital in the unravelling of this case, call me Laszlo”

He opened his arm on side letting you in as Cyrus walked away closing the door behind himself. A sense of guilt creeping over him, he realised how low his mind went to appreciate your physical side first and your sweet smile next, if men were anything different from the beasts, then why indulge still in such raw details. From that moment on, he decided, he would not do you the same disrespect. Little he knew that once he forbid himself to take grace of the sight of you, he would be overwhelmed by your bright mind. As you exposed those files to him you two started working together, day after day, time after time, a little dance of turning pages, soft smile, excited discoveries. Your smile affecting him in unpredicted ways, your good heart weakening his mask, your calm demure forbidding his raging fits. Anything of you made him better, any part of you was loved and worshipped by him, your position quickly transitioning from helpful hand, to admirable being and now to an ideal. A sense of necessity creeping over him every time you closed the space between the two of you to show him something, every time he stared at you wrapped up some archive ladder to find this or that file. Another thing you earned from him with time, the hardest maybe, was the ability to make him chuckle. You weren’t a goofball but you knew when to break down his thought process to bring him back to a quieter state. He liked you, he was even considering to offer you to leave the Town Hall Archives to work as his secretary at the Institute. The benefits of your presence made his work better and your natural tendency to method blessing his day to day activities with balance. Laszlo didn’t like to admit it, but a sense of possessiveness was also growing on him, he knew what was going on in his mind, or to better say it in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. The case was on, after the case maybe.

Or maybe never.

That’s what he thought when, after an interview at the house of a potential future patient of the institute, he took a stroll on the main road, his eyes darting on the flower shop only to recognise you there. Your figure associated with the colourful gifts of nature made his heart skip a beat, a sense of joy filled him soon to disappear when Marcus Isaacson figure appeared beside you holding three or four different kind of flowers in large bouquets, all of them meaning something love related: attraction, desire, kinship.

Those meanings pestered his thoughts, your soft laugh hitting his ears like an angel choir. Your hand lifting up as Marcus bowed his head toward you, your bare fingers running through his curls pulling out some wild leaf that got tangled among them.

“Silly me” he chanted like a child that has zero guilt about earning something undeserved “Come on Y/N, pick your favourite, I can’t hold them all forever”.

Laszlo’s eyes narrowed on him, hating the urgency in his voice, before drifting on the big bouquets, the carnations attracting his gaze, the meaning: pure love, faithfulness, also motherly love.

“The carnations” you said without a doubt moving your arms among the flower to pick them, the closeness you shared rubbing Laszlo in the wrong way.

A sudden realisation hitting him, rage boiling as he turned on his heels to rush to the Institute. What a fool he was, mistaking your natural kindness for…what? Interest for a cripple? Tenderness for a lonely angry man? His jaw clenched, rage surging through him, on that day the door of his office slammed so hard nobody dared to call for him, not even for dinner. When the next day you came to bring some papers and revise some new information, he was keeping a two meters distance all the time, if not more. Anything you said was welcomed with sounds the usual good morning disappeared.

“Laszlo” you called him after more than one hour spent welcomed by only silence and grunts “Did something happen? Maybe, I could help..”

“What exactly gives the impression I need your help?” He shot back before you could even mutter another sentence or even conclude the one you just begun.

His eyes raising from the papers he was holding, his hand moved to his glasses taking them off “As far as my knowledge goes, you’re here to support the investigation with documents and research, not to interfere with my personal life or a job like mine that requires not only tact but also a severe respect of the patient’s privacy”

You closed your mouth suddenly as he never reacted in such a way toward you. Usually he seemed to like to engage with you, to hear your thoughts and opinions, now his hard glare was dooming over you like the Judgment Day.

“I apologise” you resumed to say, maybe it was a bad day, those bad days John teased him about so many times, but that you never encountered before.

So you moved back to your spot respecting the distance he wanted, he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Nothing more was said.

That evening when you were about to leave you thanked him and wished him a good night, as you always did. Silence again, only one hand to be lifted as he didn’t even turn to talk to you. His reaction gutted you and from that day on to visit him turned into the heaviest hours of the day. There was no room for chat, no room for accommodation. You even brought some sweets one day thinking he might like it and he handed those just as quickly to the kids. You even asked him if you wronged him and he said there was nothing wrong.

After two weeks like this, you sat behind your desk at the Town Hall resigned to live with his silence, you stared at a little note he wrote to you once to thank you of your help with some documents titles underneath.

I admire your dedication to the case. Your help is invaluable L.K.

You read, but that didn’t stand anymore, for some reason.

“What’s that long face for?”

Sara asked leaning against your desk as you slipped that piece of paper underneath your notebook. You already gave Laszlo all the documents requested, you could throw that away, but you didn’t.

“I think I upset Dr Kreizler”

Sara looked at you surprised by the way you resumed calling him by his title, like you were trying to gain distance from him. You looked at her incisive look as you quietly explained to her your fears and doubts, what was going on and how you probably should ask John a way to repair the situation, because you were clueless. After your conversation Sara didn’t think about it twice and after concluding her duties she stormed at Laszlo’s office only to find him engaged in the billionth argument with John.

“What have you told to Y/N?”

She asked, a proper mad mama bear as she stared at him mercilessly, she was aiming for the throat and John looked at him puzzled.

“What have you done Laszlo? Having a fine woman interested on you hits so differently?”

Laszlo was about to answer Sara when he suddenly felt attacked on too many fronts.

“Wait, I beg your pardon? I think you have got into some mistake, John”

John looked at him and then at Sara as she shook her head impatiently and already fed up with Laszlo’s ways.

“She does like you Laszlo, where is your problem about it?” She inquired more “Is she not a doctor enough for your likings? Do you want a duchess or something? Because I don’t understand, if you’re not interested to her at least be human”

By this moment Laszlo was still incredule and a chuckle almost left his lips

“I think you are mistaken Sara, Y/N is in a relationship with Marcus Isaacson, I stumbled upon them already”

“Marcus? I thought he was seeing that Esther girl, Lucius complained about his lack of focus more than once, how did you manage to erase her interest that quick Laszlo?” John said surprised and Sara had to hold onto her iron will not to slap the both of them in their faces.

“You two are worse than any little town blabbermouth” she snapped.

John frowned feeling accused and Laszlo was ready to give her a lecture that could last until the end of times when you walked inside in a rush.

“Excuse me” you said out of breath, mud stained your dress as you clearly run your way to her Institute handing them a file “This just came”.

You gulped down as Sara glared at Laszlo while she guided you to have a glass of water.Laszlo studied the document without even acknowledging your presence, another victim served on a plate.

That evening he went to see the body, the Isaacson’s giving a full display of the wounds and marks on the body to him and John. By the rules of the obituary, you and Sara weren’t welcomed inside as they were.  You sat silently, slowly tracing the stain on your skirt thinking how bad Laszlo’s impression of you must be now that you even showed yourself in such an improper manner, such a gentleman like him witnessing you in such a state. When they came out of the obituary Sara stood up as you remained sat, the warm presence of Laszlo now hunting you like a ghost every time he is around.

“The murderer knows we re close” Laszlo stated as he sighed, ashamed that another life was lost “I think that this victim in particular..”

“Y/N!”

Marcus interrupted him rushing out of the obituary with his bloody apron still on, his less than sanitary clean hand on your shoulder as Laszlo was ready to reduce the both of you to dust for interrupting him.

“Excuse me Doctor” Marcus head shot up to him before looking back down at you “Thank you for helping with the gifts, Esther adored them, we are going out again tonight” he said excitedly to you and a big smile, the first of the day, blossomed on your lips.

“I told you, you should trust me more often” you said and he nodded vehemently “If things go this good, I will come to ask you to help me with the ring” he said completely hyped up, bouncing curls everywhere, as you crossed your fingers for him and he repeated the gesture before disappearing again called by his brother who was fed up with his love talks already.

Sara crossed her arms as John’s stare went up to Laszlo’s face, the sudden realisation of his mistake hit him like a bag of bricks. A mix of shame and happiness filling him up. And now the doubt: did he ruined his chances forever? The next morning you came into his office, you never stopped wishing him good morning and being polite, no matter his attitude.

“Y/N” he called you as you were placing your belongings aside. Your surprised look due to his softened tone was unmissable to him.

“Come here, I wish to talk to you”

You grew nervous as he didn’t say much else, so you walked to him sitting on the couch beside him, the one where you shared so many talks not too long before, even if now it felt like an eternity.

“I want to apologise to you” he blurted out all together, no need to move around the topic even though that only affirmation run over you harder than any other phrase.

You didn’t reply, allowing him to proceed.

“I apologise, because I have been selfish and foolish” he said, the fingers of his left hand touching nervously the armchair “I have been mistreating you only because my pride was hurt, I have acted like a man without means and courage.”

You parted your lips but he interrupted you before you could even begin.

“Please, let me finish, I have felt from the beginning a prominent fondness toward you. Your character and your kindness make you a remarkable person, you have the talent of bringing out the best out of most people, me included. But I have misread your ways and pointed your natural disposition to a form of romantic interest directed on me and our common friend Marcus Isaacson”

He was still excluding the possibility of you being attracted to him.

“I thought there was something behind it and I acted like a child instead of asking you directly, and I am ashamed for that”

You stared at him, a little smile creeping onto your lips.

“I think you misread only half of the situation Laszlo, as always you’re too unkind on yourself” you said gathering all the courage you had “because my interest toward you was honest while my relationship with Marcus is nothing by friendly”

Now it was Laszlo’s turn to be silenced, a new realisation creeping into his bones, a hope becoming a possibility.

“And is that honest interest still alive after my despicable ways?”

Your smile grew pulled by the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Maybe” he interrupted. He didn’t want to wait for your answer, your smile spoke for you “maybe we can further bring this conversation to Delmonico’s, tonight, just the two of us”

Your smile grew bigger, his eyes shining for you.

“It will be my pleasure” you answered only, not knowing a bouquet of carnations was already being delivered at your house to welcome you once you’ll be back.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved​ @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[somethingthatsaysbubbles]

THE RIPPING CASE OF MS. DELIA RODWICK | Chapter Ten: This, and My Heart Beside

WARNINGS BY CHAPTER:  MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Scenes of Explicit Torture. Gratuitous Violence. Bondage and Gagging (Non-Sexual). Blood. Broken Bones/Extreme Bodily Harm. Implied Nonconsensual Voyeurism. Stalking. Evangelical Antagonist. Excessive Misuse of Bible Verses. Murder. Original Character Death. Knives/Pliers. Denailing/Nail Removal. Stabbing. Guns and Gunshot Wounds. Hospitals, Doctors, and Nurses. Morphine/Prescription Drug Use. Mentions of Autopsy. Self-Loathing. Mentions of Canonical Childhood Abuse. Hurt and Comfort. Happy Ending.

Word Count: ~4.8K

Fandom: The Alienist

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x AFAB GN!Reader

Insert Guide: (Y/N) = Your Name. (Y/F/N) = Your Father’s Name.

Translations: Sajnálom, Papi = “I’m sorry, [Laszlo’s Father]” in Hungarian. Szerelmem = “My love” in Hungarian. 

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the love and support! I can’t believe it’s done; I really hope you enjoy the ending, and thank you for your patience. As always, let me know if you catch a typo, missed warning, or you would like to be added to the taglist. In this chapter, the reader’s clothing is left largely ambiguous. I may continue this series with a few one-shots or an epilogue, but it will be a while before I post anything of that nature. If you made it this far, I love you! <3

Laszlo woke with a groan—gasping as a sharp, stinging pain pulsed through both of his shoulders. He couldn’t feel his hands, but he knew his arms were lifted above his head—bent at an odd angle—something solid and wet digging into his wrists. Coughing, he spat bitter-tasting blood on the ground beneath his feet as he peeked open his left eye—the other swollen shut and throbbing with heat. It was dark and damp, the smell of mildew and mold invading Laszlo’s nostrils. His thoughts raced as he tried to remember what happened, and where he was. The good doctor thrashed, trying to free his arms from whatever bound them; he cried out—wailing weakly as he dislocated his right shoulder with a sickening snap. 

“Silence, Dr. Kreizler,” a dry, gnarled voice demanded from the darkness. “The house of God is one of quiet reflection.” 

Laszlo recognized it instantly. Mortimer? A hacking cough shook him as he tried to speak—choking on his words as a strip of wide, woolen cloth was forced between his teeth. 

“Much better,” Father Sanctor murmured, winding the gag tightly around Laszlo’s head. The priest’s laugh sounded like the snapping of an oak’s roots in a windstorm. “Proverbs 17:28,” he purred, dragging his hands over the doctor’s face. “Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent.” Father Sanctor hummed pensively as he pulled away, and the sound of a match striking its box reverberated around the room. Laszlo winced as the light of a votive candle cleaved through the darkness around him—casting crimson shadows along the cracked, stone floor. Father Sanctor worked wordlessly, lighting candles until the room fractured into focus. 

Laszlo trembled in terror; though he was not a religious man, he imagined that he was in hell. The walls were made of muted-grey stone, spoiled moss peeking out between broken bits of mortar—decaying alongside the rest of the room. A series of rusted, copper pipes hung overhead—their drips drumming a maddening rhythm against the tile under Laszlo’s feet. The alienist realized he was hanging from one such pipe, a pair of handcuffs digging into his wrists—his skin breaking under the weight of his body. The stonework under him was stained red with his blood which wept into a drain directly between him and his assailant. 

Father Sanctor tossed his match into the drain, and the sizzling sound of the flame on blood made Laszlo sick to his stomach. “I thought you were wise, Dr. Kreizler, but it seems I was wrong,” Father Sanctor sighed, waving his hand over the top of a corroded, metal cart. His deceptively frail fingers danced along the cold, metallic glint of several strange instruments that Laszlo had only ever read of. “I do pity you,” the priest said. “I know how tempting my little dove can be.” Father Sanctor examined the alienist with a sort of cold curiosity, his ice-blue eyes devoid of any and all reason—utterly lost to whatever frightful fantasies drove his thoughts.

“I watched them,” Father Sanctor whispered longingly, lifting an instrument to his aged cheek that looked like a cross between a boning knife and needle-nose pliers. Sighing, the priest pressed the sharpened metal to his skin, and his eyes glinted with sadistic glee as he approached Laszlo. His languid stride opposed his age, painting him as an animal in man’s clothing. “I watched them grow. I watched them pray,” Mortimer mused, kneeling in front of Laszlo’s dangling feet. The good doctor gasped, his eyes following Father Sanctor’s down his body—realizing he was only wearing his white nightshirt. “I watched them play in the park, their hands clinging to their mother’s shoulders as she scrubbed grass stains from their stockings.”

Laszlo screamed, the gag doing little to silence the sound as Father Sanctor dug his pliers under one of the alienist’s toenails—tearing it off. “My dove blossomed into adulthood so beautifully,” the priest purred, his declaration made soft by desire—his nails digging crescent moons into Laszlo’s foot as he fought to keep still. “I was there, you know,” Father Sanctor said, stabbing his pliers into Laszlo’s ankle—the bone crunching under the intrusion. The good doctor’s vision went white with searing pain as the priest continued, “When they lost their brother, I was there...on the other side of the confessional.” 

Father Sanctor left the pliers fixed in Laszlo’s convulsing foot as he reminisced. “When they cried, it stirred something so deep in my soul. I knew—in that moment—that I would have them. God gave them to me as a reward for my work in his name.” He growled, pulling the pliers free as he stood—sliding the cold edge of the instrument along the good doctor’s neck. “(Y/N) was made for me,” he whispered, his mouth twisted with tranquil fury. 

Laszlo wept—waiting for Father Sanctor to sink his blade into his neck, but the blow never came. Instead, the priest sighed—dragging the tip of his instrument down Laszlo’s chest. “Their father was the first of my victims,” Mortimer admitted, the tone of his voice mirroring grief—mocking it. “He was a good man and one of my dearest friends, but…” 

Father Sanctor sliced open Laszlo’s nightshirt, leaving the doctor utterly bare before him. “(Y/F/N) stood in the way of our love. He denied me their hand, and I was forced to cleanse him from this earth.” 

Mortimer pressed his pliers against the alienist’s hip with just enough force to pull a scream from Laszlo’s lips and a steady stream of blood from his trembling body. “My very first sacrificial lamb,” the priest growled. “The arsenic worked quickly, too quickly. It wasn’t instantaneous by any means. He was in agony, vomiting blood and convulsing—I remember his face twisting up in such terror that I had no choice but to look away.” Father Sanctor pulled the pliers away from Laszlo’s side, and the good doctor’s head fell forward. He gagged and panted around the wad of cotton that weighed down his tongue, whimpering as the priest tugged his head up by his hair. “Your death will be slower,” Father Sanctor snarled. “You will beg for your life, Dr. Kreizler. You will beg for the Lord’s forgiveness...for defiling His gift—for forcing yourself on my darling, little dove.” 

The alienist’s eyes rolled in his skull as he tried to focus on Father Sanctor despite the agony that racked his body from wrists to toes. Laszlo mumbled around the gag in his mouth, and Father Sanctor sneered. “Do you have something to say, Doctor?” Laughing, he threw Laszlo’s head back, and the force sent searing pain through the good doctor’s dislocated shoulder. “Does Laszlo Kreizler wish to repent, or do you—perhaps—seek to defend your actions?” Father Sanctor looked Laszlo over with a smile steeped in disgusted wonder before an animalistic wail ripped through his throat. He paced the room, pointing his pliers at Laszlo’s face—a deranged urgency taking over his tone. 

“I have seen your detestable acts on the hills and in the fields. Woe to you, Jerusalem! How long will you be unclean,” Mortimer roared, rushing at Laszlo—his blade digging into one of the love marks you left on his neck. Laszlo sob, and the snake that wore Father Sanctor’s face grinned in delight. “Jeremiah 13:27. I was there, Dr. Kreizler. I heard you.” Laszlo’s vision contorted with tears as he trembled under Mortimer’s greedy gaze. “I heard you corrupt them—I heard you!” Laszlo watched as a sad, small sort of heartbreak passed over Father Sanctor’s eyes before fire filled his veins. The priest’s laughter echoed along the walls as he sank his malformed knife into the alienist’s right arm, the already brittle bone snapping under the stress. 

Laszlo wailed, and Father Sanctor screamed with him. “You filthy, despicable wretch,” Mortimer yelled. “You whose vile body reflects the corruption of his soul. How dare you lay a hand on my (Y/N)!” Father Sanctor removed the pliers, panting—his hot breath fanning across Laszlo’s face. “How dare you think you could ever be worthy of their love...”  

Mortimer’s lips hovered over Laszlo’s, his knuckles white around the handle of his knife. “I wonder if you taste like them,” he mused as a stray tear slipped down Laszlo’s cheek, blood trailing down his naked body and into the opening under his feet. Father Sanctor’s face was cased in cold indifference as he pulled back, tilting Laszlo’s head up with the point of his pliers. “Repent, Dr. Kreizler. Repent, and you will be forgiven.” 

Laszlo’s vision—made foggy by blood loss—flickered black. In the intimate, all-encompassing darkness—Father Sanctor’s voice became his father’s. Little imposter...

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness—”

The sound of a hammer sliding into place on a bulldog revolver interrupted Father Sanctor’s sermon. 

“—John 1:9. Drop the knife.” 

“(Y/N),” Mortimer said with a sigh. “My little dove—”

“—Don’t,” you warned, adjusting the grip on your gun—holding it firmly against Father Sanctor’s head. “You lost the privilege of calling me that when you killed Cara Murphy.” Mortimer yelped as you kicked out his ankle, making him collapse to his knees. “Drop. Your. Weapon.” 

Father Sanctor grunted as a hysteric laugh built in the back of his throat. “After everything I’ve done for you,” he muttered. Mortimer turned on you sharply, snarling—a rabid animal hidden behind his eyes. “After everything I’ve done!” Your fingers fidgeted with your gun, but—try as you might—you couldn’t pull the trigger. A frozen, aching fear numbed your arms—your heart hammering under your ribs. 

He’s the closest thing I have left to a father, you thought.

Mortimer used your hesitancy to corral you into a corner of the room, backing you into the moss-ridden stones that served as Laszlo’s would-be tomb. “All the horror,” he yelled. “All the blood! Have mercy!” Father Sanctor stopped just inches from you, and you struggled to find some semblance of the man you knew—some assurance that not every memory with him was a lie. “Please,” he whispered. “I love you.” 

Over his shoulder, your eyes fell on your alienist—the good doctor who promised to avenge the death of your dearest friend—the man who read you romances and told you about the family history that haunted him. Your lover, Laszlo, knew you—accepted you as you are and supported you in all you sought after. He wanted you for all of your flaws and praised you like you are worthy of prayer. “I know love,” you said, your steely gaze fixing on the face of Delia’s murderer—the man who tried to take Laszlo away from you. “Whatever you feel,” you hissed. “That is not love.” 

Mortimer’s mouth twisted in anger as time slowed; his hand tightened around his weapon as he ran forward—his fist aimed at your heart. 

Laszlo cried out with what little cognizance he still had. 

You lifted your gun to the level of your eyes. 

Father, said the small child locked away within your soul. Forgive me. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Your dad’s sweet smile shimmered above you, his strong arms holding you against his chest as he carried you to bed. Outside, the sun was rising—casting its honeyed-hues over Mrs. Galgot’s garden. “It’s just a nightmare. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Bang. 

Father Sanctor’s corpse crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering along the stonework under your shoes. Blood oozed from a bullet hole in the center of his forehead right where Sara said to aim. His unseeing eyes stared into the candles he lit as they slowly started to burn themselves out. 

“It’s over,” you mumbled, your thoughts blurring as your grip loosened on your gun. A startled, shaking breath almost brought you to your knees. “It’s over,” you said, swaying unsteadily. Your chest seized as you swallowed your nausea. Tossing your weapon aside, you ran to Laszlo. 

“(Y/N),” your lover stuttered, and you sniffled—your lips stretching into an overwhelmingly relieved smile—the sound of Laszlo’s voice: a salve on your soul.

“I’m here,” you cooed, liberating your love from his bonds. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

“S’not safe,” the good doctor grunted, collapsing into your arms. Laszlo’s dead weight dragged you both to the floor, and you laid his head in your lap as you looked over his injuries. He yelped, his face contorting as you touched his right arm. Biting your bottom lip, your fingers fumbled through his hair as you hushed him softly.

“I know. I know,” you said, failing to stave off your growing panic as you grabbed Laszlo’s tattered nightshirt—tearing off large swaths with which to stay his bleeding. “You’re safe. I’m here now.” You focused on his arms first, cautiously tying strips of cloth around his wounds.

“Sajnálom, Papi,” Laszlo whimpered, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to stay awake. 

“No,” you urged, softly slapping your lover’s cheek. “No! Laszlo, I need you to stay with me.” You held the sides of his face, your fingers digging into the nap of his neck with enough force to keep him conscious. “Stay with me—”

“—(Y/N)!” 

You gasped, your gaze snapping to the open door as you screamed back, “John? John, we're in here!” You sobbed as Mr. Moore’s friendly face emerged from the shadows overwhelming the room, and he rushed to you in an instant—laying his coat over Laszlo’s nude form. “Where’s Sara,” you asked, the tone trembling with worry.

“With Roosevelt, they found Augustus—”

“—Laszlo’s lost a lot of blood,” you interrupted. “We don’t have time.” John’s face paled over your unsaid implication. “Can you help me move him?”

“Of course,” John replied, nudging you aside so he could wrap his arms under Laszlo’s shoulders.

“(Y/N),” Laszlo murmured as you made room for John.

You took your lover’s hand in yours, laying your lips over his knuckles. “I’m here,” you assured him. “I’m not leaving. I’m—” 

Your words wasted away in your throat as Laszlo ran his fingers along your cheek—his one, un-blackened eye half-lidded in exhaustion. “Szerelmem,” Laszlo whispered as his hand went lax in yours—his beautiful, honey-brown iris hiding away behind his eyelid. 

“No,” you whispered softly, squeezing Laszlo's hand—hoping for a response. 

Nothing. 

“No.” You looked to John in terror, grabbing your lover’s shoulders and shaking him. Your vision blurred as a torrent of tears fell from you. “No. No! John, do something!” Mr. Moore didn’t move, his hands clutching Laszlo as cold dread flushed his face. Your hands cradled Laszlo’s cheeks as you brought your lips to his in a bruising kiss. “Wake up,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Wake. Up. Wake up! Laszlo, stay with me! Open your eyes! Please—”

Laszlo woke to the sound of squeaky, metal wheels rolling over hospital-tile. Nearby, a young child cried while doctors conversed just quietly enough to warrant their words indistinguishable from the birds that trilled in the trees outside. It was a mellow sort of morning chaos that brought a sick, pulsing pain with it. Laszlo’s body felt like it was on fire, being eagerly eaten by flame from the inside out. With a whimper, his right eye fluttered open and took in the white room around him—his left eye too swollen to offer any assistance. Laszlo grimaced as his gaze settled on the large, wooden cross that hung over him—lit by the sunlight streaming in from a window to his right. The good doctor grunted as he tried and failed to move his arms—his body burdened with blistering agony. “(Y/N),” he said, his sore throat straining against his desert-dry mouth. 

A low, rumbling voice like warm earth answered—full of worry and relief, “Laszlo. Thank God, you’re awake.” The alienist turned his head to the side, his imparied vision finding his dear friend, John Moore, by his bedside. Mr. Moore rushed to the open door, speaking hurriedly to a passing woman in a white apron before returning to his friend. “Are you well,” the illustrator asked. “How do you feel?”

“Where’s (Y/N),” Laszlo replied, lifting himself onto his left elbow before being forced onto his back—John’s firm hand holding his shoulder.

“You’re in the hospital,” Mr. Moore explained. “It’s best if you don’t move.” Laszlo repeated your name, an edge of alarm in his voice, and John smiled—soft amusement swimming in his eyes. “They’re safe. I sent them home to rest.” John pulled up a nearby chair and sank into it with a heavy sigh. “You’ve been out for three days, Laszlo.” The air around the two men became charged with a desperate, sullen sort of static; John chewed on the inside of his cheek, struggling not to admit just how close Laszlo came to losing his life.

“Leave that conversation alone,” you demanded, Sara tugging on your sleeve. “He’s already been through so much.”

John sighed. “You don’t need to protect him—”

“—Yes, I do,” you said sternly. “I need to protect him just like I need to protect you and Sara.” Sara’s hand stilled on your arm, and your red-rimmed eyes settled on her furrowed brow. “You matter to me.” 

John’s face flushed with heat. “Alright,” he promised. “If—”

Your gaze locked on John’s—your face freezing over, and he swallowed anxiously as he amended, “When Laszlo wakes up, I won’t say anything about what happened.”

“Talk to him about the future,” you offered with a fragile frown. “Tell him how much we care, and how everything is going to be alright.” John nodded, and you closed the distance—kissing his cheek. “I trust you. Don’t give him another reason to live in the past.”

John laughed as you lifted your pinky into view, and he hooked his finger around yours. “I promise, he’s safe in my care.” Bringing you in for a brotherly kiss on the forehead, John ushered you off to Sara. “Make sure you both get some sleep,” he warned, and Sara rolled her eyes.

After a moment, John broke the silence with a soft smile. “That one sure is tenacious,” he mused, and Laszlo’s visible eyebrow crinkled in confusion. Mr. Moore shook his head. “(Y/N),” he said. “I won’t pretend to know what happened between you; however...” 

John smirked as his friend’s face slowly turned tomato-red. “I approve,” the illustrator whispered, looking over Laszlo in wonder. “After Mary, I was sure you would never—”

“—so was I,” Laszlo lamented, and John’s eyes widened at the fear that was written across the alienist’s face—the frantic mixture of desire and dread. The good doctor focused his gaze on the cross hanging above him. Swallowing thickly, Laszlo said, “I’m—”

“—You won’t lose them,” John interrupted, laying his hand on Laszlo’s shoulder. “Sara and I will see to that. Although, I doubt they need our protection.” A fond smile stretched the sides of John’s mouth. “(Y/N) is a fighter,” he said. “They tore into me the moment I dared suggest they stay out of the investigation.” Reclining in his chair, John crossed his legs as he let go of Laszlo’s shoulder. The illustrator sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “They were ready to gut me like a fish...” 

The good doctor’s unbandaged eye grew wet with equal parts pride and longing; John’s smile slipped from his face, stunned by Laszlo’s unsheltered emotion—his pure, unpolluted hope. “They love you,” John whispered, and the alienist smiled—tears trailing down his cheek. 

A soft sob left Laszlo as he nodded, too exhausted to say anything, and John gently wept with him. Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Moore pulled out a dark, navy-blue box: the ring Laszlo had loaned him. “I held onto this,” John said as he stood up, crossing the room to where his friend’s fur-collared coat hung beside a fresh change of clothes. The illustrator laughed as he slid the box inside Laszlo’s pocket. “I had a feeling you would need it one day.” 

Laszlo sniffled, clearing his throat before he croaked a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Rest,” John demanded, leaning against the room’s open doorway with a wide grin. “Get well, and give me the pleasure of planning your bachelor party.” Laszlo groaned, cursing whatever social schemes were rattling around in his best friend’s brain. “Music to my ears,” John mused, moving out of the doorway. A blur of doctors and nurses descended on the little, white room with a small army of syringes at their disposal. Their many hands assessed the alienist like living waves of worry; they took his temperature, checked his respiration rates, and rewrapped his wounds. Sooner than he would have liked, Laszlo felt himself falling in and out of consciousness—his will to stay awake losing to whatever tincture they put under his tongue. The last thing Laszlo saw was John’s small, knowing smile from his bedside before unconsciousness embraced him. 

They’re safe, Laszlo’s mind murmured as he drifted somewhere between dreams and reality—memories of feathered fans flitting across his thoughts. They’re safe. That’s all that matters...

It was dark outside when Laszlo came back to consciousness. A gentle weight rested on his right hand as a weak, exhausted voice washed over him. It was you, he realized; you were reading to him with the sort of calm cadence you saved for poetry. Laszlo’s good eye opened laboriously, the lid made heavy by the morphine he was on. He smiled softly as your visage came into view. You sat by his bedside in the chair John once occupied, your calves tucked up under your thighs—your shoes nowhere in sight. Your right hand held open a brown, hardback collection of Emily Dickinson’s poems; your left hand hugged his right—your thumb brushing over his bandaged wrist with all the fancy of a heron taking flight. Your lips moved with languid purpose, the room's dim candlelight dancing over your eyes—highlighting the dark bags that had grown during Laszlo’s departure from the waking world.   

“And later, in August it may be,/When the meadows parching lie,/Beware, lest this little brook of life/Some burning noon go dry—”

“—No Poe this evening,” Laszlo asked, and you gasped—dropping the book to grasp his hand in both of yours. Your eyes were wide and overwhelmed with relief. John told you that Laszlo had woken up, but seeing his beautiful, burnt-earth eye open—hearing his voice after everything that happened—after almost losing him...

You bent over Laszlo’s hand with a heart-wrenching whimper, ever-aware of his injured shoulder, and pressed your trembling lips to his knuckles. “You’ll sleep better tonight if we remove ourselves as much as possible from the prospect of murder,” you said through a soft, frail smile—resting your head on his hand as you teased his with his own words. Laszlo’s face flushed red as his thumb gently caressed your jaw. Your own smile was short-lived, fading into a fearful sort of frown. “I’ll read you whatever you want,” you whispered, your words thick with dread. “Please, don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” Laszlo responded, desperate to reach out to you—to hold you close and kiss away all your worry. “I will never leave you.” A shattered, shivering sob left you as you wiped your nose on the corner of your coat-sleeve—Laszlo’s coat-sleeve. The collar’s fur-lining kept you warm while he slept, his smile so far away from where you needed it. 

With your lips pinched tight between your teeth, you said, “You can’t promise me that—” 

“—I can try,” Laszlo replied. “We can make the most of what time we have. I can love you—” 

A rough cough cut Laszlo off, his dry throat burning. You sat up instantly, your feet kissing the cold floor in a fury as you rushed to fetch your lover a glass of water. Laszlo grunted as you helped lift his head enough to drink, and he sighed as the chilled water eased the muscles in his chest. “I can love you with everything I am,” Laszlo said as you set the water aside and fluffed his pillows before he fell back against them—guided by your hands. When your fingers found his, he squeezed them with every ounce of strength in his body. “I will love you until you grow sick of me.”

You huffed a laugh, laying your hand on his cheek—your thumb stroking the thick hair that hid his jaw. “That will never happen,” you said. Sighing, you leaned over the edge of Laszlo’s hospital bed and brought your lips to his in a soft, saccharine kiss—chasing away every horror that haunted you—trying to assure yourself he was alive, real, and yours. “I love you,” you breathed against his parched, pale lips. “I’d say you’ve captured my heart, but—as an alienist—I’m sure you believe that the heart has nothing to do with love.”

“I’m not so sure anymore,” Laszlo replied, an odd mix of glee and grief building in his chest until his vision blurred and a sob tore through his throat. “I am so unworthy of you.” 

You hushed him, firmly grasping the sides of his face as you laid your lips on every inch of skin you could. “No,” you urged. “You are not a failure, or an imposter—” 

Laszlo wept, his lungs seizing with the force of his sorrow. 

“—or any of the other horrible things your father told you.” With a wary look to the room’s open door, you climbed onto Laszlo’s hospital bed—drawing the good doctor into your arms as much as his injuries would allow. “You are the most intelligent man in any room you enter,” you promised, pressing your lips to his temple—tangling your fingers in his filthy, matted hair. “You are empathetic and treat everyone as your equal.” Running your forehead along his, you said, “You are strong and determined to defend your friends. You are a good man, Laszlo Kreizler.” Smiling sweetly, you rested your head beside his on the hospital pillow. “I am so lucky to call you mine.” 

Laszlo shattered, sheltering his face against your neck—kneading it with the tip of his nose. His festering, futile self-hatred soaked your skin as he unburdened himself in your arms. For a moment, the only sounds that filled that little hospital room were Laszlo’s hitched, heaving breaths and the clopping of horses’ hooves on the cobblestone outside. 

Beyond the hospital room, Sara Howard stood in the office of her newly acquired detective agency. With a glass of whiskey held in her hand, she decorated the wall behind her desk with her father’s many guns. The set of her shoulders was strong and sure, and her fair face was turned toward the future. 

John Moore meandered boldly down Broadway, heading towards Bellerose to indulge himself in an intimate dance. His heels bounced across the cobblestone with every confident step, and the illustrator’s smile overwhelmed his face—giddiness filling him over the love-story that began in the same building. With his mind’s eye focused on Sarah, his ever-bleeding heart hitched in his chest as he wondered whether he would one day experience such a story for himself.

In a less romantic region of New York, Commissioner Roosevelt supervised Detective Sergeants Marcus and Lucius Issacson as they dissected the mind of one Mortimer Sanctor: a father-figure and friend turned serial killer. Their hands were steady, their lips set into thin frowns of frustration as they found nothing remarkable. After getting home from the hospital, Laszlo would be bothered by the Issacson’s autopsy in the same way that the mysteries of Jesse and Japheth hung around his neck like a noose. All of the alienist’s questions would fester inside him until he was left wanting—waiting for another chance to determine why evil men did evil things—needing to understand them like he needed air to breathe...

Even so, all that mattered to Laszlo in that little, white hospital room with a wooden cross hanging over the bed was the warmth of your arms around him. All that mattered was how you held him close—your fingers fondling his hair, and your lips pressed so perfectly against his temple. In that moment, all that mattered to the alienist was that you were alive, real, and his. All that mattered to him was your heart, his own beating beside it, and the little, navy-blue box that lay hidden in his jacket pocket. Soon, he thought. Soon.

“Will you read to me,” Laszlo asked after his sobs subsided, your lips tracing the path of his tears—your hands ghosting over his bandaged shoulders, dancing down his chest.

“Of course,” you said, so softly that your voice could have been mistaken for the melting snow outside. Spring creeped just around the corner, and—remembering the book you discarded on the hospital’s hard, frigid floor—you delivered one of Dickinson’s poems from memory:

It's all I have to bring today—

This, and my heart beside—

This, and my heart, and all the fields—

And all the meadows wide—

Be sure you count—should I forget

Some one the sum could tell—

This, and my heart, and all the Bees

Which in the Clover dwell.

TAGS:  @scuttle-buttle @bruhlsbees @apparrio @livvyshmiv @ajeff855 @imalsonotsure @bubblegum28universe @frozenhuntress67 @uncomfortablebagel​ @janine-007​

Read on AO3!

[over-active-imagination]

A Better Man

(Not my Gif)

Synopsis: Sara's friend is more than willing to assist the team in their investigation. The Young Heiress is tender and brilliant, she has also captured the eye of a certain Alienist.

Warnings: Angst, Mention of violence, Mentions of victims from season 1, Murder, Victorian values, Psychological profiling (possible inaccuracies as I am not a Psychologist. Just a nerd who spends too much time watching criminal minds and serial killer ted talks), Mentions of blood, 18+ Mature themes!

A/N: Hi everyone! here is my second Laszlo piece, I am not sure if this story will have more parts. I would love to hear feedback. This story also parallels the murders from the first season but I changed a few things. Also feel free to send me any prompts or requests if you want me to write something specific! Hope you all enjoy.

Masterlist

Laszlo watched Sara's friend flit about the parlour room smiling at the guests. Miss Howard had invited the team here to work under Captain Connors Radar, He had taken a shine to showing up at Kreizler's Institution which was no good for anyone. Thats how they ended up sitting in this young woman's home discussing the most recent murder, he noted that she was seemingly the polar opposite of everyone in the room. She moved gracefully between his colleges collecting their discarded plates and biscuits, refilling tea and moving as if it was second nature. It shocked the doctor a bit that this young lady was so comfortable with the dark talk but continuing with a rather domestic task. It all surprised him that she had a large home with staff but told them to take the night off, slipping into the role of a sort of mother over a group of people she has just met.

Y/n was happy to take care of Sara's friends, it made her feel like she had more to contribute than just a pretty face. Growing up in a family of high status in society meant that she was stuck in a glass case like a doll. However when Sara was around she was treated like a human being rather then an object to own or play around with, the only man who was apprehensive was John Moore but the heiress decided that was purely because he himself couldn't stomach the conversation most days. Today being no different, anytime the discussion of the victim became too graphic he would scold and give the young lady a look. Most of the time the girl would shake her head at him but stay quiet just to indulge his own sensibilities. Even though the man was handsome and kind she was more draw to the stoic Doctor who had been watching her all evening.

"Can I get you some more tea?" She asks him, and he blinks up at her out of his thoughts.

"Pardon me?" He replies looking up at her like a lost puppy causing her to giggle a bit.

"I asked if you would like some more tea" the girl hums again holding the beautiful tea pot in her delicate fingers, the porcelain standing out against her rosie dress.

"Oh, no thank you. Perhaps something stronger if you have it" He says and the girl bobs her head disappearing for a moment and returning with a decanter of rich auburn liquid and five glasses. Four to be allocated to the men in the room and one incase Sara wished for a stiffer drink.

"Here you are Doctor" She smiles kindly setting the drink beside him before flittering away to put the tea away.

As the night wore on and the men got deeper into their drinks Sara asked her friend if it would be okay for her to spend the night. Retiring to the guest bedroom she frequently occupied biding the men luck. After that the two Detectives bid Y/n a goodnight, sighting they had church the next morning to attend with their mother. They thanked the heiress for her hospitality and left, this meant only Moore and Kreizler remained. The girl stayed awake making sure they had everything they needed before returning to her spot on the lounger with a book in-between her delicate fingers. Her lips pursed as she focused in on the pages allowing the men to continue with their conversation. That was until more addressed her, causing her eyes to float up to him and tilt her head to the side.

"You know, you will make a very good wife one day" John teases causing the girls face to flush shaking her head.

"It is interesting that you believe being a good wife is the type of compliment woman wish to hear" She hums back watching him.

"Is it not?" Moore chuckles unsure now if the blush was from bashfulness or anger.

"No, at least not for me. I do enjoy taking care of you all, But I am much more than a toy to only bare children and keep the house in order." Y/n says about to turn back to her book when Kreizler catches her off guard.

"Well then why don't you give us you opinion on this suspect." The mans accented voice flows into the space smoothly.

"Laszlo!" Moore huffs

"What? she has been in our presence all evening, no doubt listening to all of us prattle on. It maybe good to have a new set of eyes and thoughts on the case" Laszlo hums, his eyes never leaving the girl. Watching as she sets her book aside with great care before walking to stand near the table looking over the pictures placed before her. To both men's surprise she did not wince or cower away from the images, but inspect them with a great deal of interest tracing her fingers over the captured crime.

Y/n looked at each photo curiously and meticulously. She noticed that all of the young victims where laid out in the same fashion. All of the bodies where facing up towards the sky, arms splayed out beside their bodies. Anyone who came across them from afar would think they where star gazing or sleeping. Each body had been redressed in the clothes they had been found in, she noted that everyone earlier where focused on the fact his killer had mutilated the bodies but no one spoke that it was after the victims had passed. To her the mutilations where more surgical, a task that needed to be completed. But the real clues where in how he killed them.

"He cared for these boys" She surmises setting the photo of the third victim down.

"Where on earth did you get that foolish notion" John scoffs pouring himself a new drink, his words causing her to roll her eyes.

"He strangled them Moore. From what I understand strangulation isn't an easy thing to do, you have to look into the face of your victim as you watch the life leave them. It is extremely personal, intimate almost." Y/n says simply, "Its also in how his cares for them after they have gone"

"Now the first part I believe but...he ripped the-"

"John let her finish" Kreizler cuts in glaring at his friend annoyed he was being so rude to this woman when clearly she had a point. "Please continue Miss Y/n"

"He isn't cutting them open when they are alive John, he waits until he knows they can no longer feel the pain. The mutilation is more of a chore to this man, it's a task he has to complete but it's not something he takes pleasure in." She explains moving to pick up a photo and moving to Moore "Look at how he leaves them John, this isn't about humiliating them. He redresses them, taking great care in preserving their modesty. It promotes the idea that he doesn't look at them like objects of lust, I think he genuinely loves his victims."

Laszlo strokes his beard listening to her opinion on the case and nods slowly rising to stand next to her. Having a new way to look at them nodding along to her words, he had never noticed how the bodies where laid out. He was more focused on the perpetrator trying to get inside his mind but not looking at the evidence and clues he had at hand.

"How is it that you know so much for such a prefect society girl" Laszlo asks setting the photo down and watching Y/n.

"I like to listen and observe, Sara likes to talk about this work with me since no one else will" She nods and John shakes his head.

"Is that so? and you spent a lot of time do thing then yes?" he asks standing close to her side against the table. Watching as she nods trailing around the table and picking up another drawing.

"Yes, sometimes all a woman has in this world is her ability to observe those around her." The heiress says and traces her fingers lightly across the etching. "That being said it is getting rather late I believe I shall retire, you both are welcome to stay the evening. If you need anything just ask."

Then she left the room, the scent of lemons floating over the men as she takes her leave. Laszlo rolls his shoulders and looks back at his friend to find him already staring with a smile on his lips.

"What's got you looking so smug?" Kreizler asks clearing his throat starting to pack up his papers when John chuckles shaking his head.

"That finally a lady has captured your attention" Moore smirks at his peer earning a scoff and muttering disapproval. "I believe we both should stay the evening, give you two more time together." He says and pats Kreizler on the back walking away leaving the man with his thoughts.

She couldn't sleep, not matter how hard she tried the girl could only lay in that large bed of hers and stare at the ceiling. Every time she closes her eyes all she could see was the handsome doctor. His broad frame standing close to her, his fingers running over her skin, his lips tracing the shell of her ear as he whispers sweet nothings to her as they watch their children play in the grass. Y/n sat up rubbing her hands over her face, perhaps a glass of warm milk would help settle her mind. Rising her reached for her robe pulling the cool rich blue silk over her bare arms. She didn't bother tying the sash to hide her night gown deciding the odds of running into anyone where slim.

Making her way down the stairs she notices a lamp in the parlour was flickering. She peaks around the corner and sees the man who had been filling her mind. Laszlo was laying on one of the couches asleep, his usually well kept hair tousled from his rest. His arms crossed against his chest in a position that allowed the girl to see one was smaller than the other. Not that this made any difference to her, she still thought he was the most handsome man in the world. The girl notices him shiver and moves gracefully across the space retrieving a blanket from the back of a chair gently placing it over him. A small mewl leaves his lips causing a giggle to pass her lips as she moves hair off his forehead.

Slowly she moves away from him, dimming the oil lamp beside him before making her way into the kitchen pulling the milk from the ice chest and filling just enough in a pot to warm a cup. The heiress then moved to look out the window, watching a willow tree sway in the evening breeze. She lent her cheek against the cool stone closing her eyes for a moment. Before returning to her milk pouring the warm liquid into her cup, her glance out the window made her yearn to be outside so she slipped out of the door curling her toes into grass that tickled her skin. She curled her fingers around the warm cup a contrast to the cool wind moving her hair.

She did not notice the pair of chocolate eyes watching her from the doorway. Laszlo had woken to the sound of a door opening, he went to investigate only to find her there. He watches her looking so comfortable, the cobalt robe swaying in the wind. The young woman looked so serene, her hair was down and also flowing. This moment felt so intimate and private he turned trying to exit before she realized he was there but it was too late. Her melodic voice filled his ears stopping him in his tracks.

"Doctor? is everything alright?" The lady asks wrapping herself up in the robe, looking at the mans back, a rumble of thunder could be heard rolling in over the city.

"Yes indeed. I'm sorry to intrude" He answers not looking back for fear of having his own true nature revealed.

"You're doing no such thing" Her voice replies as she feels the first few drops of rain drip onto her shoulder.

"I have disrupted your solitude I am quite sorry miss" Laszlo hums nodding his head and takes a step forward freezing when he feels her little hand placed softly on his shoulder turning him to look at her. His eyes are downcast when he feels her fingers trace down his weaker arm. Trying his best not to flinch at her touch.

"You have done no such thing" She says looking into his eyes causing him to tilt his head. His eyes coming up to meet hers, she was only a breathe away from him. He simply had to lean forwards and then his lips would be upon hers but he did refrained.

"Please, you deserve a much better man than I can be" He whispers softly watching her get closer to him, her lips brushing his.

"I don't want anyone else Laszlo" the girl breathes her voice just above a whisper.

"I'm sorry, but I can't" It pains him to say those words but he does it, of course he knows best, he has to know best.

The young lady was left standing there, the rain she wanted to stay in with him was now cold. It was as if the heavens knew this moment was coming. They intended to betray the young lady's stoic posture. To show the sorrow that she did not know was possible for one to feel over a man she'd hardly known more than two days. The cool summer rain mixed in with the tears that fell down her cheeks.

[recluseraven]

Alright so, funny story, all my drafts on Jotterpad were suddenly deleted. Why? That's a good question cause I'd also like to know why. I'll probably never know, and I'm not getting my WIPs back so...yeah, the light inside me is dying. But, that's not why I'm here. I'm here cause I wanna pass on an idea (one I almost finished before it magically vanished into the void *eye twitch*).

Right, so, my Danny stans, I have a fic idea that was for Laszlo that i almost finished but I have no energy nor motivation to attempt to rewrite it (mostly cause i now feel dead inside), so whoever is interested and wants to write it, just DM me and I'll pass the torch to you

now, excuse me while i scream into my pillow

[writingandmore]

I‘d love something with Laszlo Kreizler x reader where they get introduced and maybe the group has dinner together and they just hit it off and he falls for reader or something like that? I‘d be forever grateful for anything! <3

 -When first meeting, especially if it’s at something more formal like a dinner, Laszlo would be exceedingly polite. I can imagine him striking up polite conversation if he’s immediately interested in person, but he’d stick to safe, benign topics as to not overwhelm them. 

 - If they brought up his profession and interests on their own, however, he’d be more open to talking to them about things that actually interest him. Of course, he wouldn’t ever do anything like discuss his client’s personal data, but he’d certainly be willing to talk about general theories and research he’s done. 

 -If this person shows compassion, understanding, and empathy for those he works with, he’d want to see them again. However, he can be quite reclusive, so I find it hard to believe he would ask them outright. He may as his other friends who were at the dinner where this person frequents in town, so he may have the chance of running into them and continuing the conversation that way. 

 -The other person would definitely have to make the first move-while he can be confident and is a brilliant person, he has no experience with relationships, and he wouldn’t want to hurt his future partner in any way. Even if they ask first, he might take a while to respond, even though he wants to say yes. 

 - In any other circumstance, I would say checking back in with someone before they’ve accepted being in a relationship with you may be too pushy, but for Laszlow specifically, his future partner would most likely have to in order to get him to open up and talk about why he’s hesitating. 

 -Hopefully, after talking things through with him and reassuring him that they will try their best to not be put in harm’s way during any of his investigations, he would be more open to a relationship with the person he loves. It may take awhile, but once he’s open to the idea, his partner would have a very affection (albeit a bit awkward) caring, and loving partner in his own ways. 

[hardlyinteresting]

Daniel Bruhl Character Masterlist

Laszlo Matters of the Mind, Body, and Soul* Laszlo helps the reader understand her desires Similar Laszlo falling for a reader who is a lot like him Single mother Laszlo falling for a single mother Nurse Laszlo falling for a nurse Flirtatious Laszlo’s reactions to a handsome man flirting with him Sister Kreizler How Laszlo would be with a sister A Day Out* Laszlo and his daughter prepare for her day out with her Aunt Sara How Wealthy is Laszlo: a casual breakdown* I breakdown how much a night at the opera and Delmonico’s would actually cost Another breakdown regarding Laszlo’s finances I break down the cost of heating a victorian home Thoughts on the Kreisler Institute* I breakdown why I think the institute is in fact Laszlo’s childhood home Lost tooth Laszlo’s daughter looses her first tooth Laslo’s home A detailed layout of Laszlo’s home “show me your scars” Comfort prompt “I’ll kill whoever did this to you” comfort prompt “I’ve waited so long for this” Comfort prompt

Art Nouveau mood board Edwardian era laszlo mood board Zemo

Picasso Paradox* Zemo and the reader have some very intriguing art in their home (gender neutral) Crowds and Comfort Zemo comforts a reader after they become overwhelmed in a crowd (gender neutral) Zemo Playlist I made a spotify playlist for Zemo Zemo’s house* What I imagine Zemo’s house looks like Risks Worth Taking Part ½ * and Part 2/2* Professor  Zemo AU  The Earl’s Daughter* Young Zemo makes a new companion where he was least expecting Let me Photograph you in this light Melancholy moments with zemo Better Judgement enemies to lovers snacks zemo brings his partner snacks

Light Academia mood board Dark academia mood board Pirate!zemo Au mood board

Tony Balerdi What does Tony’s house look like?  Hands tony x male!reader comfort touches plantonic tony x reader Overworked reader gets tony to take a break Headcannons Cozy tony keeps his partner warm Andrea Marowski

What does Andrea’s house look like? 

[cazzyvintage]

Can you please write a Laszlo imagine using the following prompt: “I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional” ?

You sit in the middle of Laszlo's sofa, clutching your hand as you wait anxiously.

Laszlo sat opposite you, behind a desk. He had his notebook open and had been flicking through some of the notes he had made about you from previous sessions.

Usually, Laszlo didn't accept having adult patients instead of focusing on the kids at his institute. However, after hearing about your needs, he made an exception. You always felt awkward walking into the institute to discuss your problems with the man. Especially after the dreams you had started happening and the feeling you got within your chest and abdomen when you saw him. But, you didn't want to imagine stopping these sessions. After all, they had been beneficial, though not the only reason.

"Have you had any more dreams recently?" Laszlo said, finally looking up from his notebook to stare directly into your eyes. You felt a shiver go through your spine at the intense glance.

"Yes. b-but no nightmares."

"This is an improvement, then. What sort of dreams have you had?"

Instantly, you felt your cheeks flush, and you look to the ground to avoid his gaze. The memories of the dreams came flashing back to you. His lips on yours, his hands grasping at your chest, pushing under your skirts, him lying you down on the same sofa you were currently sitting on.

Swallowing, you coughed and quietly mumbled.

"Just nice dreams."

There was a silence caught between the two of you as Laszlo observed your body language.

"Nice dreams?" he persisted, his eyes glancing up and down your face as you blushed.

"Yes... nice dreams."

Laszlo swallowed. He straightened his body and pressed the heel of his hand down on his crotch.

"Tell me more details."

You felt your cheeks burn brighter and brighter by the minute as you glanced to the side of the room now, still feeling too awkward to look at Laszlo.

"I'm not sure if it would be... appropriate."

Laszlo glanced down at his notebook again and then back up to you, debating it in his mind for a few seconds. He reached forward and snapped his notebook shut, and leaned back on his chair.

"Come over here, y/n."

Finally, you turn to Laszlo, feeling dread, worrying he was about to cancel your appointments. On shaky legs, you stood up and walked over to Laszlo's desk.

His eyes flicked up and down you as you stood before his desk, till finally, he stood up, resting his hands on the desk.

"I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional."

You stared at Laszlo, completely confused, as he walked around his desk towards you.

"Pardon?" you finally squeak out.

"I can no longer remain professional with you y/n, not with the way you make me feel. Not with all the urges and desires, I feel when I look at you. And from what I predict, from the 'nice dreams,' you've had, you can't either."

Your lips moved wordlessly, completely shocked as you felt your heartbeat heavily against your chest. Suddenly your deepest wishes and desires, which you hide down as they thought impossible, were now entirely real.

"I want you. Do you want me?" Laszlo muttered, only inches away from your face now.

"Yes."

He grasped your body, pulling you closer to him to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. For so long, he had imagined doing this to you that now he couldn't hold back. He pressed his lips onto you, pushing his body onto you till you hit the back of the desk. Quickly you jumped up to sit on it, scattering books and pen's everywhere, but Laszlo didn't care; he continued to ravage your lips.

His strong hand moved from your waist to grasping your skirt, pulling it up to expose your legs and your wet cunt. Instantly he moved his fingers to your clit, brushing against it and twisting the pad of his finger on it, which made you squirm.

"Laszlo!" you gasped, pulling back on his lips.

"Is this okay?" he asked, looking at you earnestly, pausing his movements for a moment.

"Yes, god, Laszlo, please, I need more."

He obeyed, twisting his fingers while his other hand came to his slacks, fumbling with the buttons to quickly pull them down and expose himself.

You reached forward and took his cock in your palm, stroking him gently to bring him slowly to hardness. Laszlo buried his face into your neck, groaning and placing kisses as you touched him.

When you were both ready, you held onto the table to brace yourself as Laszlo guided his hard cock to your entrance. He started at your face as he pushed himself in, letting out a moan from his lips as he slipped in. Being inside you was better than he could imagine.

You clutched Laszlo tightly as he started to move within you. Both of you two losing yourself to the passion of the night.

Little Valentine's celebration

[marvelmusing]

Under the Umbrella

Modern!Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

A/N: inspired by one of my favourite chapters from my favourite book, Little Women

My Masterlist

Stomping your way through the muddy pathway, the frown on your face deepens as the rain worsens. Your mother had warned you, but no, you didn’t take an umbrella. The weather and your generally sogginess was worsening the mood you’d been in since the beginning of the week. The mood which most certainly had nothing to do with the disappearance of a particular professor.

You’d been wholly surprised when Laszlo had appeared in your old town when you were visiting your parents. But it was nice to see him so casually, when you were walking to the shop, or passing by the market, or visiting a cafe. It was also strange, to see him in the small town that you grew up in. It felt strangely intimate, as if you were sharing a piece of yourself with him. You had told your family exactly what Laszlo had told you - that he was staying in the area for some time for a change of scenery while he was writing his research. They had all nodded in agreement that that was definitely the reason for his change in location.

You liked having Laszlo around. You liked that he often stopped by your parents house (after much encouragement from them). You liked how you no longer felt surprised to see him sitting at the dinner table. You also liked how he pretended not to realise that the two of you walked the same trek through the fields that surround the town. How he always looked surprised to see you approaching him.

You had liked it, until these things stopped. Every time the front door opened, you would peer over the bannister to see if he was there. Every time you came down to dinner, there would be an empty space that you would attempt to ignore. And if you suddenly went on much longer walks than usual, your parents didn’t say anything on the matter.

Of course today you had decided so wear your nicest coat, the one without a hood. And why was that? On the off chance that Laszlo would see you? Why the hell would he even take notice of the coat you’re wearing? And how silly of you to care about what he thinks, especially after he goes and leaves like that. Ridiculous. And soaked.

You’re too busy scolding yourself as you struggle your way through a sea of sensible umbrella holders to notice that there’s no longer a constant stream of rain over your head. You look up to see a, slightly battered, burgundy umbrella. Your eyes follow the arm that’s holding it above your head and you’re soon looking into the face of the man you thought had abandoned you.

“Laszlo.”

“You’re drenched.” You shake your head, suddenly aware that you must look like a drowned rat and you begin an attempt to salvage your hair.

“I’m fine. What’re you doing here?” You step closer as a large group of people pass by.

“Shopping.” He replies, gesturing to the bag in his hand. “Though I’m finished now, would you let me keep you dry?”

“You really don’t have to-“ you begin, but with the look on his face you know he would insist. “Thank you, Laszlo. Would you like me to?” You extend your hand, in order to take the bag and he nods,

“Thank you.” You smile at him as you take the bag, and fall into step beside him as you walk along the sidewalk together. The two of you are quiet for a moment, until you say,

“We thought you’d left.”

“You thought I’d leave without saying goodbye?”

“Oh no, of course not. My parents were asking after you, that’s all.” He nods, thinking hard as he looks down at the ground.

“Your family has been very kind to me. I will stop by later, to say goodbye and thank you.”

“So you are leaving?”

“Yes, I have been offered a teaching position at a very prestigious college. They have also offered to fund my research.”

“I’ll be back in New York in spring, perhaps I’ll see you then.”

“This position is in Europe.”

“Europe? That’s great, Laszlo.” You tell him with an excited smile, because you’re happy for him. Your smile falls a little. “But it’s- that’s so far away.” You stammer, suddenly realising how desperate you must sound. “From the institute, I mean.”

“I will miss the children, but my staff are more than equipped to do well without me.” You nod, keeping your eyes from his.

“That’s good.” Laszlo is confused by the tone of your reply, but he can’t see your face as you enter a shop. He trails behind you as you gather what you need to buy, making you feel rather flustered. It doesn’t take you too long before you’ve purchased everything you need, and you and Laszlo are walking along the road to your parents’ house. The raining is still pouring, and your arms are full of bags and boxes of shopping. Neither of you talk much. Laszlo can sense something is on your mind but he’s never pressed you to talk before. So he stays quiet, wishing that you’d tell him what’s wrong, even if it’s just for his own sake - so that he can stop hoping. Meanwhile you’re feeling rather ridiculous. You try and force yourself to be happy for him. Europe is such a great opportunity for him, you know how much his research means to him. And you are happy for him, deep down under the selfish urge to keep him for yourself. With every step closer to your parents house, you get closer and closer to saying goodbye to Laszlo. Your sight begins to blur with tears as you picture him at your dinner table for the last time. You can’t even imagine what you’re going to say to him when he leaves. The image of him walking down the street, disappearing from your sight, is fixed in your mind, making you feel even worse. Your head is aching from your walking in the rain earlier, despite the shelter Laszlo’s umbrella is providing you’re still soggy, and you’re shivering. You have a sudden urge to just bury yourself in his arms and cry heavily against his chest, and the thought of being so close to him has your chest ache with longing. You’ve barely noticed that the tears are now streaming down your face. But Laszlo does. You’re brought out of your thoughts by him calling your name softly,

“What’s wrong?” You open your mouth, ready to tell him that it’s nothing, that you’re just tired and cold. But you’ve never been able to lie to Laszlo, and he’d never believe you even if you did.

“You’re leaving,” you tell him through your tears. “And I don’t want you to go.” He breathes a sudden sigh of relief,

“Mein Gott, I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

“You are?”

“I wanted to give you time to admit it, because I wasn’t certain of your feelings towards me. In truth, I was beginning to believe it might be one sided.”

“It isn’t. It never has been. Laszlo,” you try to gather your thoughts. “I have loved you from the moment I met you. I didn’t admit to myself at first, because you were a bit of an ass.” He nods and you both laugh quietly at that. “But every second I spent with you, I fell more and more in love with you.” Laszlo lets go of his bag of shopping, extending his weaker arm towards you as he steps closer. You abandon your own bags, reaching up to loop your arms around his neck and pull your body against his chest.

“You’ve made me a better person, drágám, and I’m so thankful that you have. I would do anything to be worthy of you.”

“You’re already worthy Laszlo, I love you exactly as you are. Every bit of you.” He looks down at you with a happy sort of bewilderment, as if he can’t believe his good luck.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me to Europe. We can buy a nice house in the country. I can teach, and finish my research. You can write to your heart’s content.” A wide smile brightens his whole face as he gets swept up in his fantasy, but then he looks at you, uncertain. “That is, if that’s what you want?”

“Laszlo,” you breathe out with a wide smile. “There’s nothing I’d want more.”

[fanfictionandmore]

4 w/ zemo, kreizler, brühl?

4.) write a book with, read a book to, hit with a book

• Write a book with Daniel Brühl. I'm not quite sure what that book would be, but I'd love to see his creative process. And it would give me an excuse to ask him a bunch of questions and whatnot. Besides, who wouldn't want to hangout with him? 

• I'd read a book to Laszlo Kreisler. Poetry would be my choice of book. I think it would make him relax for a bit. Just imagine him laying his head on top of a pillow which is resting in your lap. You're playing with his soft hair as you read and you look down to see his eyes are closed and a small smile is on his handsome face. 💖

• I think I'd hit Zemo with a book, but in a gentle playful way. Yes, he's an antagonist but I believe there's a good man in him (I'm not just saying that because I love Daniel Brühl either). 

Thanks for the ask! 

[rumblelibrary]

I know you wrote a thing for Zemo and a reader who is feeling depressed but would you do one for laszlo and a reader who is just really overwhelmed? My anxiety is really bad tonight. If not I completely understand!!!!

Love Dwelling [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety

Author’s note: Sorry if I took so much time to release this, I hope it will help somehow. sometime <3

Violet, John's wife, was a dear family friend by now. Her socialite life being overwhelming for anyone but her, her parties a bit of a ritual by now.

But tonight it wasn't a good night for partying.

You felt it from the beginning, the day had already started on the wrong foot, a sense of uneasiness taking over you as the hours went by, but Laszlo had worked tirelessly for weeks and he needed a break. He deserved it. With that in mind you got yourself suited up for the evening, but, again, you should have known something was meant to go wrong in the moment he commented your beauty and your reaction was way closer to zero than you expected. You pulled yourself into a smile hoping he didn't notice.

You knew he would call it off, probably saying it came up something with one of the kids and taking the blame for you absence. You didn't want that, you really just hoped to gift him an easy night.

Thankfully, there was no theme for the evening, so no pressure to get masked or particularly dolled up for none of you.

"I am so glad you made it!" Violet said welcoming the two of you herself, Laszlo proud by your side as you made your way thought the crowd, until he got distracted by some colleagues standing by his side calling for his comments.

You smiled and nodded to their talks, but the truth was that you couldn't focus, usually you thrived beside him, he would shine in your eyes with his majestic knowledge.

You left quietly your spot trying to not make it evident to Laszlo making your way to a less crowded balcony.

You leaned against the edge taking deep breaths as you couldn't stop to tap your heel, a sense of overwhelming anxiety taking over you.

The soft giggle of a couple trying to sneak in to probably make out and then leaving when they realised you were there didn't make you flinch. You were trying to convince yourself to snap out of it, to gain some control over your feelings and, in particular, reactions.

"Y/N"

You blinked as Laszlo's voice indeed reached for you. You brushes away the tears from your cheeks, you didn't even realised you were crying but it was too late because him , damn him with his soft steps almost inaudible, leaned already on your side.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, I just needed some fresh air"

He stared at you, his hand brushing your tears away himself on one cheek and then on the other

"Tell me"

"no, it is silly, I am fine"

He didn't wince or move at all

"Laszlo, just drop it okay? I am fine, it is just a day like this"

"Like what?"

You stared at him helplessly, he just couldn't let you go with that comment, you looked away staring to some space into the void of the dark city.

"....bad"

He didn't look mad or annoyed when you glanced up at him, he stared at you attentively.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Laszlo, please" you sighed "you have already your patients, you had such an awful week, it will pass"

He took your hand guiding it in his "That's for sure, it will pass"

He begun guiding you back to the party, but from the sidelines, you watched him do a small and distant wave to John who was holding up a conversation with his friends from the journal who waved back but still looked puzzled.

You almost groaned out loud, now he will take the blame for leaving, he always took the blame if somebody acted out of the norm it was always because of his involvement, or at least that was the public opinion on him.

You got distracted by the cold air of the night, Stevie approaching with the hansom as you both got inside of it.

You sat together as he tangled his fingers with yours.

"Am I a disappointment, right?"

"Not at all" he said it and smiled, he waited in silence until you looked up at him. That smile, you almost wanted to smack him because he looked at you with such adoring eyes. He adored you, he worshipped you and acted like it and said it out loud.

"You're too understanding"

"I am not at all, and you know it"

You chuckled as he wasn't exactly famous for his patience, only kids earned it.

The rest of the journey home was silent, Laszlo's thumb caressing the back of your hand and holding it through all the time.

Once the hansom stopped he wished a good night to Stevie who said the same back to the two of you. You thought about how Stevie must be glad to be home so soon.

Laszlo guided you to your bedroom and the to your bathroom, he leaned lightly as he was wealthy enough to have running hot water. He let the water fill the tub, his careful and measure gestures enchanting you even if that little knot was still at the top of your stomach.

"Laszlo"

He didn't answer as he proceeded to undress you with his hand, it wasn't easy for him but you helped him in the process, you weren't about to protest for it at all by now. Once he achieved your nakedness he smiled at you holding your hand to get into the tub closing the running water.

You looked at him in awe as he brushed his jacket off his figure and one handedly undid his cufflinks pulling up his sleeves before kneeling beside the tub taking the soft sponge.

He leaned in slowly starting to massage you. he was good at it, he wanted to please you and he was doing all he could to achieve it.

You rested your chin on your knees as he focused on you back, you didn't let out a word yet as you begun to cry softly again. Laszlo didn't judged you or stopped you, or made you feel guilty in any way.

He let you unleash as he proceeded with his love expression.

You let it all out, but his comfort and presence made it feel easier.

When you raised your head he looked at you, you looked at him with teary red eyes but he just said "I love you" and kissed on your forehead.

Then he stood up taking a big soft towel and opening it in front of you. he didn't even give you time to denigrate yourself.

You slowly came out all squeaky clean and he hugged you with that towel, rubbing it gently against you before guiding you to bed and making you slip into your night dress and then in bed pushing the cover on side and then again over your body safely. If he could he would pull you up, but he did his best with what his arm allowed him do.

He sat beside you and smiled gently touching your leg from above the covers.

"I don't want to be another of your patients"

"I never bathed anybody beside myself before" he assured to you "you're my life partner, my other half, I want you to be happy, not to hide the insecurities and fears from me"

"But you face those things all day, you are always supporting others, I should be supporting you"

"And you do, you do it everyday, but you're not my nurse or some sacrificial lamb" he explained softly kissing the back of your hand as he gently picked it and his eyes warmed at the sight of you, you felt wrapped in the hug of his tenderness.

"It is just, I don't have an explanation, nothing happened, I woke up and I knew it"

He listened to you and just kept quiet for a moment brushing his lips along your fingers.

"Next time, tell me, it would be nice to have that bath together"

You looked at him as a chuckle escaped you because he rarely was so cheeky but when he did the effect was amazing.

"Now, I might or might not have some reserve of a very special Belgian chocolate I was meant to give to you, would you give me the honour to share those with me?"

You couldn't help it but have teary eyes again, but this time for happiness.

Love was a thing, but the trust and acceptance he was showing to you was another level of intimacy.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams@charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301@whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo@alindeluce@zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

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