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januaryembrs · 3 years

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CLIPPED WINGS | 5

CHPT 5. DANCE OF THE SWANS.

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

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

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

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 as I will be following the original dialogue/attitudes present in 'The Alienist', there will be outdated, racially charged language such as 'N*gro' and 'Indian' (when reffering to Native Americans).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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traitor,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Slurs?” Laszlo questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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nev3rfound · 2 years

Text

in another lifetime : part seven - h.z / l.k

knowing your time is up you have no choice but to accept your fate with laszlo by your side. yet zemo refuses to let this be the end for you, knowing there is so much more you for to experience and live for. 4.7k (it's a longun)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests are now open!

warnings: elements of tfatws series and the alienist, injuries, health problems, mentions of illness and disjointed info from doctor strange kinda au, kinda sad in parts (this is all sort of an au so be mindful thank you!) SAD okay - i warned you

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN (the ending)

thank you so SO much for reading this series and allowing me to delve into other daniel bruhl characters. it's been a joy to write and here's to IALT :)

New York - 1898

Laszlo stirs beside you, turning over as the sun began to rise. The rays of light encroach through the curtains, illuminating a slither of your face for him to admire.

He couldn't help but think how peaceful you look in your sleep, without a single worry consuming your thoughts unlike his that haunts his sleep. He knew this was the end, and that there was no stopping the inevitable, but he'd at least make the most of what little time he has left with you.

Rising from the bed with a stiff back, Laszlo attempts to be quiet as the mattress rose with him. But he knew better than to assume you'd remain asleep, you always woke at the slightest of sounds.

"Why're you staring, Laszlo, don't you know it's rude?" Your voice remains heavy with sleep as you blink away the last of your dreams.

Unable to stop the corners of his lips rising, Laszlo nods. "Sometimes I just can't help myself, dear."

"I guess that can be forgiven," You mutter, forcing yourself to sit upright only to feel a wave of nausea overcome your senses.

Laszlo notices immediately and he reaches under the bed, handing you a bowl kept in case. He doesn't even flinch at the sound of you retching into the bowl, only lowers his gaze until you're composed.

"I'm sorry," The words are muffled by the bowl, but Laszlo hears you nonetheless. Awkwardly he makes his way over to your side and runs his fingers through your hair, brushing it from your face as you lift your head back up. "Las," You whisper his name, too afraid to say it.

Yet, he understands without having verbal confirmation.

It's time.

New York - 2025

Entering the close to an abandoned-looking building, Sam struggles to hold back a sneeze as he walked into a cobweb.

"Ma-duk," Zemo mutters, following Sam in with Bucky smiling to himself at the comment.

"I heard that." Sam retorts, wiping the cobweb away. "So, where are they?" He looks around at the dust-coated stairwell and stain-glassed windows.

Bucky hums. "They should be here."

"Yes, thank you for repeating that." Sam rolls his eyes. "How are we here before them when they can do that," Sam lifts his arms up, copying the actions often seen from the sorcerers of the mystic arts.

Zemo's ears perk up at a faint hissing sound, and as he turns sparks begin to form in thin air. "I think they might've heard you, Sam." Zemo calls out, watching several portals form and the recruited team of sorcerers step into the lobby.

Now standing before the trio, Strange approaches first.

"Are you sure you're ready to do this? We don't know how she'll react or if she'll even come back." Strange reminds Bucky specifically, knowing he had the most concern about you returning despite the longing to see you again.

"She needs to come back." Zemo comments with a small smile. "So she can heal, and live her life." He adds, looking down at his left hand, noting how it still feels odd to see his ring finger bare.

"There's one thing though that we haven't discussed," Emilie speaks up, sharing a look of understanding with Strange. "If Y/n returns, she, she won't be able to go back, not ever." Emilie explains with sorrow filling her tone, picturing your bright smile in those old articles everyone researched.

You'd be torn from your family once again, forced into another situation whether you'd like it or not.

"She'll never see Laszlo again?" Zemo is the first to ask, unsure what to make of it all.

"It's too complex for the timeline. If she were to return, a new timeline would form and," Strange trails off upon seeing blank expressions in response.

"If Y/n comes home, that's it." Emilie states finally. "It's up to her if she does, but we can at least try."

"So be it." Sam nods, sparing Bucky a look who nods in response despite his shoulders beginning to fall forward in despair.

Both Emilie and Strange turn their backs to face the other sorcerers and begin their process. "So, Y/n will be home." Sam chuckles dryly at the thought, after all these years without you to tease him or make him smile when times got tough. He knew he owed you more than these past few years, even if he's not been there to help you through them, he'll help you now.

Wandering the halls of the Institute, your fingers glide across the walls laced with memories. You'll never forget the children, their laughter or cries for a Mother figure and them finding comfort in you for a short while.

You find your feet guiding you toward Laszlo's office, the door remaining ajar and piano now clean from dust too tempting to ignore.

Sitting down once more your back remains turned from the doorway. Yet this time, you can sense Laszlo lingering, watching you closely as you begin to play a gentle melody.

With your eyes closed, your fingers guide the tune, one you knew from childhood- a simpler time before everything became so complicated when there were no worldly threats and a lifetime of loss.

"You played that once before," Laszlo enters his office, listening to the song ending and catches your fingers slipping from the keys. "Christmas Eve last year." He remembers, unaware of the tears forming in your eyes whilst he smiles at the memory.

"My mother taught it to me," You whisper, not wishing to shatter the moment with volume. "she, she would always sing along whilst dancing with my siblings." A single tear falls to your lap upon feeling Laszlo's hand rest on your shoulder, followed by his lips to the top of your head.

"I know Schatz, we danced together, along with Sara and John." Laszlo recalls as he lifts his head up, catching the downturn of your lips.

"Oh, of course," The words pass your lips in a mumble. "it's getting worse, Las." You hate to admit it aloud, but you both knew it would happen eventually.

Taking the spot beside you, Laszlo wraps his arm around you allowing you to rest your head on his chest. With a heavy sigh, he closes his eyes, treasuring this moment with you. "We knew this was coming, Y/n." Laszlo remains truthful, no matter how much it hurts. "But there's no need to be afraid, remember that."

Laszlo can hear you sniffling at his words he uses his bad arm to try and lift your chin so you can look at him properly.

Despite your blurred vision, you can tell he's crying too. "What if something happens?" You dare to question, knowing this is filled with uncertainties for you both.

"We'll figure it out, just like we always have." Laszlo states as he leans in, his lips brushing over yours. "It'll all work out, my dear." He mutters to you before kissing you again, this time not wanting to dare let go of you.

On the sidelines to the final preparation stands Bucky, watching everyone's movements and listening to the conversation.

"I thought you'd be more excited, hell, I anticipated a smile at the least." Sam tries to lighten the tense mood as he dares intrude Bucky from his thoughts.

Bucky pauses before sparing Sam a glance. "It's just not what I expected. After all this time." He admits, his mind racing with those photos and articles they all read about you.

You were a wife, a mother figure to children who needed one. A friend to many and a badass detective. It was everything you dreamt of having, but never had the opportunity to experience.

"Don't go telling me you wanna back out?" Sam notices the change in Bucky's posture immediately.

Shaking his head slowly, no more words are exchanged between the pair.

"It'll be Y/n's choice, Sam." Zemo comments, having overheard the brief conversation.

"But she should come home, to where she belongs." Sam can't help himself. He knows he might be selfish, but he doesn't want to lose you again, not like this. "If she doesn't come back, she's gone for good. There's no returning, no miracle, no spell or time travel available. She will become nothing more than a name on a gravestone."

Sam's words fall flat between everyone. His voice had risen during his statement.

Strange clears his throat, ensuring their attention reverts. "It's time, she's ready."

Every student present begins to form a line whilst Strange stands before them. "You know what to do, focus." He nods to them all, stepping back toward Bucky, Sam and Zemo as the students take deep breaths.

"You sure this'll work?" Sam can't help ask, depiste how much extensive practise has gone into this.

One by one, a portal begins to open. Some are to places unrecognisable, the wrong time period or the wrong city.

Yet, Emilie's leads to Doctor Laszlo Kreizler's institute.

"Well, who's going?" Emilie asks with a hint of a smile on her face, watching Strange, Sam and Bucky enter, leaving Zemo to stand watching. "You not joining?"

Zemo keeps his feet firmly planted on the spot. "It's not my place to be involved." He simply remarks, crossing his fingers behind his back, hoping you'll return.

"After all this, you're leaving?" Tears line Sara's cheeks, but she refuses to wipe them. This is her moment of weakness with the three people she trusts with everything. How was this supposed to become only two?

Laszlo's hand remains on your waist, holding you close. He can feel your body tensing, noting you clenching your fists as light streams through your veins.

"Trust me, if there was another way," You trail off when the pain intensifies. It feels like acid is pumping through your veins, causing you to fall into Laszlo who whispers comfort into your ear.

"We can't let her live like this," Laszlo kisses your temple, not wanting to face his friends. "she will be helped, she will be cured." He reaffirms. "That is what is important in this situation."

John, previously standing tall now slumps into the armchair. "I can't imagine our lives without you now, Y/n." John dryly chuckles, catching a half smile from you in response.

"I'll be back, John." You breathe out, missing the look Laszlo sends John. "Can't keep me gone. Not when there's so much to do around here." Forcing a small laugh, the pain begins to subside enough for you to support your own weight.

Yet, something shifts.

Laszlo notices, but Sara and John seem oblivious to such.

Without a second thought, your hand reaches for Laszlo's, taking his fingers between yours and clasping your hand into his. He squeezes three times, and you do in return.

"It's time." You stand tall, with your husband by your side. "Don't try and have too much fun without me, alright?"

Sara and John rise to their feet, embracing you in a hug before allowing you to walk out of the office, hand in hand with Laszlo.

Once you have turned the corner, Sara crumbles into John. "She's not coming back, is she?" Sara mutters, feeling John's hand on the back of her head, holding her close.

John needn't say a word, because they both knew from how tightly Laszlo held your hand, knowing it would soon slip from his forevermore.

Standing opposite the building, horses continued to neigh before being forced to walk on, guiding the carriages from their view leaving tracks of snow behind.

"We're really here, huh?" Sam looks in disbelief. Despite everything that's happened, this is probably in his top three weirdest situations.

Bucky watches intensely at the front door to the institution, the large gates guarding the building delicately wound with golden leaves. And then, his breath halters at the sight; you.

Strange can see it play out and extends his arm outward. "I wouldn't." His tone suggests a warning, and for once, Bucky obliges. "We have to let her do this, on her terms."

"How long do we have?" Sam asks, glancing back at the open portal. The rest of the sorcerers are supporting Emilie, seeing sweat drip from her forehead, her arms already trembling.

Without blinking, Strange responds. "5 minutes at most."

Dark clouds above begin to shake, dropping snowflakes down on the city, adding to the existing used pile beneath their feet.

The group watches you exit the building, hand in hand with Doctor Kreizler. If it were any other situation, Sam might've spared a laugh at your outfit, knowing how long it must've taken for you to comply to such a dress code.

You continue your conversation with Laszlo, pretending that this isn't it, because it's not, it cannot be. And then you see them, through the gates, your other family.

Without a chance to catch a breath, the piercing pain increases and you let out a scream.

"Schatz, it's alright, I've got you." Collapsing behind the gates, you close your eyes, embracing Laszlo as tears freely fall, almost freezing against your cheeks. "I've got you." He repeats, hearing hurried footsteps approaching the gates.

Two pairs of hands wrap around the gates, matched with concerned gazes set on you.

"Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, I take it?" Laszlo asks.

Neither Sam nor Bucky can get over the resemblance to the man standing on the other side of the portal, but they know this isn't the time to fixate on how you could hate one and love another.

"Can we come in?" Bucky questions, thankful when Laszlo nods.

Snapping the chains, the gates open outward.

"Come on, schatz." Laszlo lifts a hand up to your hair, brushing it out from your face, his heart sinking when you meet his gaze. "We both know this day would come, where one would say goodbye to the other before our time was up." He speaks clearly, submerging the pain in his voice.

Slowly you rise with his help, unaware of your oldest friends mere feet from you after all this time.

"Oh, Laszlo," You whisper, placing your hands on his cheeks, catching a tear he lets slip out at your delicate tone. "this isn't goodbye. There's still so much more for us to do."

Bringing his hands to cover yours, he moves them to his lips. "But I'm afraid we won't be doing it together, dear." He frets, feeling your hands shake in his.

"Our adventure isn't over, Las." Squeezing his hands three times, you focus on his deep eyes, remembering them clearly when he first stumbled upon you all those years ago. They were forever laced with kindness, and sincerity for those who needed help. He never had to help you, but he chose to. And now, you will do him the same kindness. "It is simply happening at different times."

Holding back a sob, Laszlo squeezes back three times. "And that is okay." You finish, leaning closer to kiss him.

When your lips meet his, you wish to never let go.

Every kiss replays in your mind. From the piano to your first time together, your wedding, the arguments, the relief after a case, near misses during said cases, celebrations, losses and every little moment in between.

Snowflakes mix with teardrops as you part.

"I will always love you, Laszlo." You whisper, wanting this to be said between you both, for him only.

His hands begin to slip from yours until they're empty of your warm embrace. "I love you, Y/n Kreizler." Laszlo mirrors your tone, watching your footprints in the snow lead toward the large portal before swallowing you whole.

The snow continues to fall, and your footprints begin to be covered. But you'll never be forgotten that easily, not by Laszlo.

As the portal consumes you, two pairs of arms support you. "We've got you, it's okay, doll." Bucky mutters, attempting to soothe you.

Looking over your shoulder, sparks of orange dissipate and your heart sinks. A scream overcomes your body, leaving you to slump to the ground with nothing left to give. That's when the world becomes blurred once more and turns into darkness.

Three months later. New York, 2025.

It still felt strange. The loss of him and that life is something you're unsure you'll ever overcome.

You, like many of your friends, have endured more loss than any person should experience in a lifetime. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier, nothing does.

Sitting in the living room with an almost cold mug of tea in hand, tear streaks are permanently dried to your cheeks.

"Y/n?" Zemo enters the room, hardly surprised when you do not respond nor spare him a glance.

Ever since you returned, you've been avoiding him. Zemo has an idea of why, but it's never been confirmed. You were escorted to Wakanda the night you returned, and only last week released with a clean bill of health to New York. A clean bill of physical help, no one can fix the scars on your mind with ease, not even Wakandan technology.

As an act of gratitude, you asked for them to spare Zemo for all he has done and helped with. Though you never told him to his face, you were grateful for everything that happened as, without it, you would never have known true love.

"Hello, Zemo." Your voice is still hoarse from the nightmares that plague your attempts at sleep. Everyone can hear you cry and scream for Laszlo. Usually, Bucky is the one who rushes in, trying to ease the pain like you once did for him. "How're you today?"

Nodding in response, despite the fact your back is facing him, Zemo approaches you cautiously. "I wanted to thank you, Y/n." Zemo acknowledges, nearing the sofa situated toward the large pane of windows.

"You deserve to live too." The sentence is muttered, but loud enough for Zemo to hear it. "I know I," You pause, daring to meet his gaze for the first time. "I can't go back." Tears immediately form in your eyes as you look at him.

Clean cut, hair parted differently. Even his stance and attire are unlike your beloved. But despite how much of him differ, it's still a punch in the gut to see him like this.

"How are you feeling today, Y/n?" Zemo rephrases, watching you roughly wipe your eyes with the tattered sleeves of your hoodie. "There's something I'd like to show you, only if you're feeling well enough for the excursion."

Rising to your feet with a heavy sigh, you face Zemo straight on. This time, your eyes do not waver from his. "I could use a change of scenery." You shrug, following behind him toward the front door.

Neither Sam or Bucky question the sight of you both leaving the building, instead they were thankful to see you, even if it were with Zemo. "Do you think?" Sam begins to question, noticing Bucky nod. "And do we?"

"No," Bucky answers curtly. "let him show her."

Walking alongside Zemo, the chill of winter catches you off guard as your arms remain tightly crossed.

"My wife, she always told me stories are often intertwined in life." Zemo quietly speaks up as you walk slowly alongside him. "When, when I left Sokovia, she wished me farewell like she normally would. I gave my son a hug goodbye," His voice cracks, causing you to pause and face him.

"That, that was the last time you saw them, isn't it?" Your hand rests on his upper arm as he barely nods. "What did she mean, about stoties being intertwined?"

An attempted smile crosses Zemo's lips at the memory of his wife's words. "She said there would always be people in our lives we'd meet, and for some reason, it would just make sense. I guess I'd never thought too deeply about it, until well," He trails off as you both continue walking toward an unknown destination.

"Until?" You press.

"Until you came into my apartment with a look of utter disgust, the opposite of the one my wife once had." He remarks, daring to glance over and see the visible confusion on his face. "You, you're a lot like her, Y/n. In many ways."

Words fail your lips, but you manage to hum.

"I don't expect you to say anything." Zemo adds fretfully.

"Where are we going?" You eventually question, noting the streets baring away from the liveliness of the city, drearing toward the quieter patches, peaceful even.

"It's just up ahead." He tells you, leaving you both to walk in silence toward the grass filled pathway.

Thick blades of grass and weeds were overgrown, leaving little of the original pathway exposed. Your eyes wandered the grounds, noticing the increase of angel statues, named etched in stone and dried, dying flowers planted at the bases.

Suddenly, your mind drifts back to a forgotten memory.

"This is where she'll be buried." Laszlo sighs deeply, resting his hand heavily on the cane, the other in yours. "It was all my fault."

"Don't say that, Laszlo." You hush him. "It was an accident, no one is to be of blame for this." Looking around the graveyard, many plots remained empty, awaiting a new resident to take a permanent place. "At least it is a pleasant resting place."

Lifting his head up, he follows your gaze toward the large hanging oak tree. "It is indeed." Laszlo remarks, stepping back and lightly pulls on your hand, guiding you out of the graveyard.

"Zemo," You breathe out, sparing him a teary glance.

"I won't intrude, but I thought this is something you deserved." He clears his throat, coming to a halt with you by his side. "It's the least I can do for you, Y/n." A small smile graces his lips when your eyes meet his, and an attempted one crosses your own.

Looking down, your knees become weak.

It's covered in moss, and cracked in areas. Mixtures of grey and white spread beneath the greenery that entraps it. But there, clearly etched into the stone; Doctor Laszlo Kriezler & Y/n Kriezler. Husband and Wife, lived long eventful lives. Their adventures together and apart will forever outlive them.

"He-" A sob lodges in your throat, your knees finally giving way. With Zemo's help, you cradle the mildewed grass beneath your feet as your fingers glide over your names, remaining together, forever.

"Whilst you were in Wakanda, Doctor Strange was able to find a small temporary loophole." Zemo begins to explain, remaining stood by your side whilst you quietly cry. Your palm never leaves your husband's name on the stone. "Bucky and Sam were able to visit Doctor Kriezler, inform him that you lived and will eventually be alright."

Sniffing, you can picture it now. Your oldest friends, going to meet your husband from the 1800s. As if your life wasn't weird enough.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Zemo pulls out an envelope and kneels beside you. "He wanted you to have this, Y/n."

A wax sealed, well well worn enclosed letter is in front of you. Even from here, it smells like the institute. Closing your eyes, you can see Laszlo now, hunched over his desk in the evening. Once all the children have gone to sleep, the fire behind him crackles. But you aren't there to fill the room with music or laughter. He'll be alone, writing you a letter, a final farewell.

Bringing the letter into your own hands, you sit upright. "Thank you, Zemo." You mumble, aware of his presence retreating to allow you this moment.

Cautiously, you lift the wax seal from the delicate paper to see his handwriting.

Wiping your eyes once more, you avoid splashing the ink with your tears as you begin to read his final letter to you, his love, his lost wife.

'My dearest Y/n, I know this has not been an easy journey for you, schatz, it was never intended to be. From the moment we first met, there was something in you I knew I couldn't live without knowing, even if John claimed insanity from me for allowing a woman dressed in such attire to be seen getting into our carriage; it was the least of my concern because I needed, I yearned to learn about this mystery woman. What I had not intended, was to fall in love with her. That, however, is not something I can ever regret, for it was the wisest decision I have made. Your smile, your wit, your laughter. My love, it is something I think of fondly, and I know Sara and John miss it too. We often sit in silence here at the institute, thinking back to those days after an investigation. How we'd all sit by the fire with a whiskey. You might accompany with music, and Sara may dare dance if she'd drank enough. Those are the moments I reflect on most; as you were candidly content. Your eyes would flicker with unfathomed joy which travelled to your lips and warmed my heart. I'm afraid to admit I can't bring myself to sit at the piano without you by my side. That being said, Y/n, my dear, I don't want you to suffer out there. We knew the consequences, even if neither wanted to admit such. I loved and will love you forevermore with everything, but I want you to do everything we never had the time for. Travel my love. See the world, take care of your spunky friends - they are exactly as you described them to be. If things were different, I'd say Sara might have taken some fancy (but best not repeat that.) Now, I am sure that you are aware of my burial place, one I had made originally for you. Even though I know you live on, you deserve a place here, one for us to visit. One day, I am sure my name will join yours, and that we will meet again.

Never forget my Y/n, our story is not over. It will continue again, in another life.

With all my love, yours, Laszlo.'

Crumbling into yourself, you have nothing left to voice. You hug the letter close to your chest, wanting and wishing for nothing more than it to be his arms around you. For Laszlo to whisper into your ear that everything will work out.

But he's not here. He's long gone and this is your reality of life without him.

"Y/n?" Zemo quietly calls your name, having approached one more upon seeing you curled into the damp grass as your shoulders shake.

Opening your eyes, you slowly look up at the man so alike to your love. It evokes something new completely within you as you focus on him. "T, thank you." You manage to find the words, knowing deep down that they aren't enough, no words will be enough as you look down at the letter in your grasp.

"I understand, Y/n." Zemo tells you softly, extending his hand toward you.

Accepting his help, you brush off the grass from yourself and glance back to the gravestone.

Silence falls between Zemo and you, but for once it isn't filled with tension and the unknown; it brings peace.

With the letter in hand, your thumb brushes over the wax seal before you tuck it into your pocket and face Zemo once more.

"Helmut?" You speak up, surprising both yourself and Zemo. You've never called him that, but it's embraced as he nods. "Would you like to see your family's memorial?"

Feeling his breath hitch in his throat, Zemo looks around in confusion. "This is real?" He asks in disbelief.

"Yes, Helmut. This is real." A soft smile forms on your lips, one of sure gratitude as Zemo's hand rests on his own heart. "Come on, we wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

"I, I," Stumbling over his own words, Zemo simply wraps his arms around you and brings you into a hug.

Tears form in his eyes whilst you cannot see him, but you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

Lifting your hand up, you rub his back whilst facing the gravestone, knowing somewhere, Laszlo is looking down with pride.

"You deserve closure too, Helmut. A whole new chapter awaits you out there." You mutter to him, closing your eyes and enjoying the embrace before you set off on a new adventure into the unknown. IALT SERIES TAGLIST: (sorry for making you lot wait nearly a whole year for the ending.) @zemosbaroness @fillechatoyante @country-cowgirl-101 @kpopnena @telesynths @thebookisbtr @mybisexualheartbeatsforzemo @ajeff855 @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fangirl-inthe-us @marchingicenotes7 @graniairish @lol-im-done @cinna-minseok @sapphiredreamer26 @swndmans @soxysarah92 @thehornyfemme @bloop-booop @fictionlandslanddreams

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italianraviolos · 3 years

Text

MEN I'D LIKE TO RAIL ME HOW AND WHY

TODAY IT'S TIME FOR A GOOD OL' ORAL SEX

(and since I'm an selfish bitch I speak about the one men do on women)

SMUT CONTENT

1) LOKI

This man... Is a starving one...

He’s not scared to get down and dirty, I mean... he had sex while being a horse, putting the face in between a pair of legs wouldn’t be a problem...

He would watch you deeply in the eyes and he would be so hypnotizing that you would probably don’t understand what is going on until he finally put is lips where they should be.

Also, this is a headcanon of mine, he gives me the vibes an extremely sadistic man, he would enjoy seeing you shiver under him, whether under his gaze or his mouth...

He lives for seeing the person on the edge and then going away like nothing happened, and again like this until you're begging him with all your soul to finally give in...

THAT’S WHEN HE BREAKS YOU

I mean, he edged you for god knows how long, you already are about to fall apart, but he, on the other hand, has only started, he would put all his strenght and use everything he can you...

Hands

Tongue

Lips

Cast illusions of himself...

2) DANIEL BRÜHL

for a simple reason: multilingual

My mind is an incredible source of cracked thoughts, one of these, is the fact that people who speak more than one language have talented tongue.

STORY TIME

I live in Italy, here, when you go to high school, you choose a particular field you want to specialize in.

Five years ago (here high school last five years) I chose the course of languages, and for that, I started hanging out with people who attend the same course as mine, and, thanks to alcohol, I had the possibility to know them in different types of situation, and I can assure, that, the more languages you speak, the more talented your tongue is.

END OF STORY TIME

So, this man right here, apart from being not a damn snack, but a whole meal, speaks English, German, Spanish and French.

Do I have to say anything else?

3) CROWLEY

Well...

He’s a demon, he has special tendencies on doing dirty and sexy things, plus, SNAKE TONGUE

He’s one to hate stupid religious bans, he’d do anything in order to piss off or scare any bigot around.

He doesn’t know what the word SHAME means, he’s totally down to the filthiest thoughts, whether his or yours...

He’s crazy enough to try whatever you want, you wanna add food, sure, wanna do it in public, why not? wanna add a few people? the more the participants, the more the fun

Also, the snake tongue is a not an indifferent characteristic of his, extra soft, extra thin and extra precise... just perfect.

4) CHRISTOPH WALTZ

Again, the one, the only, the man, Christoph Waltz

Damn this man is not a snack, he’s not a meal, he’s the all dinner, luch and breakfast all together, and I would gladly eat him.

Oh and he would eat you all as well...

again: Multilingual

German, French and English mixed together can only result in the perfect cunnilingus.

Also, have you seen this man's eyes...

They can kill or hypnotize or whatever he wants...

I like to believe he will look at you like his pray, just to see you shiver and tremble under him...

The eye-contact during it would be amazing

MY GOD SO INTENSE

I wouldn't be able to stand it...

And you neither

You'd be like a doll in his hands, with which he plays and do whatever he wants with.

And let's admit it, I would definitely let him take control and take whatever he wants...

I like me a dominant and tongue-talented man.

5) LASZLO KREIZLER

He has all it takes to have his face in between your legs...

First of all, he's a nonconformist.

He does whatever he wants, because he can and he doesn’t give a shit about the public eye.

His reputation is already demaged, why should he care to maintain stupid manners that just help useless taboos grow stronger and stronger.

He would do it for the shivering feeling of doing something forbidden, something against society, and I love it.

Second, he speaks various languages, certified English, German and Hungarian, there's again my theory of the more the languages, the more tongue talented...

Third, the beard.

Well groomed, well grown, certified good feeling down there...

He's a fancy bitch, I KNOW, he's beard is fancy as well.

Also, I don't know if I should consider it a kink, a fetish, a preference or whatever, but, man with beard...

Shivers...

I'm a sucker for it.

And last but not least, this man is a damn giver.

PERIOD

THANKS FOR COMING TO MY ALMOST DAILY TED TALK, I LOVE ALL OF YOU

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norabrice1701 · 3 years

Text

Strange Case of Dr. Kreizler and Mr. Brühl

Series Master List - Complete

A "Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde" AU Modern!Laszlo/Daniel x Fem!Reader Series

Series Summary: From the first moment you saw Laszlo Kreizler, you were inexplicably drawn to the unusual gentleman. But it isn't until you meet Mr. Brühl that you realize just how unusual they truly are.

Series Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including oral f!receiving, overstimulation, hints of dom/sub, praise kink kinda, possessiveness), masturbation, frottage, explicit language, mild body horror, vomiting, murderer & murder & morality, child abuse (rape) & associated injury discussion (more medical, less graphic), discussions about death and life legacy, cemetery tourism, inappropriate cemetery decorum, hurt/comfort, dark & corrupt religious references, intoxicated character, Laszlo's determination not to let his insecurities stop him from making whatever difference he can in a corrupt system no matter the cost, creative liberty with Laszlo's modern profession, love at first sight, Gothic Romance inspiration & tropes, use of Mr. Daniel Brühl not intended to reflect anything about the actor as himself

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Series Word Count: 38k

A/N: Inspired by asks & convos with @raraenoctes (@morvantmortuary), and the fantastic world they're building with their OC! My love and thanks to @random-frog-on-a-bench for beta'ing this story, and helping me stay motivated to knock this out. Also, my continued thanks to the lovely @janine-007 who indulged my questions about German pet names and offered some fabulous suggestions.

Reblogs and notes are always so appreciated - I aimed to make this a little stylized, a little Gothic Romance, a little modern meets Victorian...I hope y'all enjoy this contribution to spooky season, and tag list is open if anyone is interested!

Thanks as always 😊

Tag list: @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @thehuiabird @creme-bruhlee @belle82devart @scuttle-buttle @glimmering-darling-dolly @somethingthatsaysbubbles

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo x reader #laszlo x you #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl x you #laszlo kreizler fanfic #dr jekyll and mr hyde #modern laszlo kreizler

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

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Scuttle-Buttle’s Masterlist

Tags/TW are listed at the beginning of each fic/chapter. All works available on AO3 under @ scuttlebuttle. Sadly I do not own the characters - I just needed a hobby.

If you want to be tagged in anything please let me know!

Ratings:

G - general audiences

T - teen & up

M - mature audiences, 18+

E - explicit, 18+

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Zemo x Plus Size Female Reader

No One But Me

Summary: When you received a call from Sam and Bucky to help them catch the Flag Smashers you didn’t entirely know what to expect. As a lonely PhD student studying the effects of Hydra on shaping modern history, the duo thought you could be useful in finding leads towards the case. What you didn’t know was that a certain incarcerated Baron would be working alongside you stirring up trouble, and in more ways than one.

Rated: E Word Count: 4.7k

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Baron on the Run series

Young Folks

Summary: Zemo takes you shopping and you decide it’s time to have a little fun with your Baron.

Rated: M Word Count: 1.3K

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

Summary: You and Zemo do a little dance.

Rated: T Word Count: 1.3k

Aphrodite

Summary: The morning after No One But Me.

Rated: E Word Count: 2.2k

Beard Burn

Summary: A beard is the best disguise.

Rated: M Word Count: ~600

Man Size Meatballs

Summary: QVC is dangerous.

Rated G Word Count: ~600

What Are Those?

Summary: You buy your Baron some new shoes.

Rated: G Word Count: ~500

Summary: Zemo keeps the holsters on.

Don't Let Go

Rated: E Word Count: ~2k

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Niki Lauda (Rush 2013)

Sleeping With The Enemy masterlist

Pairing: Niki Lauda x fem!OC Catherine Sinclair/Reader

Summary: Catherine Sinclair is the younger, estranged half-sister of renowned F1 driver James Hunt. Things get a bit complicated when she decides to reenter James’ life and ends up meeting his rival - Niki Lauda. Engines ignite as Catherine finds herself caught between her feelings for Niki and the rivalry that the two men share. Will she pump the brakes or let herself crash in the inferno?

Rating: E for smut

SWTE One Shots Masterlist

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The Heist masterlist

Synopsis: Niki Lauda and James Hunt are complete opposites. With their careers on the line as International Agents for Interpol, the two get paired together to solve the case of a small underground black market art heist. The introduction of an American, a woman no less, into the team only complicates things further as the trio goes undercover. There's more than just art that is at risk of being stolen on this mission.

Pairing: Niki Lauda x Fem!Reader, some James Hunt x Reader

Rated: E 18+ for eventual smut, language, and violence

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Dr. Laszlo Kreizler (The Alienist)

The Interpretation of Dreams Masterlist

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!Reader

Summary: Modern AU. Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a pretentious ass - that's the only way you could possibly explain the man. That being said, you needed a job to help pay for grad school, and the position of being his TA was the only thing available. You'll suck it up and deal with it, but the last thing you'll do is let this man get inside your head in the process.

Enemies to Lovers

Rated: E for smut & descriptions of trauma

Psychopathia Sexualis Masterlist

Sequel to The Interpretation of Dreams

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!Reader

Summary: After experiencing a whirlwind enemies-turned-lovers romance with the imposing Professor Laszlo Kreizler, things have been wonderful for you. Your studies are coming along, work is enjoyable, and you are in a stable relationship with the man you believe to be the love of your life. Suddenly, everything threatens to come crashing down with the arrival of a face from the past. Will jealousy and desire consume you and destroy the love you finally found?

Rated: E for smut & dark themes

Peri Psyches masterlist

A one shot series to follow The Interpretation of Dreams & Psychopathia Sexualis fics. Oneshots vary in rating, tags will be listed at the beginning of each fic. Also posted to AO3.

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Other Brühl Boys Oneshots & HCs

Two Stars Miles Apart

Pairing: Andrea Marowski (Ladies in Lavender) x GN reader

Lingonberry Schnapps

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler (The Alienist) x GN reader

Sweater Weather

Pairing: Alex Garel (Eva) x GN reader

Up In Flames

Pairing: AU firefighter Zemo x fem!Reader (smut)

Breakfast in Bed - drabble request

Pairing: Zemo x pregnant wife reader

Promises Kept

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Fischer (My Zoe) x afab!Reader

Ernst Schmidt with a baby - HCs

Modern! Andrea Marowski- HCs

Voyeurism Kink Daniel Weltz - HCs

Brühl Boys & how they would help you on your period Alignment chart

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therenlover · 3 years

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Therenlover’s Official Fanfic Glossary!

Hey hey hey! This is the place where you can find all my up-to-date fanfics linked nicely, read about what projects I have upcoming, and learn what requests I’m taking at the moment! Cheers!

This post is massive so, for the sake of your dash, everything is under the cut

A NOTE ABOUT REQUESTS!

I will do my best to fulfill any requests I get while my ask box/requests are open! That being said, I cannot promise every request will get done, and that if they do, they’ll be done in a timely manner. I’m currently working on a long-form project that needs a lot of time and energy to come out consistently, so unless I’m doing a writing event most of my writing juice will be focused on that. That being said, if you want something ask! The worst I can possibly do is direct you towards someone else who might be able to write what you want if I cant.

If I choose not to do your request based on personal preference (it makes me uncomfy/I don’t write for the character at that time/I don’t feel I can write what you want/etc.) I will do my best to contact you and let you know! That being said, if you think your ask got buried/forgotten, feel free to message me again and let me know, but please tell me when you message me if I should be looking for a prior request.

Characters/Fandoms I will write for currently

💙 = I’m Currently Super Inspired To Write For This Character

Marvel/X-Men

Bucky Barnes

Loki

Peter Maximoff 💙

Pietro Maximoff

Helmut Zemo 💙

Hank McCoy

Ralph Bohner 💙

Vision

American Horror Story

Tate Langdon

Kit Walker 💙

Kyle Spencer (Pre- and Post- Death)

Jimmy Darling 💙

James Patrick March 💙

Kai Anderson

Fallout 4

Nick Valentine

Hancock

Star Wars

Poe Dameron

Armitage Hux 💙

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Finn

Han Solo

Assorted/Random

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - FGO

Cu Chulainn/Cu Alter - FGO

Warren Lipka - American Animals 💙

Enjolras - Les Miserables

Grantaire - Les Miserables

Gabriel - Supernatural

Imagines - REQUESTS CLOSED

Songs From Musicals Y/N Would Sing To The Evans

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

How The Evans (+ Quicksilver) Would React To Yoplait’s New Gushers Yogurt

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Rory Monahan, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Headcanons - REQUESTS CLOSED

Modern! AU Armitage Hux Boyfriend Headcanons

Zemo With A Well Dress S/O Headcanons

Zemo Getting Jealous Headcanons

Oneshots - REQUESTS CLOSED

Marvel/X-Men

Helmut Zemo

One Last Night In Madripoor

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4200~

Still Some Catching Up To Do

Synopsis: As a member of the criminal underworld, people walk out of your life all the time. Some are killed, others kill themselves, most get caught and only a couple get out of the life unscathed, disappearing into the world never to be seen again. Very few walk back in. So when your supposedly incarcerated ex-lover, the Winter Soldier, and the Falcon waltzed through your door and made you murder your boss, needless to say, you were surprised and more than a little bit pissed.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 6800~

Nine Years Starved

Synopsis: It had been a little over nine years since Helmut Zemo lost his family, his country, and his sanity. Nine years since his last kiss. Nine years since he felt like a human man. Finally, he was ready to start over again, but first, he had to pay his penance back where it all began; Novi Grad. That’s when, by the grace of the fates, he met you.

Rating: G

Word Count: 7000~

Daddy Dearest

Synopsis: Not everyone gets lucky enough to go from being a broke college student in New York to being the sugar baby to literal royalty, but not everyone is you. Most people would be worried about messing things up or losing him to someone else, but you knew he would never find another baby just like you. Besides, you knew exactly what to do to keep him wrapped around your little finger. He may have been the daddy, but you pulled the reins.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 8000~

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Synopsis: As a wanted man, Helmut Zemo spends most of his time jumping from place to place in the hopes of avoiding a trip back to prison. Unfortunately, that means he can’t always be home in your arms. When he is, though, in the rare moments of calm, you’re reminded of just how worth it it’s been to wait, even if that wait was only shortened by the arrival of your enemies.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 35,700~

Two Bodies In The Rain

Synopsis: It was raining the day you finally had to admit your feelings to Helmut. You hated to tell him the way you did, under the grey skies as your blood pooled below you, but at least you knew, in the end, he had seen the real you, even just once. That was enough.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5600~

Rest

Synopsis: Living life on the lam with your escaped super-villain lover means things rarely slow down enough for a real rest. When the exhaustion starts to take its toll on you, though, he knows exactly what to do to ease the pain. He may not be a good man, but he’s a good husband when it counts.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3200~

American Horror Story

Jimmy Darling

Red Nights In Jupiter

Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3000~

James Patrick March

Heartsick

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3700~

In Sickness And In Health

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5500~

Fallout 4

Currently Empty

Star Wars

Currently Empty

Assorted/Random

Currently Empty

Long Form Works/Series

Young Artist!Zemo AU

Chapter One: The Boy With The Easel

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Rating: T

Word Count: 7000~

Till Forever Falls Apart (A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Chapter One: Welcome Home

Synopsis: As if getting thrown through the multiverse, trapped in an attic (albeit a cool one), mind-controlled to manipulate his grieving sister, and subsequently dragged out of Westview “for his own safety” by the FBI wasn’t enough, Peter Maximoff has now been shipped off to New York to live with a glorified baby sitter like some tragic orphan in a comic book until they find a way to get him back home. Things are not always as they seem, though, and this change might just be for the better.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2400~

Chapter Two: The Doctor Is In

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800~

Chapter Three: It’s Always Been You

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Rating: T

Word Count: 8600~

Chapter Four: Before You Go

Synopsis: Peter, after days of contemplation, has realized that part of him loves Y/N no matter what she is or what she’s been through. Unfortunately, he can’t find her anywhere. When she finally returns home with the intention of leaving again, Peter realizes it’s his last chance to tell her how he really feels. Will he succeed, or will he fail to be fast enough once again?

Rating: T

Word Count: 4000~

Chapter Four And A Half: Gimme Swayze

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Rating: T

Word Count; 2600~

Cakes For The Evans: A Blogging And Baking Adventure!

Kai Anderson’s Disaster Cake

Hey you! If you’ve made it this far down the list, thanks for supporting me as an author! I’ll be linking my AO3 here. I post everything there shortly before I post it here, and there are some older fics there you might enjoy along the way! It’s also easier to drop comments over there and I keep them open for non-members, so give me a shout if you liked what I wrote!

I love you all, you make me so happy, and without you support I would never be motivated to write! Cheers!

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somethingthatsaysbubbles · 3 years

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THE RIPPING CASE OF MS. DELIA RODWICK — Masterpost

SUMMARY: In an effort to solve the murder of several New York prostitutes, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler finds himself receiving a private dance from Bellerose’s most popular burlesque dancer. [This series takes place between Seasons 1 and 2 of The Alienist.]

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Spoilers for Seasons 1 and 2 of The Alienist. Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content. Rated M for Meat and Mature Themes. Smut. Sex. Oral Sex (Laszlo Receiving). Oral Sex (Reader Receiving). Vaginal Fingering. Penetrative Sex (Penis in Vagina). Unprotected Sex. Dom!Reader. Sub!Laszlo. Possessive Language. Explicit and Enthusiastic Consent. Edging. Orgasm Denial. Body Worship. Breast Kink. Self-Degradation. Praise Kink. Size Kink. Minor Creampie/Breeding Kink. Foot Kissing. Discussions of Sexual Experience/Inexperience. Aftercare. Love Marks/Hickies. Discussions of Marriage/Courting. Smoking. Drinking/Alcoholism. Choking (The Non-Sexual Kind). Nonconsensual Touches/Workplace Harassment. Undressing. Nudity. Explicit Descriptions of Arousal/Genitalia. Masturbation/Mentions of Masturbation. Graphic Descriptions of Gore and Violence. Murder/Serial Murder. Corpses. Death. Crime Scenes. Blood. Mentions of Prostitution and Sex Worker Prejudice. Violence Against Women/Sex Workers. Mentions of Domestic Violence/Child Abuse. Discussions of Childhood Trauma. Discussions of Religious Hypocrisy. Bible Verses and Churches. Canonical Disability. Mentions of Abortion, Stillbirth/Pregnancy Complications, and Coma. Loss of Family. Kidnapping. Grief. Fear. Fire. Eviction. Angst. Fluff. Letter from A Serial Killer. Malicious Evangelicalism/Catholicism/Religion. Explicit Discussions/Descriptions of Murder and Serial Murder from Perspective of Serial Murderer. Scenes of Explicit Torture. Bondage and Gagging (Non-Sexual). Broken Bones/Extreme Bodily Harm. Implied Nonconsensual Voyeurism. Stalking. Knives/Pliers. Denailing/Nail Removal. Stabbing. Guns and Gunshot Wounds. Hospitals, Doctors, and Nurses. Morphine/Prescription Drug Use. Mentions of Autopsy. Hurt and Comfort. Happy Ending.

Word Count: ~35K

Fandom: The Alienist

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x AFAB GN!Reader

A/N: Completed Work! The reader in this story is gender neutral (They/Them), and there is no use of binary, gendered language—such as “woman,” “man,” “Miss,” “Mister,” “female,” or “male”— in reference to them. However, the reader has breasts and a vagina because that is what I—as a nonbinary, AFAB author—am most comfortable writing. The reader regularly switches between wearing period-accurate, assumed-feminine clothing and period-accurate, assumed-masculine clothing. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies. If you catch a typo or would like to be added to the taglist, let me know. Lastly, a huge shoutout to @bruhlsbees for reading as I wrote. Your love and support kept me going.

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

Chapters:

The Water Lily Room

Above the Vaulted Sky

It’s Cold Outside

I’ll Wait For You

Exquisite

Is Love’s Bed Always Snow?

I’m Here

Una Furtiva Lagrima

Eternally Yours

This, and My Heart Beside

Extras:

Chapter 1: Sneak Peak

Memes

Read it on AO3!

#The Alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kriezler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler imagine #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #gender neutral fanfic #gender neutral reader #afab #reader insert

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hereticpriest · 4 months

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Gulp

The Typist Series

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Warnings: Post-Partum, Pregnancy Kink, Mommy Kink, Lactation Kink, Breastfeeding, Somnophilia-Adjacent, Married Sex, Post-Partum Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Creampie.

Note: Anya is Hungarian for mother/mom

Pregnancy is hell. Anyone who says otherwise should, respectfully, jump off a cliff.

Frankly, having the babies doesn’t really improve the situation either.

That is the thought fixed in your mind as you wake up to the dawn’s first light streaming through your curtains, illuminating your bedroom in warm shades of orange and gold. Your husband’s arm is an anchor around your waist, and your first instinct is to complain about him being clingy, except you vaguely remember a midnight argument about him not cuddling with you and you don't want to send too many mixed messages. Your second instinct is to cringe when you realise that the front of your nightdress is damp, as is his sleeve.

“What in God’s name?” You ask no one in particular, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning, stretching like a cat within the confines of his grip. Laszlo stirs at your side, grumbling unintelligibly as he pulls you closer to him so he can bury his face in your hair and grind his hips into your ass. Despite the temptation to take advantage of his endless willingness to satiate your needs, and the growing wetness between your legs, the odd dampness of your chest is enough of a concern to distract you.

“Laszlo, love, wake up.” You murmur, sitting up and tugging your nightdress away from your skin. Your husband stirs again but doesn’t open his eyes, simply slides his hand down over your plump stomach to pull your nightdress up over your thighs. He’s used to your early morning cravings by this point, to such a degree that most times he barely even wakes up before he’s inside you. Since giving birth, he’s changed his method while you recover. He strums you with skilled fingers until he’s woken up enough to crawl between your legs and put his mouth upon you.

“I have you.” Your beloved promises sleepily, pressing his lips to your shoulder and gliding his fingertips through your labia.

“Wait, that’s not-” You cuts yourself off with a moan as he strokes his thumb across your puffy clit, then slides two fingers into you.

“Wanton this morning, szerelmem. You’re already ready for me.” Laszlo purrs, only to grunt when you wiggle in his grasp and gently thump his shoulder.

“Laszlo, my chest.” You whisper insistently, and Laszlo peels his eyes open and blinks at you. Not that he’s opposed to worshipping at that altar, but the urgency in your voice is a little odd.

“Sore?” he asks, then glances at your wet, swollen breasts and seems to finally realise what you’re saying. He hums, sitting up and rubbing his hand down over his face as he yawns. He carefully helps you pull your nightdress up over your head, his eyes going half-lidded at the sight of your breasts. They’re visibly swollen, and your nipples are leaking fat droplets of semi-transparent white liquid that dribbles down to the swell of your belly.

“Look at you, szerelmem. Full of milk for our children.” Laszlo praises you softly, nuzzling his nose against your ear and sliding his hand up to gently cup your breast. He’s surprised by how hard it is, and he frowns a little at the way milk slowly wells up at your nipples. It takes a bit of kneading for it to flow more freely, but it seems to ease a bit of your pain.

“Careful, I’m tender. Having Hannah as a wetnurse is a blessing, but it seems I’m filling up when I don’t have our little ones.” you murmur, leaning into him as he strokes his thumb over your nipple, getting it wet. He lifts his hand to pop his thumb into his mouth, and you gasp, looking both scandalised and thrilled. Your cheeks are flush with love and desire, as they often are since marrying your troublesome husband.

“Hm. Sweet.” Laszlo whispers. He grins at the look on your face, then boldly dips his head to lick the sticky milk from the dip between your breast and belly. He licks the last bit from the bottoms of your breasts, then closes his lips around your right nipple and gives a gentle suck.

“Oh!” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his short hair, “Are you supposed to-”

“I don’t think it will hurt me, wife.” He interrupts you, swirling his tongue around your nipple, then giving it a rougher suck, “Is it helping?”

It takes a moment of consideration to reach past your desire for him and think about his question before you come to the conclusion that yes, it is in fact helping. When you first woke, your breasts felt hard and painful, but the swollen ache of your right breast has begun to ease with every swallow. Laszlo looks up at you through his dark, pretty lashes and you smile at the sight, combing his curls back from his face. His eyes are half-lidded, and there’s a softness in them that makes your stomach feel syrupy. He grabs your breast with firm hands, massaging you gently to get the milk flowing as he sucks at your other nipple, slowly soothing the ache that originally woke you. There’s an eagerness to his actions that makes you wonder whether he’s thought of this before, or if your predicament simply brought something new out of him.

“It is helping. Switch, though.” You demand, gripping his dark hair and guiding his mouth over to the other side. Laszlo hums, wrapping his lips around your nipple, shameless despite the fact that his thick facial hair is wet with milk, his throat bobbing with every swallow. He sucks at your breasts until you’re no longer leaking, then gives your nipples an extra squeeze just to be sure even though it draws a whimper from you. He parts from your chest for a moment to lick his lips, and you’re a little surprised to see nothing but desire written across his face as he palms himself through his sleep pants.

“You’ve gotten the sheets wet, anya.” Laszlo purrs, and you shiver, awed by the way you clench around nothing, “Ahh, did you like that? Naughty.”

You give him a gentle shove, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you.

“Roll onto your stomach, anya.” he whispers, pulling a couple of pillows over to prop you up with. You sink into them, getting yourself comfortable and hugging the fluffiest of the pillows.

“I’m never letting you get me pregnant again.” You complain, and Laszlo laughs openly, kneeling behind you.

“Good luck with that plan, kincsem.” He replies, rubbing the head of his cock against you teasingly, “I’ll have you heavy with another child within a couple of months, at most.”

You groan as if the idea doesn’t thrill you, and he laughs again, thrusting all the way into you in one go.

“Stop complaining, anya, I know how excited you are. We’re going to have to change the sheets.” He teases you, grunting as you clench around him, “Fuck, your hunger is unending.”

He takes you slowly, as per your doctor’s warnings. The old man had insisted that sex was perfectly fine a couple months after giving birth, but warned that you both needed to be careful to avoid any complications. The twins are freshly eight weeks old, and Laszlo has been generous enough to bring you to completion with his mouth or his fingers up until this point, but he knows as well as you do that that simply won’t do. Not this time. you need him, and he needs you, and no half-measures will be enough.

“God, I missed this.” Laszlo mutters, and you sigh happily, rocking back into his hips.

“Missed you too. I need you, my love.” you purr, matching the gentle pace he sets. Despite the slow, steady pace, it doesn’t take long for you to find your completion upon him, his fingers tracing love letters across your aching clit as he spills inside of you. Despite his insistence that you would need to change the sheets, he collapses beside the mess and pulls you into his chest when you’re done, passing out again within moments. You cuddle up to him, your back to the window, barely conscious of the way his spend runs down your thighs. You should clean up, but you care not. You throw your leg over his thigh, nestling your belly comfortably against him, and bury your face in his chest. Your fingers trace delicately through the hair on his chest, and you fall asleep with his heartbeat in your ear.

With Hannah caring for the babes, you can afford to sleep in a little longer. The sun has only just crested over the horizon - you have plenty of time before anyone will have any expectations of you.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #daniel brühl

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munsons-maiden · 3 years

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𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

Not gonna lie, I had the time of my life writing this 😂

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! - Love, Kiki 🖤

A/N: I was doing an assignment for uni when I came across an absolute gem, a theological text from the 1890s telling women to PLAY DEAD when their husbands had/wanted sex with them. And then I thought about Laszlo reading the text and the face he'd make at this utter nonsense and I NEEDED to write this. I'm still wheezing. Ladies of the 1890s, I'm very sorry and I dedicate this one to you 😂

Also, I love the quiet humor of Laszlo in the series and I needed to explore this weirdly funny side of him because I absolutely adore it 🥺

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Laszlo Kreizler x female reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Your and Laszlo's wedding night is getting closer, and Laszlo attempts to be the best of husbands - in every way. But the advice on how to pleasure a woman is lacking in 1890s New York City, so he takes matters into his own hands.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | humor, smut, romance

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.8 k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ ONLY!). Vaginal fingering, oral (f! receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is fiction - please stay safe in real life and use a condom!). No angst in this one, just fluff and humor 🥰.

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝🖤

Laszlo’s POV

The carriage slowly rattled across the cobbled streets, and all over the city, the lanterns had already been lit for the night. Laszlo and John were on their way back from the opera house, and while John had brought out a newspaper to read on their way back, Laszlo had spent the last fifteen minutes debating on how to best broach the subject on his mind, before he finally cleared his throat and began, „John?“

John looked up from the newspaper. “Yes?”

Laszlo shuffled nervously in his seat opposite of him, before he continued, “I fear I might need to request your assistance regarding a rather delicate topic. Your experience and skills would be most helpful in the matter.”

John frowned in confusion. “My skills in painting?”

“No, your skills regarding sexual interaction, of course.”

John blinked a few times, trying to decipher if Laszlo was being serious – he looked perfectly sincere, with that glimmer of curiosity shining in his intelligent hazel eyes which usually sparked when Laszlo was preparing himself to analyse something. John really didn’t want to be the object of such an analysis. “Laszlo, the direction this conversation is taking off to is as anxiety-inducing as it is inappropriate.”

“Yes. Inappropriate was the direction I intended for it to take”, Laszlo smiled, “And since your most impressive skills might be located in the field of sexual intercourse –“

“I – I don’t even – are you insulting me? Criticizing me? Judging me benevolently? All three?”

Laszlo tilted his head. “Neither of these three. I simply need you to tell me the location of a good brothel.”

John could only gape at him, and Laszlo grew visibly annoyed about how dense John could sometimes be.

“You’re engaged, Laszlo. You’re going to marry.”

“That is exactly my point, my friend.”

John ran his hand through his dark hair and finally put aside the newspaper. “I might need a moment.”

“You don’t know your favourite brothel? I didn’t think it would be something you’d have to contemplate, since you spend so many evenings in these establishments.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY!”, John burst, finally having had enough of his friend’s antics, and his face had taken on the colour of beetroots in his anger.

“Why are you shouting at me? I asked a perfectly fine question. We’re friends, you should be able to tell me about your favourite brothel. You don’t exactly keep your nightly activities a secret, I’ve come to associate the stale smell of whiskey exclusively with you, for that matter.” Laszlo’s anger was rising as well.

John took a deep breath. “Why? What do you want to do in a brothel, Laszlo? You’ll be a married man soon. Your wife-to-be is lovely. You love her – “

“Which is exactly my point”, Laszlo interrupted with the newfound calmness of a person confronted with utter obtuseness, ”I need advice for the wedding night, preferably by a woman who knows what she’s doing. I want to –“

“Wait. You don’t want to visit the brothel for…?” John faltered.

“Intercourse? John, I’m going to be married to the woman I love, why would I visit a brothel to engage in such activities?”

Laszlo looked truly horrified, and John let out a deep sigh. “I’m – I’ll bring you next time. Why, exactly, don’t you ask me? I’m skilled, as you said.”

Laszlo only smirked. “Dear John. If you want to know how hallucinations feel – do you ask the patient, or the alienist?”

John blinked, caught off guard.

“Exactly”, Laszlo smiled, putting on his reading glasses and reaching for the discarded newspaper.

***

The problem, as it had turned out when Laszlo had tried to prepare for the upcoming wedding night, wasn’t a lack of literature about the topic. There were, in fact, a lot of books about sex, the most famous one of them, Psychopathia Sexualis, even the work of a renowned alienist. Anatomy, Biology, Psychology. Even religious texts were looking into the matter. Upon reading these texts, though, he didn’t know if he should laugh about these teachings or weep for the generations of women they were being preached to. The woman should avoid sexual intercourse at all costs, the text written by church officials only months ago read, and she should play dead if her husband attempts at such actions, advising her to go to bed fully clothed and feign severe headaches to keep the respective husband away. The dominant perspectives in every book and every article Laszlo found, were distinctively not female. It didn’t surprise him the least.

Well, Laszlo thought, he hadn’t assumed to find the answer in a theological text, anyway. But neither literature about the human psyche nor the human body could provide any information exceeding the basic mechanics of the process. What he needed – desperately so, considering his own glaring inexperience in the field – were answers on how to do it right.

There had been patients with diverse sexual problems, and all of his female patients, when asked about the nature of their sexual problems, told him how embarrassed they felt about their own desires, how they only ever felt something when stimulating themselves but never while sleeping with their spouses, how their husbands thought them promiscuous for trying to engage in sexual activities with them, or prude if they didn’t. The only sexual problems these women really had, it seemed, were the men they were married to. And Laszlo didn’t intend to become such a problem. He wanted to make you happy in every single way. Thus, his search for answers about how to pleasure his beloved had led him to John, and finally to the brothel he was currently visiting by his friend’s side. Probably not one of his best ideas in hindsight, but it was too late now to flee. He’d already ordered a glass of wine.

“You’re really special, my friend,” John smirked when Laszlo jumped as a woman lasciviously started to massage his shoulders, his face a picture of utter horror.

“You look like a man standing in a lazarette, not a man visiting a brothel”, John commented, and Laszlo blinked while the woman retreated with a laugh.

“To be fair, you look a tense enough, Laszlo. If you don’t loosen up a little, dear friend, I’m coming over to give you that shoulder massage myself”, John added. “What exactly did you expect to find here?”

Laszlo opened his mouth to reply with a quip of his own, but he was cut off by another prostitute, placing her hand on his shoulder. He shrunk away from her touch, a glimmer of panic in his eyes, and the woman snickered.

“Shy, are we? Would you like to accompany me somewhere more…private?” Her suggestive wink, paired with the obvious unease on Laszlo’s face, made John laugh again like a boy in a schoolyard.

“Somewhere private would actually be of help. Thank you”, Laszlo replied with as much dignity as the situation would allow for and a subtle glare in John’s direction, who only shrugged. Your idea, his gaze seemed to convey. John was debating whether it would be mean to tell Sara about this evening, and had come to the conclusion that it would be, indeed, too mean, when Laszlo remembered something and turned back towards John to say, “Oh and, John, I advise you to keep an eye on your drink this time. I’m really not in the mood to pick you up off some street again, delirious and missing your pants and your manners.”

Oh, yes, John would most definitely tell Sara as soon as he saw her the next morning.

When the door to the room with the bed closed behind him, Laszlo raised his good hand and declared, “I’ve come here to request advice, nothing more.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Mister –“

“Dr. Kreizler.”

“Dr. Kreizler, I’ve been in this business for many years now – I won��t tell you how many, though”, she winked, “And that must be the strangest request I ever got. And it can get very strange in my line of work.”

Laszlo nodded. “I’ll marry soon, and I wonder how I can be…a good husband in the matters of the marital bed. I figured the best way to find out would be to ask a woman of your profession.”

The prostitute stared at him, her crimson-painted mouth slightly agape, before a grin spread across her features. “My, my. I can assure you, Dr. Kreizler – you’re the first and probably only man in this city visiting a brothel for advice on how to pleasure your spouse. That girl is a lucky one. Most men don’t even think of the possibility that they could learn a thing or two. Most of them are brutes. So believe me when I tell you that it’ll be fine.”

“But – what do I do? To make it…pleasurable for her. Not only pleasurable but good.”

“You’ve read books on anatomy, I presume?”

Laszlo nodded.

“Then you know the right spots.”

“I fear I’ll not be capable enough.”

“Can’t get it up?”, the woman nodded, and Laszlo was quick to shake his head.

“Nothing like that”, he stammered, “But my arm –“

She laughed – not a condescending laugh, but a genuine one. “Dear doctor. You have hands and your mouth. Put them to use.”

“My – mouth? To kiss her?”

The woman flashed him a seductive grin. “To use on her lady parts.”

Laszlo made a mental note, probably to ask John about this later. He’d heard many stories from his patients – everything from whips to pain to knives and the like – but this was news to him.

“The rest is just a chain of – what do the academics call it? Action and reaction. She’ll tell you in every way possible if you’re doing it right. And if not, just ask her what she wants you to do. It can be as easy as that. You just have to listen.”

Some of the weight seemed to lift off Laszlo’s shoulders. Listening, fortunately, was something he was quite good at.

***

Your POV

The day had passed in a blur of happy tears, white lace and flowers, of congratulations and laughing and dancing and shared glances full of love and happiness as Laszlo – your husband, it sounded so beautiful and unreal – twirled you around for your first dance as a married couple, even if he usually wasn’t fond of dancing. You felt like the happiest person on earth.

Now, the two of you had climbed out of the carriage and up the stairs to the front door of his home. Your home, now, too.

Laszlo bit his lip, and noticing his moment of hesitation, you took his weaker hand in yours, gazing at him in the dim light of the flickering lanterns lining the street like silent guards. He looked a little distraught, so you softly asked, “What is it, my love?”

“I can’t carry you over the threshold.” His defeated tone made your heart break a little.

Standing on tiptoes, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before you replied quietly, “I don’t care if you can carry me through a door, Laszlo. I care if you can help me carry my happiness and sorrows and fears. And that, you can – else, I wouldn’t be here in this beautiful dress, which, by the way is breath-taking in the physical sense as well. I need to get out of this corset before I faint on the doorstep. Which would pose a problem, because then somebody would have to carry me over the doorstep.”

With that, you opened the door and pulled him inside with you, up the stairs and into the bedroom the two of you would share from this night on. Vines of anxiety crept through your chest and tightened around your heart as your eyes locked on the bed, and you suddenly felt strangled with fear. Of course, you’d married the man you loved more than your own life, of course you wanted to finally be as close to him as humanly possible – but nobody ever told you what it would be like. What to do. How to act appropriate, if there even was such a thing as propriety in the matters of the marital bed. As much as you wanted this, had imagined this night – your wedding night – to be, in the secrecy of night and alone in your bed…now that the moment had arrived, all you felt was scared.

This time, it was Laszlo who took your hand in his; carefully, as if he were worried to startle you.

“We can just go to sleep, darling”, he said softly, “There’s plenty of time to –“

“No!”, you interrupted him. “No. I want this. With you. Now. I’m just…scared. I don’t even know what exactly scares me, it’s simply that I don’t know what to do.”

“I believe I do know”, Laszlo replied with a soft smile, stepping closer until his face was only inches from yours, “And the rest, we’ll find out together, my love. So if you allow me to take care of you…?” He faltered. His usual eloquence seemed to have left him, and he couldn’t keep his own nervosity hidden from you any longer.

“I’ve…tried to consult some articles”, you finally admitted, and you could feel heat of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. Quickly, you averted your gaze, but Laszlo’s strong hand shot up to gently tilt your chin and make you look at him. He could imagine the things you’d read.

“Please don’t pretend to be dead”, he said in an attempt to calm your nerves, and you huffed at the absurdity of the thought, of the – wait, how did he know about the article?

“I did some research of my own, as well”, Laszlo explained, and you started to grin.

“Of course you did.”

“I might have offended a few people in the process”, he admitted.

“Of course you have.” God, you loved him so much.

“And I stumbled across this article as well”, he continued, barely suppressing his smile now, “And it made me angry. Because…I want you to enjoy yourself. I’m sorry that church and society have made you feel like it’s something to be ashamed of, but it’s not.” Laszlo brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, gently tucking it behind your ear while he continued, “So if you allow me to take care of you in every single way possible, I will.” His voice was a little hoarse with all the emotions he felt, and he swallowed.

You closed the remaining distance between the two of you and placed a chaste kiss on Laszlo’s lips. You’d kissed him before – once, in a quiet moment with no prying eyes present to judge the two of you for the impropriety of it, even if it never, not for a single second, had felt improper to kiss him – but now, it was different. The two of you were free to do whatever you liked. Whenever. Wherever. As if he had the exact same thought, Laszlo cupped your cheek with his good hand and pulled you closer to him, to deepen the kiss, and the sweet innocence of his lips on yours, the little sigh of content that escaped him, lifted the weight from your own heart, like a beam of sunshine burning away the vines of anxiety which had caught you in their strangling hold. Laszlo’s hand travelled up to your hair, and one by one, the tightness of the hairpins loosened as he gently pulled them out of your hair, freeing strand after strand until they cascaded loosely around your shoulders, never breaking the kiss as he did.

When he finally pulled away, leaving you a little dizzy with the sensation of his gentle fingers combing through your hair, of his lips moving against yours, you could see the silent question shining in his hazel eyes, the lights of the candles in the room, and when you nodded, he turned you around, so he was facing your back.

His fingertips brushed against the bare skin on your neck when he swept your hair off to the side, and the contact made your skin tingle and left you yearning for more. The silence which had settled over the room was a pleasant one, the kind of silence wrapped around two souls who knew each other so well that words weren’t necessary to communicate anymore, broken only by the rustling sound of the strings lacing your corset while Laszlo undid them one by one – deliberately slow not because of his weak arm but to give you time to step away from him and change your mind. You didn’t even think about it, though. His kiss had made you hungry for more, and you longed for the sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin again.

A shiver ran down your spine like a row of sparks when suddenly, his lips brushed against the back of your neck, and there was a strange kind of weakness travelling through your legs you’d never experienced before. More, your mind shouted in time with your accelerating heartbeat, and a soft sigh escaped your lips.

It was all the reassurance Laszlo needed, but nevertheless he whispered, “If you want me to stop whatever I’m doing –“ another sensual kiss, placed to the side of your neck, and a small moan escaped you as his warm breath ghosted across your sensitive skin, his beard gently scraping against you, “ – then say the word, and I’ll stop.” A third kiss to the side of your neck, closer to your jaw this time, and the strange tug in your lower belly seemed to intensify.

“And if I want you to continue?”, you breathed, and Laszlo chuckled – a dark sound you’d never heard him make before, and it seemed to light another shower of sparks which travelled right to your core, the throbbing feeling of need nestled there.

“Then you tell me that, as well”, he whispered in reply, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your skin and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give Laszlo better access to your neck. He complied to your silent plea, and his lips found the spot of tender skin right above your quickening pulse, lingering even longer than before, and you shuddered with how good it felt when he started nibbling at that spot. You let your head fall back against his chest, savouring the sensation, and you could feel his smile against your skin.

Action and reaction. She’ll tell you in every way possible if you’re doing it right. This spot hadn’t been in any of the anatomy books, and Laszlo made a mental note to get into the matter more closely soon.

When the last of the tiny bows holding together the corset was loosened beneath Laszlo’s fingertips, the lacy white wedding gown fell to the floor with a swishing sound of the fabric, pooling around your ankles and leaving you bare but for the thin underskirt. Laszlo pulled away from your neck and you turned to face him again.

You could feel your heart stumbling in your chest when his hazel eyes roamed over your body – and insecurity crept in like a cold gust of wind in the middle of winter. But the love reflected in Laszlo’s stunning eyes as he took you in with nothing but awe dissipated the cold gust of fear like a warm ray of sunshine. “You’re so beautiful, my love”, he marvelled.

“So are you, Laszlo.” He was still fully dressed, though, which was a state in dire need of changing. This time, it was you who closed the distance, your lips locking on his. And this time, where the first kiss of the night had been chaste and sweet like the softly glowing flame of a candle against the dark of night, this kiss was feverish and hungry and desperate, having grown into the blazing flames of an inferno lighting you up from inside to only leave you craving for more. Laszlo’s strong hand was tangled in your hair while he grabbed the back of your head to pull you closer, and his weaker hand rested on the curve of your waist, his thumb drawing small patterns on the exposed skin right above the waistband of your underskirt. Your own movements grew more and more daring, and you fumbled on the rows of buttons on his chest, first undoing his vest and then his dress shirt to push them aside, away from his shoulders and to the ground where they landed with a dull thud, allowing yourself to let your hands roam across his bare chest.

What the two of you lacked in experience, you made up with passion, and with teeth clashing and his tongue delving into your mouth – oh, how good he tasted – Laszlo walked you backwards towards the bed, never breaking the kiss, until the back of your knees thumped against the wooden frame, and you let yourself fall back onto the mattress. His left hand reached out to undo the row of tiny buttons on the waistband of your underskirt, and you were quick to help him. The skirt joined the heap of fabric already discarded on the floor.

You wanted him all over you, his lips, his fingers, all of him, but still there were the remnants of the old shyness, and you didn’t dare ask him for it – you didn’t know what to ask him to do.

He knew, though. His lust-darkened gaze locked on yours with an intensity that stole every last whisp of breath from your lungs when Laszlo knelt down on the floorboards in front of you, and the expression in his eyes, the adoration and desire flickering in them like a twin flame, made you feel like the most beautiful person on earth. His strong hand looped around your knee and he pulled you towards him, until he was situated right between your legs, the possessiveness of the motion intensified the throbbing feeling between your legs.

His fingertips grazed the skin at the back of your knees before they wandered up, leaving a trail of goosebumps and sparks of this strange sensation in their wake when they travelled towards the apex of your thighs, where your skin was most sensitive.

“What are you –“ Your own gasp cut you off when his thumb gently brushed over that spot between your legs, and you felt like all the sparks he’d lighted in your body were accumulating in your lower belly, a glowing white light so warm you felt it could burn you from the inside, and you wanted more of it.

When Laszlo leaned towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours, pinning you in place, there was no time for you to wonder about what he was planning to do. His breath ghosted over the wetness pooling between your thighs and made you shiver with the sensation, and when he brushed a kiss to that spot, the need in your belly intensified so much that you couldn’t stop the small whimper bubbling up your throat. Embarrassed, your hands, which had gripped the bedsheets on your sides, flew up to cover your mouth, but Laszlo rasped, “Don’t. I want to hear you, darling, every single lovely sound you make. I want to hear what I’m doing to you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

So when he kissed you there a second time, you allowed yourself to cry out his name, and bucked your hips up against his lips. He obviously had been thorough with his research, you thought, before his tongue flicked against that bundle of nerves and your mind went blank, honing on only the feeling of Laszlo’s hot tongue swivelling over the wetness between your legs, circling that sweetest spot, the pleasure jolting through you in drowning waves that made you moan every time he brushed against it, while his strong hand grabbed your hip to pin you down onto the mattress.

“So soaked already for me”, he murmured, and the dark vibration of his voice against you sent another jolt of pleasure through your core. You wanted more, more, more… Was this the feeling bringing people to drink laudanum, to lure them into the opium dens in the belly of the city? Your mind was hazy with lust, the things he made you feel, so new and exciting and so different from everything you had expected. You rolled your hips up against him in slow, languid movements matching those of his tongue, and right when you thought there was no way for the feeling to intensify any more, as if you might burst into sparks yourself like a firecracker on New Year’s Eve, he gently sucked on that spot, and the last remnants of your control were gone, carried away by the flood of want rushing over you, drowning you with the ache for more, for him. His beard tickled the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he greedily lapped up your arousal, intensifying the feeling. You cried out his name, and you could feel that there would be a point where the coil in your belly, tightened with every stroke of his tongue and every suck from his mouth, would snap –

“Wait”, you panted, barely able to form the words in this lust-addled haze of your mind.

Laszlo complied immediately, and before he could ask if he’d done something wrong, you explained, “I want to feel this with you, Laszlo. You can do this for a thousand more times after tonight if you want to – because believe me, I want to, I really do – but tonight, the first time... I want you to feel this with me, Laszlo.”

“Everything you wish for, my darling”, he rasped before he rose from his knees and joined you on the bed. His smile was like a beam of sunlight, so bright and happy that you felt as if your own heart would burst with joy and love and everything in between.

“Though I wouldn’t have minded to continue”, he told you with a smirk, and it was the truth. The knowledge that he was the one making you loose control like this, making you come undone with only his mouth, that you allowed him to do these things, was exhilarating. The knowledge that even in your throes of passion, you worried about his own pleasure, made his heart seize with affection.

Your fingers were swift to unbutton his suit pants, and they, too, quickly joined the rest of your clothes on the floorboards. The two of you probably wouldn’t need any clothes for the next few days, come to think of it. It was something which was fine by Laszlo.

He situated himself above you, his strong hand beside your head to hold his weight, and when he leaned down to shower you with more kisses, your legs wrapped around him and you pulled him down towards you eagerly. He was happy to see that you were enjoying yourself, that the remnants of shame had been washed away by the cleansing thunderstorm of passion he’d bestowed on you.

His lips left yours and he trailed wet, hot kisses along your jaw and back to that spot above your hammering pulse, feeling its fluttering against his mouth as you writhed beneath him with the sensation. He needed to test something. His teeth grazed the tender skin along with the slight scratch of his beard, and you angled your head in response. He sucked at the skin, and the sound tearing from your lips as a result was as sinful as it was heavenly. You could feel his hardened length pressing against your inner thigh, and experimentally rutted against it. Nothing could have prepared you from the sound that tore from his lips at your action, and it only spurred you on. Your hands wandered from their previous spot in his glossy dark hair, down over the slope of his shoulders and the plane of his chest, over his waist and further down until your hand wrapped around him, and when you started pumping him with slow, deliberate strokes, he let his head fall into the crook of your neck with the sweetest of moans, his soft hair tickling your cheeks.

But before you could continue, Laszlo sat up on his heels and his strong hand shot down to stop your movements.

“Wait. This is about you”, he whispered lovingly, gazing down at you. The hazel colour of his irises had shrunk, eclipsed by the blackness of his lust-blown pupils, and his hair was tousled and falling into his face, giving him an oddly vulnerable demeanour. For a few passing heartbeats, while you watched him in awe, admiring his beauty, every freckle and mole, he did the same with your flushed form beneath him. With his good hand, he drew a line from your collarbone down through the valley of your breasts and further down, and your arched your body into this caress, until he reached the spot between your legs that was aching for his touch, aching for him to fill you. He watched while your eyes fell close as soon as the pad of his index finger flicked across the swollen bundle of nerves. You rolled your hips in time with the soft strokes of his fingers as he spread your arousal across that spot, rendering you once more panting and writhing with lust beneath him. Your lips parted to release another lovely moan, and it took much of his patience not to take you right then – but it was too mesmerizing to watch you, your hips desperately rutting against his fingers to gain more friction.

“Tell me what you want me to do”, Laszlo breathed, and the dark rasp of his own arousal laced in his voice made you lose the last remnants of your self-control all over again.

“I need you”, you panted, gyrating your against him with growing desperation.

“Where do you need me, my love?”, he urged, surprised by his own sudden boldness, and even in your delirious state, you could feel the sudden confidence radiating from him. And Lord, did it do things to you. He’d always been a difficult person to describe, his personality like an ocean with changing tides – curiosity and shyness, ignorance and empathy, anger and sweetness, all co-existing, ebbing and flowing like a play of light and shadow to form the mosaic of who he was, the man you loved more than anything in this world. But now, with his fingers bestowing such pleasure on you as they wandered across your slick folds, making you squirm and beg, filled him with a beautiful mix of overflowing love and pride – that all his fears of inadequacy, his feelings of not being enough and resentment for himself because of his arm, were just that: fears. Nothing more.

“Please, Laszlo, you’re driving me insane”, you pleaded, “I need you inside of me.”

His lips captured yours in another hungry kiss before he succumbed to your wishes, and he rested his good arm beside your head, supporting his weight on your elbow while you reached out to align him with your entrance, and you could feel him twitch in your palm as your hand wrapped around him.

Laszlo rested his forehead against yours and pushed his hips forward, gently sinking into you, slowly and carefully, attentive for any sign of pain in your expression. You gazed up at him, and the feeling as he buried himself in your velvet walls, filling you, bodies connected as your souls had already been, the sensation of it – you were at a lack of words to describe it. Your back arched as he began to move, slowly pulling out of you only to sheathe himself inside your walls again, his tip grazing another spot deep inside you in just the right angle with every languorous thrust.

You surrendered to the feeling, the flames travelling through your nerves, setting you ablaze with pleasure, letting it take you over and sweep you away. Laszlo’s eyes closed with the intensity of the feeling, his long lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, illuminated in the soft glow of the candles, his kiss-swollen lips slightly parted. You rolled your hips up against his and your legs hooked around his waist to push him deeper into you, to hit that aching spot again, and the beautiful melody of your groans tangling together in the air filled the room. The way your senses heightened to his every touch, to his scent of soap and sweat, the way he tasted, while the world faded to a blur around you…it was intoxicating. You’d never felt so alive.

“God, you feel so good”, he whispered on a broken moan, and your hands roamed across his back to rake through his soft strands of chocolate-coloured hair.

“Laszlo, I think I’m close…”

“Don’t hold back, my love”, Laszlo encouraged, his voice laboured, “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You could feel the pressure in your core building with each thrust of his length, his pace quickening, his cock grazing the throbbing spot inside you over and over again. You chased this glowing sensation alongside him, and it felt like a wave building in this ravenous, insatiable spot below your ribcage, racing through your body and emptying your mind of everything but the blissful sensation of Laszlo sheathing himself inside you, his sweat-drenched skin on your own, the raw and beautiful sounds tumbling from both your lips as the first wave of this high hit you and your walls clenched around him.

“I love you”, he purred as he felt your climax rushing over you, “I love you so much, Y/N. My beautiful wife.”

You cried out his name, and your hands fell to your side to grip the bedsheets for purchase. The feeling of you unravelling beneath him was enough to sent him toppling over the precipice of his own pleasure.

Your muscles tensed when the second wave of your climax hit you, calmer and softer than the first but matching it in intensity just as much. You felt his warm seed spilling inside you as you came down from your height, Laszlo’s movements faltered as he lazily rode out your highs before he let himself collapse into the sheets beside you. You were tangled up, drenched in sweat, and panting fervently.

For a few racing heartbeats, you were both trying to catch your breath, savouring the afterglow of this feeling, of the things you’d just done together, and you nuzzled into his chest. Laszlo pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, and you raised your chin to look at him.

“This was incredible”, you whispered. “I love you, Laszlo. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. To wake up beside you every morning, to fall asleep by your side every night. And I can’t wait to do this again. And again.”

Laszlo’s hazel eyes were brimming with love as he listened to you. “I’m glad, my love. I want to worship you. In every way possible.”

“But first”, you finished with a grin, “You need to tell me about this research of yours.”

Part 2? I mean, Laszlo worshipped the reader, so it would only be fair if she returned the favour. Let me know :D

Tagging: @justfangirlthingies @fictionlandslanddreams

#dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler fanfic #dr kreizler x reader #dr kreizler #the alienist fanfic #the alienist #the alienist laszlo #the alienist x reader

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januaryembrs · 3 years

Text

CLIPPED WINGS | 4

CHPT 4. TAKE FLIGHT

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

description: Settling into your new life at Laszlo Kreizler's home, you're reminded just how treacherous Paresis Hall and its occupants could be.

length: 6k+ main masterlist clipped wings masterlist ꜝ Trigger warnings for this chapter only ꜝ this chapter is rated MATURE/17+ as it will include mentions of m*nor prostitiuion - canon to ‘the alienist’, hints of parental emotional ab*use, kn*fe and threatening behaviour, foul language, death, murder etc. Please only read if you’re comfortable with the mature/gory/explicit themes present in Alienist, which is rated 17+. OUTDATED VIEWS/TERMS TO DESCRIBE MENTAL ILLNESS.

The feeling of freedom had never felt or looked so good as when you slipped on one of your own dresses and ridded yourself of that hideous white bed sheet that barely earnt the title of ‘gown’.

Laszlo had followed through on his promise and had returned you to your home first thing after breakfast; some sweet blueberry muffins that Mary had baked that very morning judging by the wonderful smell arousing your nose the moment you awoke. You had restrained yourself from inhaling the delicate treats, the mouth watering taste being a vast improvement to the bland gruel they gave you at the Nightingale.

You had gone to sleep not long after supper with a simple goodnight to your host and woken feeling like you’d made up for every second of lost slumber that had amounted over the past year. The beds at the Asylum were adequate, if you were being generous. You were certain the springs in the mattress had misshapen your spine from their consistent jostling into your skin each night, leaving you grumpy and tired by the time the wardens woke you the next morning. The duvets were even worse; scratchy and as cheap as the god awful clothing they’d shoved you in to make you look the part of pretty, little woman, despite the fabric driving you to genuine insanity.

It was no wonder the women there were so ill in the mind, you would think to yourself on your bitter days. You hadn’t entered the sanitarium a mad woman, but you were sure you would be driven to lunacy had you stayed any longer.

But it was clear, if not from his expensive taste, that Laszlo was a man of class. A man of lavish items, and his furniture spoke for him even more so. You awoke satiated with respite, the warm feeling of the sun beaming down on your cheek like a cat slumbering on a sill. Because that was another wonderful thing about your new room. The window. The view on the outside; knowing it was right there, knowing you weren’t confined to four white walls that seemed to close in with every maddening second.

You had thrown it open the moment the thought caught up to you that you were no longer in the Nightingale, the morning breeze caressing your cheek in a welcome kiss. The scent of horse manure and fresh fish from the docks had filled your nose in an instant, people of all ages dressed in their fancy clothes, leading their fancy lives on the streets of New York below you paying you no mind. You felt like shouting a good morning to each and every one of them out of pure glee, were you living at your own home you very may well have. But you were a guest, for the time being, and you’d hate to show up Laszlo as the crazy, shouting woman living upstairs when he had been so very kind to you.

Your day had only gotten infinitely better when you had arrived back to your own home, the promise of your possessions dangling in front of you. The ride itself had been uneventful, having complimented Laszlo on the glorious comfort his spare bedroom held to which he thanked you gracefully and returned to reading his morning paper.

Truly, he had only ceased all conversation to allow you to look out the carriage window with enraptured interest as you had done the day before. There was such fascination in your eyes that lit up your features as you saw one couple walking a very prim and proper looking Spaniel that you reminded him of one of the children at his institute.

Reaching the outskirts of town, where the houses got a little smaller, the roads a little dirtier, your home came into view.

Your home, the first material thing that you had ever been fortunate enough to call your own, the greatest shred of independence you’d had in the twenty five years leading up to you escaping your father’s tight grasp. Such a thing was unheard of to the closed society around you. A woman living alone, no husband or father or even a brother to tend to her? Had you been a woman of a lower standing class, people would have surely begun to question it, but if your father was good for anything it was his title. Moreso, the green paper bills that came with his title. A dame inheriting heavy generational wealth had immense liberties that poorer women didn’t; privacy that came with the ignorance that was rooted deep into the upper class. There was a bliss in taking something of your father’s you had never known until you needed to leave the wretched man.

It was strange how young you were when you began to realise you seemed to have two separate fathers. The father of silk society, who was kind and gentle and patient, and the father that reared his ugly head the moment the prying eyes of highborn gossips weren’t looking.

He was a Jekyll and Hyde creature to say the least, but being long standing friends with the Howard family meant he had routinely kept up the pretence that he was a collected, regal man to match the reputation he spread to the rest of the upper class, and he would never falter in such behaviour around such a noble-bred gent like Stephen Howard, who made it clear how much he adored his daughter.

New York had been your best bet of sanctuary when you finally plucked up the courage to leave. Following Sara to Vassar College was too predictable, though she had made such an offer. You had strolled into the big city with the briefcase of wealth you’d taken from your father’s stash and a brand new name descending your own. A name that was strictly yours, one you had chosen for yourself, not thrust upon you from another man in your life. A new start. Independence unmatched to any other time in your twenty five years.

And there it was. Your home. Not towering and multistoried like Laszlo’s fine lodging, but certainly one that spoke of decent ranking in society. Your flowers in the window boxes were long since dead and withered and you hated to think of the dust that lay inside, but that was an issue for another day. For now, you needed clothes and perhaps some other trinkets you had missed dearly.

Cyrus pulled the reins taut, stopping the carriage in front of the stone steps and the unbridled excitement of getting your belongings back met you with ease. You could feel your leg bouncing with ardor, and you looked at Laszlo with a wide smile on your face. You stepped out of the hansom the second it drew to a halt, the two men hot on your heels as you walked up the short pathway to the terraced home. You should have felt embarrassed at it’s measly size compared to Laszlo’s glorious residence, but you felt the strongest sense of pride with your little abode. It was nothing much, but it was better than the boys at Paresis hall had, better than most had in fact, and it was all yours.

Lifting the doormat up, ignoring the various crawlies that scattered out of the damp spot, you retrieved your spare key that thankfully hadn’t been stolen in the time you’d been away. It slipped into the lock without a murmur of protest, and your door swung open with a rush of dust escaping it.

You cleared your throat of the choking air, and turned to the men who stood behind you, Laszlo staring at you with bemusement to see you so merry while Cyrus looked at your home in interest. He was no doubt wondering how you, a woman who had shown up to Kreizler’s home in a straitjacket, tattered clothes and a beaten face on a count of pickpocketing, had managed to afford this all by yourself.

The excuse almost wavered to the larger man, but he would damn himself before he’d call Dr Kreizler’s guest a liar.

“Would you like to come in?” You offered, though you didn’t wait for an answer from either of them as you stepped past the threshold of your door into the small living room. Just as you’d expected; the floors, the sills, the surfaces all needed a good sweeping from the debris that had settled in your absence, and you made a note to open some windows the next time you were here, whenever that would be.

“Your home is lovely,” Laszlo complimented, though you could see the way his eyebrows furrowed at the chaff littering the place. You laughed lightly, looking around the cupboards for anything misplaced or damaged, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“I promise it didn’t always look so filthy,” You smiled, making your way over to the stairs that lead to the garret you had furbished into your bedroom. “I’ll just be a moment, please make yourself at home,”

You could have almost laughed at the formality that slipped out your mouth. There was no way a man as distinguished as Laszlo would settle in such a tiny, besmirched place. Despite the fact it was your pride and joy, and it truly had been as pristine as a medical wing when it was lived in, you had a feeling both the dirt and the simplistic design of your home didn’t settle well with Laszlo’s grandeur that seemed to surround him. But that was none of your concern for the moment. You weren’t planning on having him move in with you, nor were you staying long enough to show him the standard you’d lived in before you’d been dragged away by the police the day of your arrest. You were here for your clothes, and heavens did you know it.

You practically bounded up the stairs, the horrific fabric itching you with every step as if to taunt you for it’s final moments before you inevitably burned the maddening fabric out of spite. Your wardrobe doors were ripped apart within seconds, and you breathed a sigh of relief to see your precious fabrics right where you’d left them. Your dresses; your beautiful, bespoke fitting dresses that hugged you in a way the standard sizing of the cheap robes at the Asylum never could. They were always pinching you in at the waist or arms, or drowning you in material altogether. You wrenched that cursed dress over your head, fingers dancing across the hangers until they landed on the one that you’d had in mind since leaving the carriage. It was a deep, sapphire blue with black glass buttons trailing between your breasts and up to your chin. A simple design really, the neckline resting gently on your shoulder blades with the tiniest of black trim to set it off, and best of all the underskirt was only a few layers thick meaning you weren’t dragging around half a stone of fabric with you like some of the fancier gowns required. As much as you despised womanhood sometimes, particularly during the week of your cycle, you adored the feminine parts of clothing as most women did. The luxuriant dresses, the lavish jewelry, the delicate hair pieces; those were the things you could agree with in Laszlo’s expensive tastes.

Finally, something of class.

Laszlo couldn’t help but see the difference between your homes the moment you invited him in. Of course he overlooked the grime that formed a layer over your belongings, and was careful where he brushed against for the sake of his freshly groomed black suit, but the home was a sparse difference to his own in every other way.

It was clear it was meant for one or two people at a push, the tiny stove in the living room being a scratch on the wide, roaring fireplace in his study, and the kitchen was more of a side room than anything. The tones of furnishings ranged from delicate creams to warm beige, the only pops of colour being the dark wood of the cabinets. Everything seemed delicate, feminine. It was clear you had imprinted every part of yourself into the walls of your home, and he didn’t blame you for looking so pleased with yourself to be back. It was unheard of for women to have such independence as this.

You were alone here, and you were happy about it. To be lonely and yet still fulfilled, radiant with pleasure and pure love of life the way you were when you’d skipped up to your front door was something Laszlo had never been able to achieve, despite never admitting it to anyone else.

You were carefree in your aversion from a man’s hand, unbothered by your solitude despite nearing the age of prime familyhood, like no woman he’d ever met before. Except for perhaps Sara, he noted.

He carefully looked around your bookshelf, seeing as that happened to be the biggest attraction in the lounge, taking up half of the wall and stacked full to its edges with reading material. It seemed to have no arrangement to it, not by alphabet as his own works were, but to his surprise your collection far surpassed what he would have expected.

It ranged from the Brontës, to Louisa May Alcott (which you seemed to have a preference for judging by the fact her novels had been dog-eared to the point of scarring the pages) to Shakespeare, to even some Darwin publishings. Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Louis Stephenson, Kipling, Dickinson, Conrad, Wells, Carroll, Melville, Twain, Shelley, Austen; poems, novels, fiction, non-fiction, thesis papers, theories, the list went on and on and on. There were some even he hadn’t heard before, cuttings from a monthly issue called The Forerunner, by a Charlotte Perkins Gilman that had been stacked in the tens, perhaps hundreds, to one side of the shelf. Judging by the frayed edges and battered dust covers, you had waded through each volume a number of times, your fingers staining the margins with natural oils.

He was up against a well read woman that would challenge even his extensive collection, it seemed.

It was then he noticed a few trinkets on the shelves that he had been careful to avoid knocking over during his investigation. A sweet brass figurine of two mice sharing a piece of cheese sat on the bottom mantle, ladened with dust of course but part of a matching set judging by the nearly identical model on the next sill up of a rabbit sprawled out in slumber. A dead flower pot came next, wilted and shrivelled inwards so far the petals were devoid of their colour and had settled into crisp curls around the base of the pot.

But the next piece on the shelf made him stop. It was a picture of you, seemingly no older than seven years old in a black dress, white stockings and dark shoes barely bigger than the size of his hand he’d guess. You were stood with the deepest eyes of sunken sorrow he could have imagined, and it seemed the photographer had managed to capture some streaks of liquid pooling at your chin, clearly having been crying. A funeral, he surmised from the white rose in your tiny hand.

But that wasn’t what made him halt in his tracks.

Behind you stood a man, his large hands resting on either one of your shoulders in a protective yet cold manner. The grip was far too tight to be loving, too domineering to be devotion.

It was clear to see the resemblance between the two of you, and judging by what it had said in your file, he took an educated guess as to say it was your mother’s funeral, and that the haughty man was your father or at least an older male relative.

But the more he looked at the man’s solemn face, which seemed more livid than grieving, the more familiarity seeped into Laszlo’s head as to where he’d seen that face before and his eyebrows only furrowed in concern.

By the time you’d traipsed downstairs, donned in a fresh dress and a neatly styled hair do, a large suitcase in hand full of your things, it had clicked in Laszlo’s find where he knew the face from.

He thought it best not to mention the photo, even as you spent a decent amount of time deciding which books would be accompanying you to Laszlo’s home, the man in the frame practically burning a hole into your skull from the intensity of his dark gaze. Even when Cyrus helped you pack your case onto the carriage, and the three of you hopped in to head to Paresis Hall, Laszlo remained quiet, mulling over the revelation he had made of the man at the funeral.

Because how would he have even begun to discuss how he’d seen that face in your file as one of the victims of your heinous crimes? How could he ask you if you had murdered your own father?

Though ‘New’ Paresis Hall was only a few heeled steps away from your old place of work, creeping through the doors to the brothel brought back a steeled sense of comfort to you the moment you saw the boys.

Of course, the place itself and the illicit activities that went on behind closed bedroom doors wasn’t what brought you conslation. The thought of the boys, as young and desperate for money as they were, doing those sorts of things made you feel sick to your stomach. But some gasps and the cry of your name in two familiar lilted voices wrestled your chest with nostalgia at the years you’d worked as a barmaid at the vulgar tavern.

The very thing you’d come to reclaim for the sake of the case.

Your head snapped to the source of the call, to see two boys of which you knew by the very sound of their shouts, both of them being barely past the age where pubescence would have started lowering their natural pitch. They were known in the brink of daylight, without the fuss of cheap gowns and delicate makeup, without flirtatious tones and money in their wits, as Oliver and Alex.

The pair of them came barreling over to you, and two sets of scrawny arms were wrapped around your midriff. Your smile was clear the second you got your hands on them, and a small chuckle was pulled from your chest. At least someone was glad to see you.

Oliver, who was easily in his mid teens by now, had always been one of the taller boys you had come to be acquainted with in your job. He didn’t quite surpass your own stature, even sparing the year and a half he’d had to grow since you last saw any of them, yet his thick black curls tickled your nose as he reached you. Whether it was the motherly instinct in you that always presented itself around the boys or it was just that clear, you quickly noted his olive skin seemed cold to touch and you could only hope it was down to the awful bout of chilling sea breeze that rolled in from the docks and not a sicknesses street kids like him were susceptible to.

Alex seemed to be small as always, smaller than Georgio had been in fact which was saying something. For a boy of eleven, he could easily pass as much younger with his tiny stature and the boney physique a life living off scraps gave him. His arms were no bigger than a twig, and he and Georgio, Gloria, had always been two of the boys you watched out for the most to make sure the vile men requiring their company didn’t treat them harshly. It had been his frame that had earned him the alias of ‘Dot’ when he put on the dress and the sultry lipstick, but to you he was just Alex. Scrawny little baby boy Alex that needed you to protect him, particularly if there was a killer on the loose looking for opportune boys to take, boys too small to kick up a fuss. Yes, all the boys at Paresis Hall were much too young to be in the profession, but at least the boys in their teens had a bit of an advantage when it came to fighting off a rogue customer, the younger ones didn’t stand a chance.

“Thing’s couldn’t have been that awful without me, now could it?” You teased, tugging them both in with an arm over their fatless shoulders each and pulling towards you with a loving semblance.

Your concern was piqued when you felt the tip of their spines under your soft hands, the way their frames had noticeably fragiled despite the fact they had aged a year and some months they’d had to grow since seeing you. They weren’t eating, or more likely they couldn’t afford to eat if business had been affected by Georgio’s murder. You made a mental note to source some food from the market for them, once things had begun settling down again.

“Where did you go? We were so sure you’d found a man and ran off to start popping out kids or something!” Oliver said, muffled by your coat. You chuckled again, letting them both go to arm's length, but not before slipping off your jacket to wrap around the older of the boys. You had been here all of four seconds and already you were worried about them more than you’d anticipated.

“Just had some business to attend to, but I’m back now. For good,” You promised, smiling and stroking Alex’s blond locks tenderly. No lice, it seemed, which was a good thing. It meant they’d had some sort of clean sheltering in the time you’d been away. “Where’s Biff and Kelly?”

“In their office.” Alex piped up, unbeknownst to your subtle health check, “They’ve both been real beserk since-” He cut himself off with a gulp, looking to the floor with a bitten lip as if to scold himself for bringing up the subject.

You looked from him to Oliver who held a similarly gloomy wist in his gaze, though his jaw was clenched with what seemed to be bridled anger. “Georgio?” You hazarded a guess, looking at the taller of the pair. He met your gaze with reddening eyes and nodded slowly. You pulled them both in for another hug.

When you had first come to New York, Paresis Hall had just been a fox hole for you to burrow yourself away in, in the hopes that your father and his abhorrent friends would never find you. Your logic was they would never suspect a high-born girl like yourself to so much as know about sex, let alone frequent a market of it and with such brow raising agents of the trade. That and the fact they’d made it very well known to you since you were such a young girl that it was your body type and yours alone, in every sense of the word, that they were keen on. You were sure they would have no interest in boys. You were sure they’d never think to look in a place like Paresis Hall, nor would they happen to inhabit the place out of self interest. It was a perfect hermitage.

But the boys there had become a family to you. You made it clear you had no interest in knowing what it was that they got up to with their clients, the thought of it made you queasy, but you found yourself very protective over all of the boys, especially under the cover of night when they became the kind of girls the men at the bar craved.

You used to read to them at the end of a long night when the clients had left and it was just you and them tidying the bar, walking them all home in the morning when the sun had breached the streets of New York and it was time for your shift to end. The Santorelli’s weren’t exclusive receivers of your kindness either. You made sure all of the boys were well fed come breakfast time, it just so happened you bought a little extra to see the family through the day.

“I promise I’ll try and make this right, for Gloria. I’ll keep you all safe.” You murmured into Oliver’s hair as you felt Alex crack and start to cry. You sighed, stroking his head gently as you fought your own tears.

Losing Georgio had meant you’d lost your own brother. The police may have just seen him as a boy whore, or just as Gloria but to you he was so much more. All of them were. It was for that reason you swore to yourself that you weren’t leaving Paresis Hall without getting your job back. You’d be the only person in a sick place like that who wanted to protect the boys. Biff and Kelly wouldn’t care if another boy got snatched other than for the way it had affected their own business, and even then they’d simply picked up sticks and moved a couple of feet over the road. No one cared what happened to your boys, except you. This was so much more than just for the case, they needed you.

“Well look at this. Playing happy fuckin’ families, are we?” You had forgotten the reverberant boom that came with Paul Kelly’s deep voice in the time you’d been away, but the shock of its magnitude had you straightening from the warm embrace you’d wrapped the boys in.

They both pulled away in an instant, looking almost guilty to be caught in such a tender moment that wasn’t for the benefit of money, and immediately scampered off back to work cleaning the bar with no more words said to you out of fright of what Kelly might do.

“Mr. Kelly,” You addressed him formally, but he was quick to cut you off with a point of his large finger in your face.

“You got’ a lot of nerve showing up back here after walkin’ out on us. Do you know how much hot water we ran into you giving us no notice to leave?” He asked sternly, his face pulled down into a grumpy glare. As much as you hated getting your ass handed to you by your boss, you were thankful it was Kelly chewing you out.

Kelly you could talk to, gage his reaction seeing as he was much more verbal with his anger. But Biff was different. Biff Ellison was a quiet kind of angry, calculating and silently malicious, and you never knew what he was going to do next. Biff scared you, so you were thankful at least it was Kelly you were talking to.

“I understand, sir. Truly, I am sorry.” You fumbled with your words, his heavy gaze piercing into your squirming form. “Things got in the way and I had to leave town for a bit. But I’m back for good now, if you’ll allow me back,”

Kelly scoffed, shaking his head and heading out towards the front door just as Biff emerged from the back office, his eyebrows quirking upwards being the only sign he acknowledged your presence.

“We don’t deal with time wasters and flakers-” Kelly began saying, pushing the door and exiting Paresis Hall with you close after.

The sudden light of the midday sun burned your eyes as they adjusted from the dark mood lighting in the brothel. You heard the door shut after a beat, sensing Biff tracking both of you down, curious as to what you had to offer.

Laszlo watched you leave Paresis Hall from his place stood outside his hansom, eyes narrowing on the way you stormed after your former boss with a fire he’d seen only when you were in the interrogation room at the prisonhouse. Determination or stubbornness, he couldn’t tell, but either way you practically ran to keep in time with Kelly’s large strides.

“Please, Kelly! I’ll work half my pay, twice the hours! I’ll work back to back shifts, I’ll-” You cut Kelly off with a begging tone. You needed this job, if not to protect the boys then you needed some reason to be useful to the case. If you waned on your one and only selling point to Commissioner Roosevelt, there would be no real reason for you to stay released. “I’ll promote business, I’ll hand over my tips! I’ll-”

You would go back kicking and screaming before you gave up on the boys, on Georgio.

Kelly rolled his eyes, spinning on his heel so quickly you almost walked into him from his change in pace. You stopped abruptly, well aware of the way Biff’s ominous silence seemed to linger behind you like a reaper.

“Alright! It’s too early in the damn morning for you to be biting my ear off, Dame,” Kelly barked at you, making your pleas die in your throat. There was a tactical formula to getting what you wanted from Kelly. Talk enough to bug him into action, but not so much as to piss him off. Plea and whine so much he felt superior to you, yet you knew when to stop so he was able to take you seriously. You knew how to play him like a violin, and the notes seemed to be as melodious as they had been when you were arrested as you saw the conflict on his face after a beat of silence. He looked down at you, your face hopeful with the smile you flashed at him when you wanted to play the part of sweet little madam caught on the wrong side of town. Kelly was surprisingly benign when it came to you. “What do you think, Biff?”

He looked over your shoulder to his business partner who had still yet to say a word. Sheepishly, you followed his gaze to meet the steely blue eyes of the Ellison man, who simply took a large drag of a cigarette and blew the smoke in your eyes unapologetically. It stung for a moment, the chemicals in the god forsaken things no doubt, but you’d be damned if you broke the challenging stare he sent your way.

Biff said nothing, instead throwing his poison to the floor, the tip still a crimson red with flame. He took a step towards you and you straightened immediately, though he still towered over you nonetheless. “I say we let Dame back in,” He said curtly, but you could see the malice in his eyes as the surprisingly generous comment left his mouth, “You gonna thank me, sweetheart?”

You visibly gulped at the closeness of his face, the perishingly cold look in his eye that spoke of no humanity. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and you wouldn’t put it so far as to say Biff Ellison hadn’t got one. There was nothing but blank malevolence in his stare despite the kindness he was doing you, “Thankyou, Biff.” You said, a tremble betraying your tone. The two of you stared at one another for another beat, your mouth going dry from fright. As if to surface yourself in open water, the pressure on your chest lifted as he stood back and flicked his head to dismiss you back to Laszlo’s hansom. So he had noticed your host.

You made a move to brush past him obediently, eyes trailing the floor in submission when a large hand was carded through the tight bun you’d twisted your hair into, and you were yanked backwards by the larger businessman.

You had been waiting for the snap in Biff, and here it was. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see him so sadistic in the wake of nicety.

The very tip of something sharp, a pocket knife, was pressed to the softness of your throat as he brought your head back to look him in those deadened eyes, “I make myself clear, Miss L/N. You don’t bail on us no more times, you hear? Or me and you are going to have some serious problems,”

You nodded gently, too afraid to move so suddenly. Why had you let yourself be so unguarded? Something as savage as this had been brewing in the air around the man, had you really been so blind? You were shoved back towards the way you had been heading, to where Laszlo looked at you with wide, concern filled eyes.

“You start back Monday,” Biff called behind you but you said nothing, too shaken to speak. The pristine walls of the Nightingale, as infuriating as they were, seemed to make you forget just how unforgiving this side of New York could be.

“Are you alright?” Laszlo asked earnestly, opening the carriage door for you as you approached. He looked past you as you reached his side to glower at the gangsters.

“I’m fine, Laszlo, really I-” You started, grabbing his wrist in yours when you saw what he was doing to drag him into the calash behind you, “Stop glaring at them, they’ll have something to say about it, believe me,”

He settled down opposite you, albeit he seemed to have his feathers ruffled at the threatening behaviour Biff had addressed you with. It warmed your heart to see someone genuinely care about how they treated you, though it did make you smile to see him looking so irked as he sat in the plush leather seat, his jaw clenched as the carriage rode past your bosses.

“Are you alright?” He asked you again and you nodded at him with a reassuring beam. Yes, Biff had taken you by surprise but you knew he was probably just making his point clear with his vicious reprimand. You’d known he wouldn’t have actually spilled your guts out on the busy streets of New York. You hoped, at least.

You waved Laszlo off, fixing your dress as if to brush away the memory, “If you think he’s bad, you should see the customers,” You said with a light tone as to ease the tension in the carriage, but it only was met with unamused silence. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, gaze returning to Laszlo’s in his absence of a response, only to see him already staring at you with curiosity. He stared at you alot, you’d noted.

“Why did you work at Paresis Hall, might I ask?” He asked carefully, as though not to push the boundary of your amity too much. “You’re a well read, upper-class woman. Surely there’s much better suited jobs for you than working in such filth,”

You smiled softly at his compliment, looking down at your pettiskirt. You bunched the fabric between your fingers just to be able to feel the silky softness that vastly improved on your previous attire, “The boys are nice there, believe it or not. And the men that attend Paresis Hall aren’t looking for someone like me. It’s nice to not be the sexual object in the room for once,”

Laszlo considered your words with a tilt of his head, before his lips parted and he met your eyes again. “Sara said you were a teacher before you came to New York,” A slight lie, but he thought it rude to tell you he’d been researching you before you’d met, “Can I guess you’re fond of children seeing as you have such a close connection to the boys?”

“Very much so,” You smiled at him, amused by his constant need for knowledge about you. Unlike Roosevelt, he didn’t interrogate you for the information, he didn’t ask you with an accusation lingering under the surface. He just asked you for the sake of knowing it about you, and your heart warmed. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, Laszlo. I trust it’s a habit of your profession,”

His lips quirked into a guilty brood as he looked down to his well polished shoes, “Forgive me. I’ve been told I can be quite officious at times.”

You shook your head immediately, “No! Certainly not, I find it endearing. Besides, you deserve to know who it is staying in your guest bedroom,” You gave him an earnest grin which he seemed to quietly simmer under. For a moment it went quiet, the two of you stared at one another, an air of friendliness, one you hadn’t known in what felt like a lifetime, passing between the two of you. That is until he seemed to crack from the kind gaze you rendered him with, and he looked away to the passing streets of New York. You hadn’t pinned him for the bashful type under women’s praise. He was a good looking gentleman, and with the intelligence to match you’d have assumed he would be practically wading through women’s attention. But the coy way he withdrew from your gaze said otherwise. You smiled, and moved your attention to the people on the streets once more. “Where to next?”

“Home,” Laszlo said, picking up his paper once more and producing a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, “Sara and John have some updates on the new boy found murdered,”

You nodded, eyes catching the front of the print and narrowing in on the date.

March 20th 1896.

Thinking nothing more of it, other than the fact it signified it had been a year and five months since your arrest, you turned your head back to the outside, wondering which poor soul was the unfortunate victim of New York’s boy ripper.

Taglists:

CLIPPED WINGS

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

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx

if you'd like to be added to any taglist, please just send an ask or message, or drop a comment and I'll add you to my google doc :) likes and reblog are much much appreciated!!

Next chapter will be the tail end of 1x02 and will be coming very soon, life is just a little hectic at the moment and I haven't been in the best of moods to write so apologies!

Also peep the ending 👀

#laszlo kreizler x female!reader #laszlo kreizler imagine #netflix the alienist #the alienist fanfiction #the alienist imagine #sara howard #john moore #laszlo kriezler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader series #clippedwingschapters

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nev3rfound · 3 years

Text

in another lifetime : part four - h.z / l.k

with time moving on and your life in the late 1890's becoming more serious, bucky, sam and zemo know they're running out of options and time to try and save you. (2.1k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

warnings: elements of tfatws series and the alienist, mentions of abuse, blood and disjointed info from doctor strange (this is all sort of an au so be mindful thank you!)

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX

New York, 1897.

It hadn’t been long since you were all seated in a quieter area within Delmonico’s which you were thankful for. The last time you were there, a few diners complained about your subject matter over lunch with Sara.

“So, here is to us and to the Marin family whose daughter, Delilah is now safe.” John raises his glass to Laszlo, Sara, Lucius and you with a smile.

Laszlo clinks his glass delicately against yours with that rarely publicised grin. “And to you, Y/n, for finding Delilah.”

“Please, Laszlo, it was nothing.” You shrug it off, taking a sip of your wine.

John lowers his glass and raises a brow to you, briefly flittering his eyes over to Sara with concern. “And you did shoot Jacobson, Y/n. Can't forget that.” John reminds you quietly across the table, watching a short nod from you in response.

Breaking from her thoughts, Sara turns to face you. “Have you ever killed before?” She can’t help but ask, sitting beside you.

“Sara.” Laszlo interrupts with a sharp look and reaches out for your hand beneath the table.

In response to his hidden action, you rest your hand on his, assuring him it was fine.

Remaining composed, you nod once more. “Yes, I have, Sara. Many times.” You state as if you were just reading the morning news.

“There was this battle," Laszlo watches a cast cross over your eyes, noting that lost look you often have when thinking back to your old life. "there were monsters surrounding all of us, there was no choice in the matter and, and we lost a lot of good people that day." Your voice lowers at the thought of seeing so many you knew and loved being dusted. Within minutes the life you knew, the family you loved were gone and you felt alone for the first time in many years.

"I guess it is easier to make them into monsters so it's less painful." Lucius suggests, feeling the silence enveloping the usual lively table.

"Yes, I guess so." You hum, feeling Laszlo squeeze your hand lightly, feeling it starting to quiver.

"Was this the battle to save your family, Y/n?" Sara can't help continuing her questions, feeling her mind racing over the possibilities of a woman fighting within a battle and that the woman in question is you.

"I think that's quite enough questions," Once again, Laszlo speaks up and hears you sigh, automatically silencing him despite his best efforts.

Looking over to him, your expression says more than your words need to.

"There were many battles, missions, heists and situations, Sara." You start, a light laugh leaving your lips whilst all eyes remain on you. "The last battle I fought in was to save my family, and well," Without realising, tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

Silence ensues as a result, and you lift the napkin on your lap to your cheeks, dabbing the tears away.

"How about we eat, yes?" John claps his hands, quickly averting the attention away from you and to the waiter nearby.

Returning to your home, Laszlo follows behind you once the door is closed allowing you a moment alone at last.

"I do apologise for what happened over dinner, Y/n." Laszlo remarks whilst removing his jacket and places it over the chair within his home office- one you insist he should use more often.

Shrugging it off, you begin to pick at the pins holding your hair in place and relieve the tension building from your scalp.

"It's fine, dear, really." You try to brush it off upon hearing Laszlo approaching from behind as his hands wrap around your waist. "Now please, don't you dare try and analyse me." A giggle sounds from you when Laszlo buries his face into the crook of your neck.

"Not tonight." Laszlo mutters, lifting his head up and kisses your cheek softly, his stubble scratching your skin. "Now, I believe there was a book you wanted to read?"

Holding his hand out, Laszlo patiently waits for you to take hold.

"Why yes, I believe Stevie 'purchased' it earlier today." You vaguely recall, having only seen the boy briefly before leaving the institute to join Sara.

With Laszlo keeping a hold of your hand, he guides you into the library filled with lit candles to your surprise.

"Laszlo?" You whisper, seeing a vase of pink peonies on the small table accompanied by the book.

"Y/n, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about." Laszlo begins, his hand slipping out from yours.

Standing back, it's evident that he's nervous about something. "Is something wrong, Las?" You can't help asking, watching him rummage in his pockets, his frail arm shaking.

"Do you remember the day we met?" Laszlo starts.

Watching you closely, he is thankful for the smile that toys at your lips. "Of course, it was simultaneously one of the best and worst days of my life." You chuckle.

"I knew the moment we met that you were going to be someone important." Laszlo states, something he's never admitted aloud before. "Before I had met you, Y/n, there had never been a woman like you in my life. You brought new perspectives, ideas and strength I hadn't witnessed and though it unnerved me at times, I fell in love with it." A blush begins to rise from the Doctors cheeks, but under the dim candlelight, it is barely noticeable.

"Good to know I've had somewhat of a positive impact." Your smile continues to grow as you carefully watch Laszlo's movements.

"And there has been something on my mind for a while now, for many months in fact. I know there is still so much for me to learn about your past, everything that happened and your family but I would love to explore a future with you too." Lifting his hand from his pocket, Laszlo reveals a small velvet box causing you to freeze at the sight.

"Laszlo?" You mutter, eyes locking on the navy box.

"After everything that happened with Libby and Goo Goo," Laszlo pauses, having remembered hearing the gunshots and cries for help fearing it were you lying lifelessly, only to find it was Marcus.

"We don't have to talk of that." You remind him, remaining still as he lowers his head to the box.

"It made me realise I don't wish to lose you or imagine a life without you by my side." Laszlo admits.

"You know we can't guarantee anything, I-"

Nodding along, Laszlo continues. "I understand that my position as an alienist might not be the most appealing, however, nothing of our relationship has been conventional." He quietly chuckles before meeting your gaze at last.

"What are you asking, Laszlo?" You encourage him.

With a lot of effort, Laszlo lowers himself down onto one knee and holds the box up toward you. "I am asking if you, Y/n Y/l/n would do me the honour in becoming my wife?" Opening the box, your hands rise to your mouth in shock.

Laying your eyes upon the ring, it's more beautiful than anything you'd ever seen. An emerald surrounded by diamonds in an oval shape, perfectly perched on a silver band.

"It's beautiful." You whisper, lowering your hands from your face.

"Well?" Laszlo begins to smile nervously, still looking up at you.

Slowly, your mind begins to drift back to a fond memory.

"You know kid, someday you're going to find someone too." Tony slings his arm over your shoulders, despite you rolling your eyes at his statement. "Seriously, we all move on in life, and it's good."

"How can something be better than all of this though, Tony?" You ask, looking around at the compound grounds where a few of your fellow Avengers train together.

Pausing momentarily, Tony pats your shoulder. "Now, I never said better. Don't go putting words in my mouth." He remarks playfully. "But, you'll just know, Y/n. And it'll be okay, I promise."

This was it, that sense of knowing you've longed to feel. A promise of a happier future, one never before promised or expected.

"Yes," You nod, bending down to kneel in front of him. "I, I'd love to marry you, Las." Breathing out shakily, Laszlo helps you with the ring, pushing it onto your finger.

"You really mean it?" Laszlo can't stop the words leaving his lips, apprehension rising through his voice.

Lifting your hand up, you gently cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Doctor Kriezler." You whisper. "You're stuck with me now."

London, 2024

"So, what's the latest then?" Bucky calls out upon hearing the back door close quietly and the follow of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Throwing his jacket aside, Sam slumps down onto the nearest chair whilst Zemo strides past and opens the alcohol cabinet.

"I thought we put a lock on that thing." Sam remarks, looking over to Zemo pouring himself a drink.

"My apologies," Zemo lowers his head. "I should've asked if you would like one, Sam."

"Don't start." Bucky intervenes whilst his back remains turned on the pair.

"Emilie's contact proved useful after some persuasion," Zemo speaks up, sipping his whiskey like water before lowering the glass to the counter, hiding the blood on his hands. "we got what we needed in the end."

"So it went better than the last four I take it?" Turning around, Bucky wipes his hand over a tea towel, noting the faint stains on Zemo's shirt.

"This one will live to tell the tale of the ludicrous Baron Zemo." Sam jokes forcefully before sitting down, feeling the events of the day finally catching up with him.

Sitting down opposite Sam, Bucky sighs quietly and glances over to Zemo awaiting the latest suggestion in how to bring you home.

"Well," Zemo begins, keeping a firm grip on his glass as he approaches the countertop. "we're going to need a team of sorcerers, which based on their responses to being asked isn't something easy."

Nodding along, Bucky can feel himself becoming closer to falling off the deep end with everything. It's been over a year since you've been gone, and whenever there is an opportunity of help being available they're forever returning to square one empty-handed.

"If only your friend wasn't so brash she might've still had powerful friends who could help." Zemo mutters into his drink, strain now taking over his body.

Reacting instantly, Bucky marches over and slams Zemo against the wall. "You don't have to be here, Zemo." Bucky reminds him quietly whilst his metal hand clenches tighter around the Baron's neck. "We don't know the exact story of what Y/n went through during the blip, so don't you dare talk shit about her. Got it?"

The red in Zemo's face contorts into purple, and with a caged nod, Bucky releases him.

Gasping for breath, Zemo wanders off to recompose himself.

"Bit much, don't you think?" Now with Zemo out of sight, Sam comments to Bucky who can't help but pace around the kitchen. "Look, I get it, we're running out of time and Y/n doesn't exactly have friends in the most resourceful places in this instant." Sam explains. "Maybe Strange can convince them-"

"They turned him down, Sam." Bucky sadly inputs, remembering the hope they all felt at the thought of Strange gathering a team together to help you, only to have it fall short.

"But he could try again, Bucky!" Sam yells, causing silence to settle between the two. "Look, we have to bring her back. She might look happy there and all but it's not real. This, this is real."

"What if she really is happy there though, Sam? We've said it before, looking at those photos of her she does seem happy, happier than any of us have seen in years." Bucky reasons. "I don't want to lose her, of course, I don't want her to die there, but,"

"What? You think she's better off there than here, with us?" Sam raises an eyebrow to Bucky who lowers his head in defeat. "We can't give up, Bucky. I, I'll try and get in touch with Strange again before we leave for New York, okay?"

Sitting alone once more, Bucky takes his phone out of his pocket. Illuminating his lock screen is a photo Steve took years ago of you and Bucky holding the shield. Your smile is contagious in the photo, even if Bucky was wearing a frown at the time.

Looking at the photo, Bucky knows he'd give almost anything to see that smile again, but he'd never sacrifice your own happiness.

PART FIVE

IALT SERIES TAGLIST: (if you would like to be tagged let me know!) @zemosbaroness @fillechatoyante @country-cowgirl-101 @kpopnena @telesynths @thebookisbtr @mybisexualheartbeatsforzemo @ajeff855 @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fangirl-inthe-us @marchingicenotes7 @graniairish

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marvelmusing · 3 years

Text

The Christmas List

A Modern!Laszlo Kreizler x Reader Series

My Masterlist

Doctor Laszlo Kreizler is a psychology professor who - despite the festivities planned by his friend John - successfully avoids the Christmas season every year. That is until he meets you, John’s colleague and friend who, along with Sara, has been helping John with his daughter ever since Violet walked out on them. It turns out you are the orchestrator of the dreaded Christmas List that John follows every year - the list of traditions to uphold: buying and decorating the tree, ice skating, gingerbread houses, etc, etc. With some encouragement from John and Sara - and definitely not because he wants to see you again - Laszlo decides to join in on the festivities this year. Will he fall in love with the magic of Christmas - and perhaps a special someone?

The Christmas List

Chapters (links will updated when posted):

Work Party

Pre-List Dinner

John’s Party

Christmas Cookies

Ice Skating

The Tree

The Ballet

[more will be added]

#laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x reader #modern laszlo kreizler #modern!laszlo kreizler #modern!laszlo kreizler x reader #modern laszlo kreizler x reader #modern au #the alienist x reader #the alienist laszlo #the alienist #christmas au

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tricksters-captain · 3 years

Text

Helmut Zemo imagines - Hostage Part 1

AN: I came up with this idea for a series in the shower and I hope you guys are as intrigued by it as I am. Also I’m aware it’s posted later than I said but I’m a perfectionist and couldn’t post it until I was happy with it!! To make up for it, I have some Laszlo Kreizler smut coming up soon for you Alienist fans.

Summary: You were chosen as one of Karli’s elite. You became a super soldier to help your cause, make the world a better place but taking the serum came with a price. After being cornered one day, you’re taken by the famous Helmut Zemo to give him answers or face the consequences.

In This Chapter: Introductions. You are sent on a mission for Karli, only for it to turn bad.

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, Karli Morganthau x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 2,703

Warnings: Spoilers for TFATWS, violence, strong language

You stared back at the burning building as the truck pulled away.

Despite the rumbling of the thick tires on the tarmac beneath you, you could hear the screaming.

“Hey.” DeeDee placed a hand on your shoulder and tugged you round. “Don’t look.”

You could see in her eyes that she was just as shocked as you were but was trying to hide it.

The task had been to remove as many supplies as possible from the GRC depot to take back to the camps in Riga. There had been no mention of bombing the place.

Lennox’s eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror. You were all thinking the same thing.

Why would Karli go through with something that hadn’t even been discussed?

“Turn here. It’s faster.” DeeDee leant forward pointing towards a more narrow alley as fire engine sirens echoed up ahead.

Lennox did as suggested and the others followed close behind.

It wasn’t a long drive from Vilnius to Riga but you all stopped when daylight broke to take some time to eat something.

You sat down beside Diego, your eyes flickering to Karli every few minutes as she dished out supplies for you all.

She noticed.

“(Y/n).” Karli remained standing as she handed out the last can to Dovich.

You took the hint and rose to your feet.

You followed her to the side of the abandoned structure as the others tried to tune the radio.

“What’s the problem?” Karli asked you, a hard expression across her features.

“What’s the problem?” You couldn’t help but scoff at the question. “Karli, you blew up a building with people still tied up inside.”

“I did what I had to do. It’s the only language these people understand. You saw just how much food, water and medicine they were sitting on. If we had a fraction of that just a few months ago Mama Donya might still be alive.” You could see the tears Karli was trying to suppress as she spoke of Mama Donya.

“You still should’ve consulted us before you went ahead with it. We’re better than an eye for an eye and you know that.” You cautiously took her hand into yours to try and comfort her. “We’re trying to make a difference here.”

“And that is how we do it.” She dropped your hand as she defended her actions. You shook your head but didn’t retaliate. You knew there was no use in arguing with her in that moment.

“There’s something I need you to do after Mama Donya’s funeral today.” Karli was quick to change the topic. “A mission for you and DeeDee.”

“What is it?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“I need you to go to these coordinates immediately after the funeral. One of our allies will be expecting you both. He has information and something I need. It’ll be a parcel, small enough to conceal so you can make your way back to us without any suspicion.” Karli texted over the coordinates and the information on the contact.

“How can you be sure it’s safe?” You asked as you studied his profile.

“I wouldn’t send you if it wasn’t.” Karli paused before she wrapped her hand around the back of your neck and brought your forehead to hers. “We have to stick together now more than ever.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

“One world.” You muttered.

“One people.”Karli pulled away just as Dovich called over to you both.

They had managed to get the radio to work.

You sat down and opened a can of fruit slices to try and quench your hunger.

“The depot that was bombed was funded and run by the GRC, the Global Repatriation Council. One of the workers killed was the father of two and had only been on the job for one week. After condemning this latest action by the radical group known as the Flag Smashers, the GRC formally began drafting legislation known as The Patch Act, which would seek to restore traditional border regulations and fast-track the return to normalcy. The act of violence has also brought attention and followers to the Flag Smasher cause. No one can deny the world-wide reach of this group is growing, as is the danger.”

You shared a look with Gigi and Dovich as you listened to the broadcast. Your stomach churned at the mention of the father. You swallowed hard as you placed your food down.

Karli parted from the group again, feeling the pressure of the eyes on her, but you chose not to follow.

You had known Karli for 3 years. You met in Riga and became close quickly. You both had lost everything and then you had each other. When she took off to Madripoor, you followed. She always knew how to get people to see things her way, she had a spark inside of her that drew in those who wanted to fight for something; she was powerful for 19. She only grew more powerful with the serums.

You had backed her and supported her from the start but something was twisting. Something was going sour. You had never killed innocents before but in Karli’s eyes; was anyone on the side of the GRC innocent?

“Finish up. We need to get to the border in time to meet our contact.” Karli strode past the group and didn’t stop until she climbed into one of the cars.

You cleaned up after yourselves, leaving no trace that you were there, before you got back on the road.

You were back in Riga soon enough, your contact at the border let you through without any issues and you made it to the checkpoint with all the supplies safely.

Fortunately, you still had time to spare before Donya’s funeral.

You remained hidden, on the low, whilst Karli went with Nico to pick up the leftover serums.

You had previously spoken about creating more super soldiers. You had been against it. There were more than enough of you for the moment and the process of turning into one was beyond any pain you’d ever felt. You didn’t think more people needed to go through that. However, the vote passed and more were to be created.

“You ready?” Karli asked you as she returned. You nodded.

You headed to the secret location of Mama Donya’s funeral and fell into the crowd as the body came into sight. Mama Donya had been important to Karli and therefore important to you. She had been a kind woman. Kind to you. But Karli had a bond with her that you didn’t. This was Karli’s time to heal, to grieve, to help those who also relied on Donya.

You watched Karli step up to say a few words.

“I don’t remember my mother or my father. Same goes for siblings, grandparents, cousins. What I do remember is being alone. Worse than being hungry or cold or scared. I was alone. Until Mama Donya. Like a lot of you here, Mama Donya saved me. She clothed me, fed me, loved me.” You followed Karli’s eye line when she gasped softly.

It was Sam Wilson. Avenger.

You felt your blood go cold. Usually where there was one avenger, there were sure to be more.

“She taught me that we have to do for each other because they won’t. And we know who they are. They imposed struggle and hardship on us, then labeled us as criminals for pushing back. But the struggle is what brings us all together. People who have nothin’ in common. For we are, after all, simply one world and one people. So live accordingly.”

As you stepped forward and placed your bouquet of flowers down beside Donya, Karli clasped hold on your wrist.

“Go now.” She whispered under her breath.

“What about you?” You asked.

“I’ll be fine. Get to the contact.” Karli tried to assure you but you weren’t certain on leaving her. Dovich guided you away to stop you from arguing with Karli about it. He told you that he was going to stay behind to help Karli and that you had a more important job to do right now.

You had to give in and leave.

As you made your exit, you grabbed DeeDee and the keys to the motorbike outside.

“We gotta make a detour. Make sure we aren’t being followed.” You announced as you climbed onto the motorbike.

“Karli said our guy would wait for us so it’s better to be safe than sorry. We can’t mess this up.” DeeDee agreed with you as she placed herself behind you.

You took off down the street and did your best to lose any tails.

You ended up ditching the bike and moving underground once you were sure you were alone.

You were either really lucky or they had only brought enough backup to deal with Karli.

“We should be close.” You checked your phone to read the GPS before placing on your mask.

DeeDee held the flashlight up as you worked your way through the empty tunnel.

“You’d think Karli could organise a rendezvous point somewhere a little less musty.” DeeDee grimaced as a trio of rats scattered past you both.

“This is the safest way. We may have gained a lot of supporters above ground but we have a lot of enemies too.” You tried to defend Karli’s choice but even you had to admit that the sewers were a low point for you all.

“You think she got away okay?” DeeDee asked, the concern obvious in her voice despite her blank expression.

“I think Karli’s smart and she wouldn’t stick around if she knew she couldn’t win.” You may have been anxious for her but you rarely had doubts with Karli. Even without the serum she always managed to slip through the cracks.

As you continued to make your way through the tunnels, you spotted a silhouette up ahead.

You narrowed your eyes as DeeDee shone her light on him.

Fortautely, it was your contact.

“Greetings.” The man smiled widely at you both. He wore a bright head torch that stopped you from looking him in the eye and a large forest green coat.

“We’re here to collect the parcel and information for Karli.” DeeDee informed him, shading her eyes from his light as she tried to lift her gaze.

“Yes. Yes. I know.” The short man pulled out a small object wrapped in brown paper from under his coat. “Karli said you would be coming.”

As the man spoke, you heard something splash in the water behind you.

“What was that?” You asked, looking back to see if you could spot anything.

“It was probably just one of the rats.” DeeDee tried to assure you but the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand up.

You had a bad feeling about it.

“I’m going to check it out.” You whispered to her. “Better safe than sorry.” You repeated what she had said earlier.

“Be careful.” DeeDee handed you her flashlight before letting you go.

You crept back round the corner from whence you had came. You remained close to the wall to avoid any oncoming intruders head on. Peering down into the water, you saw that it had been in fact just a rat that was now paddling through the sewage.

“It's okay.” You relaxed, shouting ahead so they could hear you. “It was just a ra–––” You were cut short by a gloved hand covering your mouth.

You sent your elbow backwards instinctively which threw your attacker into the wall.

You spun around to see a figure dressed in a lavish coat with a purple mask covering his face. You furrowed your eyebrows at his appearance. You didn’t recognise him as an Avenger.

He came towards you, sending a fist to the side of your head. You managed to block his attack, kicking him in the chest.

You thought he’d be no match for you with your enhanced powers but he managed to put up a good fight.

He wrestled with you against the wall as he gained the advantage. You resorted in head butting him to get him off you.

You sent your leg up into his side but he wrapped his arm around your calf and yanked you forward. You lost your balance as he grip moved, hooking under your knee. He squeezed your thigh against him as he pulled out a rather large syringe.

“DEE! RUN!” You managed to howl before the needle sunk into your thigh.

You tried to fight again as he dropped your leg but your vision became patchy and your balance began to sway.

Not to your knowledge, he had injected as much tranquilliser into you as one would a tiger. Your enhanced abilities wouldn’t help you with that, you were soon out cold.

The stars shone above you as you and Karli laid back on the bonnet of the car.

“I genuinely believe that you could be the one to change things, Karl.” You said as you munched down on the chocolate bar she had gifted you.

“What are you on about?” Karli furrowed her eyebrows through her smile as she turned her head to face you.

“I mean look what you did for my birthday, just using your powers of persuasion.” You smirked.

“Persuasion isn’t enough to change things.” Karli disagreed.

“You’re right but right now, people need someone to look up to. Half the world is gone and hope isn’t something that's easy to come by anymore.” You stated.

“And you think that person could be me?” Karli scoffed at the idea.

“I think you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.” You broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to her.

“I think you’re spending too much time around Mama Donya.” Karli took the chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

“We’ll see who’s right one day.” You mused with a small smile. Karli rolled her eyes before trying to steal another piece. “Hey! It’s my birthday present!”

When your eyes finally opened, you realised you were no longer in the sewers.

You were standing but your hands were up above your head, chained to the wall behind you and a large metal strip was around your neck also. You desperately tried to search your surroundings through your mask but the restraints stopped you from moving much.

The room was dark, no windows, a few dim lights dotted around caused the room to seem almost a brown colour and there was little furniture.

You would’ve been a fool if you didn’t noticed the gun on a small table off to the side as well as the medical equipment glistening on a tall metal cart.

Your head throbbed and your mouth held the metallic taste of blood. You tugged at your wrist restraints to test their strength and to your luck they were holding.

“You’re awake.” You heard a thick accented voice when you stopped rattling your chains. “Good.”

The possessor of the voice, your kidnapper, stepped into light and you clocked who it was immediately.

It was Baron Helmut Zemo.

Zemo could not see your face as he had left the mask on you but he could tell from your eyes that you knew who he was.

“I bet you are wondering why you are here. Tied up in this basement.” Zemo started. “Let’s start with introductions, shall we?”

You remained silent.

“My name is Helmut Zemo––”

“––I know who you are.” You retorted.

“Then you know what I am capable of.” Zemo glared at you for the interruption. His hands finding his pockets as his eyes settled on your own.

“I know you’re going to kill me.” You knew of what happened with the Avengers. You knew of Siberia and the destroyed soldiers. You knew of his hate.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Zemo wagged his finger at you. “Not yet at least. No. We have a few things I’d like to discuss first.”

“Like what?” You scowled at the man.

“Like the whereabouts of Karli Morgenthau.”

(PART 2 HERE)

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norabrice1701 · 3 years

Text

Strange Case of Dr. Kreizler and Mr. Brühl - Ch. 7

A "Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde" AU Modern!Laszlo/Daniel x Fem!Reader Series

Series Master List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including oral f!receiving), explicit language, Laszlo’s insecurities, emotional hurt/comfort, heavy romance feels & tropes

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 7 -

You went into the office. What the hell else were you going to do? Inaction wasn’t how you made decisions, and sitting around your apartment certainly qualified. Instead, it was easier to let the complicated problems marinate in the back of your brain as the tedium of the day progressed.

At least, it usually was...but there was nothing usual about this situation.

You only half-read emails. You only half-listened during meetings. Fortunately, Bitsy was out in the field and wasn’t around to ask about your date night dinner. How had that possibly been just last night? When Laszlo kissed you in the twilight shadows of Central Park and you swore you could fly?

It still sounded unreal that a serum he formulated could so profoundly alter his personality and physical appearance. Wasn’t that the stuff of sci-fi and horror films? But aside from invading your apartment, Mr. Brühl hadn’t painted a horrific picture. In fact, you burned with embarrassment to recall how your body eagerly responded to the close press of his, how you had moaned at his words.

It made you wonder. If Laszlo let you go, would he? If Laszlo knew Mr. Brühl’s actions, then it stood to reason that Mr. Brühl also knew Laszlo’s actions. Would that be enough for him to respect Laszlo’s decision?

The uncertainty raced a shiver down your spine and you had to reread the last paragraph of your status report. The last thing you wanted to do was type an accidental word and send it off to the client.

Of course, the easiest decision was just to walk away from him…from them. To send a goodbye text to Laszlo, get your closure, and delete his number from your phone. Your heart sunk at the prospect, but surely, you’d get over him. You’d only really known the man for two weeks…it wasn’t like you loved him, right?

Right?

You leaned back in your chair, so easily remembering Laszlo’s forlorn figure in his kitchen this morning. Was he really so tortured by his own sense of self-worth? Did he really believe himself to be such a failure that he didn’t want to be himself? The heartbreak that hit you in his kitchen returned in full force. Whatever guilt he harbored, whatever insecurity he clung to…who or what had impacted him so profoundly?

Was that why he advocated so hard for the rights of children? Was it possible that he had suffered similarly? You were hardly an expert on people, physically or mentally, but you had no idea just what sort of man you had disturbed that day in Green-Wood Cemetery.

That day also seemed years ago. When he stood in the driving rain, blind and deaf to everything around him except the thump of dirt against a casket. If Laszlo had been the man to stand silent, seething vigil at a graveside, what sort of picture would Mr. Brühl have made? Would he have stood similarly, or would he have been another man altogether, howling in agonized rage and razing the place to the ground?

Neither of those thoughts brought you any comfort or clarity. In fact, all you kept coming back to was the same desire that overcame you in the cemetery - to be there for Laszlo, to wrap him in a tight hug, to tell him that he was nowhere near as undeserving as he believed, to echo what he told you in Central Park. You wanted to soothe his brow and understand what drove a man who had everything to lose to risk so much. You wanted to give him cause to stay in at night - you wanted to show him that Laszlo Kreizler was more than enough without Mr. Brühl.

You bit your lip as you glanced at your phone. That was the answer, wasn’t it? That was your third option.

Thunder rumbled outside your office window as you reached to send the text before you could rethink it.

I choose option 3. When can I see you?

----------

Rain slashed the pavement as you navigated the puddles. It had taken a while for him to respond, but he agreed to let you come back over tonight and that suited you fine. You didn’t want him to feel even more vulnerable and exposed than he probably already did. And, now you stood beneath your umbrella, staring up at the facade of his home for the second time today. Dim light burned in only a couple of darkened windows against the flashes of lightning and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine independent of the wet, night chill.

You rang the bell and he promptly greeted you, pulling open the front door. “Don’t worry about wet footprints.” He said quietly, reaching for your umbrella with his left hand to place it in the vestibule stand. “I had thought that you might prefer to delay until the weather was more agreeable for walking.” Thunder boomed on the end of his words, rattling glass light fixtures.

“No,” you reassured him, sliding out of your wet jacket to hang it on the coat stand. “I meant when I said that I wanted to see you.”

Much to your relief, he looked more like himself. The color had returned to his cheeks and he no longer looked on the brink of careworn exhaustion. He wore dark trousers, a soft chocolate button-down, and a charcoal structured cardigan that did amazing things for his shoulders and chest. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him, but you held yourself still. Or, rather, you set your purse down and took off your wet shoes before following him into the living room.

Lightning flashed out the windows, illuminating the elegantly appointed room that otherwise burned with the warm glow of a hearty fire and a soft table lamp. Thunder followed as the fury of the storm continued to batter the outside of his home. You stepped up to the fire, rubbing your hands in the warm glow and letting the heat seep into your damp clothes.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, watching the firelight catch in his mesmerizing eyes as he kept a careful distance between you. You forced a sudden hard swallow as nerves took hold. “Thanks for letting me crash your evening.”

He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “It’s no imposition at all. If anything, I’m more surprised that you wanted to see me again.”

“Of course.” Thunder filled the room, making you pause. “I told you that I would let you know when I decided.”

His posture straightened as if bracing for impact or fortifying for rejection. But that simply wouldn’t do.

You wet your top lip, speaking softly. “Would you...come closer?”

Trepidation filled his gaze, but he slowly rounded the sofa, coming to stand alongside you in front of the fireplace. You watched the purple glow of lightning reflect off his shirt buttons as you glanced down to his left hand. It rested at his side and you quickly noticed his right tucked into his trousers pocket. Reaching for his left with both hands, hoping they were warm enough, you stepped closer. “There was a third option that you didn’t mention this morning,” you said as your heart started to race, feeling like you stood on quicksand despite your earlier resolve. “The one where we...keep seeing each other and figure out how to move forward...together.”

He stared back at you, dumbfounded as your fingers wrapped around his. “I don’t mean to demean your intelligence, but you cannot possibly-”

“Then, don’t demean my intelligence,” you interrupted. “You’re convinced that you’re somehow unworthy of the successes of your life - that somehow...you’re not deserving despite your own advice. You judge yourself on your failures, and - do you really not see that you’re far more than that?”

He sighed as if he’d heard this all before. “I’m not in danger of throwing myself off the nearest bridge, if that’s why you came.”

“No, that’s not why I came.” You squeezed his hand, pouring every bit of reassurance that you could into the touch. “I came because...because I care about you. Actually, I care about you a lot considering it hasn’t been very long, but you - you made an impression on me from that first day in the cemetery.”

His eyes held you, stunned and bewildered as a thunder crack shook the house.

You shook your head slowly, hoping your eyes told him more than the words you could summon. “I thought about you so much - I wanted to see you again...and then, you turned up in my office.” A hesitant smile edged your face as you drew a shaky breath. "And I couldn't believe that you found me - I started falling for you, and I haven't stopped...even after this morning."

He lowered his gaze, bowing his head as his mouth formed a thin, bashful line. You pulled one of your hands away, raising it to the underside of his chin and carefully tipping his face back up to yours. You held his gaze with every ounce of your determination and feelings for him. “I want this with you, Laszlo. You...you said it yourself - you’re not playing at deception. And neither am I.”

The storm rattled glass in the window panes as his gaze bored through you.

You drew another breath. “I didn’t run away this morning...and I’m not running away now. I mean…,” despite the emotion of the moment, your thin smile grew incredulous, “what other part of your story could possibly be so shocking as learning that you have this whole other physical and mental persona that you control with a serum?”

If anything, the look of shame deepened across his handsome face. You wanted to chase it in his eyes, to drag the truth from him, but somehow, you didn’t think that would yield the result you wanted. His gaze faltered despite the gentle touch of your fingers still lingering in the coarse hair beneath his chin. He parted his lips, giving a gentle shake of his head as if he struggled to find the words. His right shoulder shifted, his right arm deliberately moving as if to make up for his lack of words.

Your fingers under his chin moved to curl around his bearded jaw, gently cradling him in a gesture of comfort. You stepped closer, feeling the fabric of his soft cardigan brush against your shirt. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but please...don’t push me away.”

“You should be the one pushing me away, Liebling. This...I’m not -”

“Don’t you dare say it.” You recalled his words from the park last night. “You told me that I wasn't ever allowed to suggest that I was inconsequential - so, neither are you. If I want you, then, at least respect me enough to make my own decision.”

“I can’t let you be so foolish.”

“Why?” Your voice dropped to a thin whisper, just audible over the crackling fire and raging storm. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not…,” his voice mirrored yours, right arm shifting again at his side as he tried to shake his head against your hand, “strong enough.”

You moved without thinking, holding his jaw steady to lean up and let your lips find his. You met him with a soft kiss of reassuring comfort, relieved to feel his mouth press back against yours. Slowly broadcasting your movements, you loosened your hold on his left hand, drifting across the soft plane of his stomach towards his right arm. Not breaking the kiss, your fingers connected with the unusually bony structure of his forearm. He shuddered against your lips as your fingers continued to drift down towards his wrist, to where skin met the fabric of his pocket. Pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, you coaxed his hand free until you could interlace your fingers with his.

He gasped audibly, trembling as if he’d never experienced such a sensation before. You pressed light kisses along his cheek as your other hand continued to caress his jaw. The moment felt so raw and tenuous and right - you never wanted it to end. Gently, you squeezed his right hand, nearly undone to hear the tremulous moan that spilled from his lips.

You nuzzled his warm skin, the sounds of the storm all but forgotten over the pounding of your heart and the cadence of your heavy breathing in tandem with his.

He shook his head feebly against your hand. “The wretched thing has only brought me aching pain for so many years, I...had forgotten it was still capable of pleasure.”

You gave his hand another light, reassuring squeeze. “Is this why you think you’re not strong enough?” Your lips pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Is this why you think you need...him?”

“My physical weakness is only a visible indicator of those in my character, and which of us does not actively seek to fortify our weaknesses no matter how they serve us?”

“Whatever caused this is no indicator of who you are, or what you’re worth as a person. And if no one else in your life has made you realize that, then you’re long past due.”

He released another shaky breath, his voice thready. “There was one other…," he forced a hard swallow, "but now, she’s….”

You shook your head gently, your nose brushing along his cheek. “You don’t have to say-"

“That’s why Connor was the first.”

You recalled that name from his kitchen this morning, the last name in the list of Mr. Brühl’s victims. Had he only started turning to Mr. Brühl in the wake of his heartache? Was that the heavy guilt he carried? Responsibility for Mary's death? You gave his hand another soft, but imploring squeeze. “You don’t have to prove your strength. I’ve already seen it - I saw it that day in the cemetery and I’ve seen it every day since.”

He met you like a man starved and you kissed him to prove your words, moaning into his mouth. His tongue tangled with yours as you melted into him, your hand on his jaw moving up to card through his soft hair. He groaned at your touch, his left arm snaking around your waist to crush you close. The solid heat of his body eclipsed the fire as you tasted the distant bitter herbal liqueur on his tongue. Burning arousal sang in your blood and you wanted to give him everything.

You whispered against his lips, words trembling as your body ached. “God, I want you, Laszlo.” You swallowed his answering groan, leaning further into him as words rushed forth. “I want you to feel good, I want you inside me -"

His mouth crashed against yours full of promise, stealing your words, your breath, and your heart.

With uncoordinated steps and too wrapped in each other to care, he led you upstairs. His bedroom door fell open under his hand to reveal a rich wood furnished room, complete with an inviting four poster bed that glowed with bursts of lightning and a low-burning fire. Fumbling for the door knob, you closed the door behind you as his mouth fused to yours.

His left arm returned to its new home around your waist, holding you so close as he backed towards the bed. Your head spun with dizzy excitement at what lay ahead as your fingers settled to the hem of his shirt, untucking a corner to trace the line of skin above his trousers. The growl he emitted spoke straight to the liquid heat soaking your core, making you long to hear the other sounds he would make when he was finally buried in you.

His fingers teased along the bottom of your own shirt and you didn’t hesitate to pull your hands back, stripping it overhead. His desire-glazed eyes skimmed down your torso before he leaned in, fastening his lips to the column of your throat. A whimper tore from you as he found the soft junction of your neck and shoulder, teasing with his teeth and the scratch of his facial hair. Clumsily, you tugged at the back clasp of your bra and his left hand rose to guide the straps down your arms.

He sat back on the bed, drawing you to stand between his legs as his face softened with reverent affection. "You are so beautiful." His mouth settled over a peaked nipple, coaxing your soft moan.

With careful ease, he suckled the tender nub, driving you wild with gentle scrapes of his teeth. Your fingers returned to his hair as you panted, toes curling at the exquisite arousal singing in you. He nuzzled across your chest to lavish the same attention on your other breast, desperate need pulsing deep in your center as you whimpered soft cries.

With the last bit of your coherent mind, you reached for his right hand, supporting it to cup your abandoned breast that was still damp from his mouth. "Is...is this alright?"

His shuddering groan rumbled against your skin as he stilled, drawing deep breaths against you. You gave your hand around his a gentle squeeze, sighing at the feel. His left hand clenched on your hip as he moaned a rough, unbridled sound that spoke straight to your heart.

Lowering his right hand, your fingers trailed over his chest to the line of shirt buttons. Searching his eyes for permission, he nodded ever so gently before you undid each one and he shrugged out of the shirt and cardigan. His pale chest reflected the golden firelight, and you couldn’t look away from the collection of dark moles and coarse hair that adorned his skin. At a glance, his right arm did look emaciated but no less beautiful than the rest of him. Your love shone in your eyes as you stepped forward, threading your fingers through his hair as he leaned his forehead against your belly. His heavy breath warmed your skin and your other hand caressed all of his that you could reach as you basked in each other’s intimate touch.

With a sudden flash of movement, his left arm looped around your waist, drawing you down to the soft bed covers. As he moved to kneel over you, you craned your neck to meet his lips, wanting him always so close. His kiss left you eager for more as he teased down along your neck and back to your breasts with the same adoration.

You moaned at the pleasure surging in your veins, hips rolling as his right hand settled at your waist, gently skimming along the top of your trousers. Lifting your hips, you quickly undid the catch and zipper to slide everything down your legs, wanting to keep nothing from him. His mouth pulled free from your breast, head tilting to take in the full spread of your nude body beneath him. Slick arousal further drenched you at the primal growl that rumbled in his chest.

Braced on his left forearm, he trailed his lips down your torso, skimming around your navel before nosing between your legs. As he shifted down, positioning his shoulders between your thighs, you caught his eyes, so deliciously dark, so perfectly beautiful. The first touch of his tongue nearly made you see stars as he licked a broad stripe across your swollen, drenched folds, teasing the moisture around. The gentle scrape of his facial hair tormented you in a new and wonderful way as he moved up to build a circular rhythm on your clit.

Your hands found his hair with a ragged cry as mind-numbing tension coiled in your body. Each pass of his tongue, each brush of his beard drove you higher and higher - and god, you’d never known anything so intense. He continued to devour you, to worship you, to make your body come alive as it never had before, and you cried your pleasure for his ears alone.

Blinding euphoria claimed you as he suckled your clit and orgasm surged through you. Your back arched off the bed, pushing your hips harder against him as you shook through the tremors of release. Slumping against the mattress, trying to collect your breath, you weren’t sure how your heart hadn’t beat out of your chest.

He groaned against your sensitive skin. “Das Süßeste, mein Liebling.”

You whimpered at his foreign words, hands pulling on his shoulders to drag him back up. In the fire’s glow, you could see his beard glistening with your slick and the sight rushed a whole new spike of need through you.

Rich with your taste, his mouth met yours, bestowing the same fervor that he just showed the rest of your body, and your hands settled to the button of his trousers. As the zipper fell free, you dove in to feel the hard shape of him. His hips thrust against your hand as you squeezed his hot, thick length, a whimper sounding in the back of your throat at the promise of having him inside you. Impatiently, you tugged at his trousers and briefs until he kicked them away, and the full press of skin on skin stole your breath.

You drew his hips into the cradle of yours, rocking up against the heated drag of his cock through your dripping slick. “Laszlo, please....”

His breath trembled against your lips. “Yes, but I need to get -”

“No, you don’t. I’m good, you’re good. Just...please.” You pleaded your words against the skin of his neck, drowning in the scent of his cologne as you hooked a leg around his waist to open yourself fully to him.

He adjusted his position on his left forearm, breathing heavy against your neck as the tip of his cock caught at your soaked entrance. The breath punched from you both as he eased forward, stretching your core around him as he settled flush within you. You moaned at the full sensation of his cock touching every part of you, at the heat of his body flush along yours. You were hardly a virgin, but you’d never known such a powerful connection with another man.

His beard rasped along your skin as he moved in slow, deep strokes, letting you both savor the intimate touch. Tears stung your eyes as your hands gripped the broad expanse of his back, rocking up to meet his thrusts. You pressed closer to him, loving the drag of his mouth on your skin as you breathed each other in and out to match the rhythm of your bodies. He shifted his angle, striking against your elusive nerve deep inside. You arched into him with a cry, whimpering nonsensically as he continued to drive against that place.

You clung to him as white hot pleasure mounted inside you, threatening to boil over and drag you both under. A tear spilled from your eye as a broken moan lodged in your throat. “Oh, Laszlo - I...I’m gonna come.”

“Yes, you are.” He breathed with a newfound confidence, near ragged with his own impending release. His tongue found yours, consuming you as he held the delirious pace with his hips.

You sobbed into his mouth as every muscle contracted and convulsed, surrendering your body to his. Ecstasy exploded through you, robbing you of thought as the force of orgasm melted your spine. His stuttering groan echoed in your ears, dying with the erratic rhythm of his hips as he buried his release deep in you.

You struggled to find your breath, overcome from the blissful high, the love bursting in your chest, the scalding heat of his body. He shuddered against you, dropping from his left arm to carefully shift his weight. You drifted gentle kisses along his shoulder, never wanting to let him go. Slowly, he pulled free of you and rolled to his side, making the fire-warmed air of his bedroom feel almost cool against your skin.

Realizing your cheeks were wet, you swiped at your fallen tears as you sighed with deep satisfaction. You rolled over, heart swelling at his lazy, full smile - one that reached his eyes as he gazed back at you in dazed contentment. He raised a hand, thumbing gently across your cheek. "I hope those aren't tears of hurt."

“You didn’t hurt me at all,” you quickly reassured. “I just...it’s just never felt that...intense before.”

He didn’t exactly look convinced, but he also didn't offer an immediate response. You thought you saw his cheeks flush, but it was hard to tell through the post-orgasm glow.

You moved closer to him, smiling lazily as you nuzzled his jaw, enjoying the tickle of facial hair against your nose. “You were wrong, you know. Earlier…,” you pressed a kiss to his damp skin. “There’s no part of you that’s wretched.” Your fingers trailed along his right wrist for emphasis. “God, I -.” You cut yourself off, realizing what you were about to say.

How was it possible that you’d fallen in love with him so quickly?

He wet his top lip in obvious hesitation and you wanted to drown in the dark pools of his eyes. “Thank you for not saying it.” He sighed heavily. “If you give your feelings a name that match the depth of my own, then I don’t know how I would let you go."

Your heart soared, fighting back a fresh wave of overcome tears. “Then, don't - I’m not going anywhere.” You snuggled up close to him. “We’ll give it a voice when we’re both ready.”

He draped his right arm around you as you both continued to lay together, breathing in each other’s closeness and drifting in the intimate silence as the storm continued its fury against the window panes.

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