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profeyandere · 11 months

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𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊. ─── ☾ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃

Masterlist || Daniel Brühl Masterlist || Wattpad

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader

Warning: Angst, panic attack, murders

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

That little building in New York no longer felt like the warm, sweet home he loved so much. Now, everything around him had been covered in a dark thick icy mist that had appeared once he had made sure that you were gone. He didn't expect to be able to blame you for it, either.

Laszlo, no matter how hard he tried to search his innermost thoughts, could not remember having felt such sharp and persistent pain in his life until he finally found the courage to return home and face the situation in which he had found himself. He had become immersed because he was unable to keep his mouth shut and the comments at bay, finding that tragic December night a home that was no longer what he had left that same morning. In the depths of his heart he hoped to see you in the living room, sitting in his armchair or on the soft sofa that characterized the room, with one of his many blankets in your lap while you tried to calm your usual nerves about meeting him again or doing one of the many activities you planned for the afternoons, perhaps reading one of the various astronomy books in which you had shown special interest in recent months with a cup of chamomile to soothe your headaches or trying to finish knitting the dark wool gloves for him with the excuse that even if you didn't like that activity, you wanted him to stay warm enough during the harsh winter that was lashing New York while investigating the latest case he had been involved in, even if he knew that your disgust for the last mentioned activity was a little lie that you had developed over the years and that he had discovered by having seen you smile on more than one occasion while you practiced with Mary a new type of stitch; you always showed a particular distaste for activities that were characteristic of women, but he had learned to observe that you were actually quite content with them and that you could come to appreciate them even if you claimed otherwise.

But now that he had returned home, he felt an emptiness in him, not hearing your playful laugh resonate because of some joke that Stevie had told you, nor could he distinguish your quick and agile steps becoming louder and closer that indicated that you had heard him home, much less was he able to feel the warmth that enveloped his home when you were in it. He noticed the lack of your presence, and it was not necessary to be very intelligent or have a university degree to make sure of it because he only had to analyze himself to realize it; Anguish had been the feeling that had taken over his body, then eliminating the anger that had been controlling him for much of the day.

Laszlo hadn't wanted you to get involved in the case of the missing children, the same ones that days later turned up murdered wherever the maniac who ended their lives wanted to show them. He assumed from the beginning that the scenarios in which he would be involved would be dangerous, after all, they were looking for a murderer, and he knew that the places they would visit would be quite unpleasant judging by what John Moore, his dear friend, had previously described. He just wanted to keep you safe, in the comfort of his home, while he and the small team he had assembled took it upon themselves to put an end to the wave of murders that was causing so much fear in the inhabitants of the splendid American city.

All he did was try to keep you away from the monsters beyond the gates of his home, but he didn't make sure that the most horrible being you had at your side. You had him, and he wasn't able to protect you then.

Tension, nerves, and anxiety had taken over his body, being felt that he was unable to control for not finding a solution to the case on which he was working so hard. He felt devastated for not finding a solution to such a problem, being forced to constantly search and review the same psychology books that he had read so many times and that, on this occasion, were not providing him with the required help. Barely a few days had passed since the death of the first young people belonging to rather unfortunate families was announced, but the desire to end it became more palpable as the hours passed; The only thing the doctor wanted was to end the case with a happy ending, return home as he usually did and hug you, thus eliminating the intrusive thoughts that crowded his mind and that prevented him on many occasions from resting as it should. You, being aware of the latter, had decided to visit Laszlo at his usual place of work to check his state of health.

He would have appreciated your visit on other occasions, he would have felt a familiar tingle once he had seen you open the door of his office to greet him with your loving smile, and he would have watched your bright eyes that would light up more and more as the seconds passed, and you watched him, but at that moment all he saw in you was a distraction he didn't want to deal with; he didn't want to be with you at that moment, and he wanted you to leave as soon as possible. You greeted him excitedly, asking about his day, and soon after you started talking about how worried you were that he was so deep in the case that he wasn't even taking care of himself, which you assumed all along and which is why you asked John and Sarah to take care of him while you weren't around; Although your innocence, concern, and dedication to the doctor could be seen as a blessing in most cases, he just wanted you to shut up at that moment, turn around and go home, he just wanted you to understand what his cold look wanted to tell you, but it was not like that.

You didn't understand him, or you didn't want to, and Laszlo took it out on you.

You saw his shoulders tense as you approached him and his desk, this time lowering your tone of voice as you presumed that a new wave of emotional headaches was at work again in his head. You sighed softly and walked around his desk, positioning yourself on one side of him with the intention of easing that pain by massaging his temples. It was when you finally placed one of your delicate hands on top of his, gently stroking the knuckles of his left hand to calm him down and show your support, that you finally saw how the beast he seemed to have kept hidden finally came out to unleash its full wrath on you. He quickly withdrew his hand from yours, surprising you with the movement and causing you to take a step back to give him some space, then raised your head to meet his gaze with yours, his being the one that flashed with feelings of anger and rage that ran through his body and that was impossible to control. He raised his voice at you in a way you didn't expect, ordering you to get out of his office, leaving you completely shocked by what had just happened and by what you had heard. You tried to refute what he had just told you, asking and begging him to let you stay and letting him know that you wouldn't speak anymore if he required it, but then he started to hurt you with the words that you would have least imagined. You had always had certain limitations in learning, you always recognized that obvious fact, and many times you doubted that your intelligence was the same as that of an average person your age, you had even felt bad enough on several occasions to question yourself if it was enough for Laszlo for that small impairment, but it was his words of encouragement, full of affection and always sincere that made those intrusive thoughts disappear, but now he brought out that insecurity to make you see that perhaps your assumptions were correct; He pointed out how stupid you looked around him and how you tried to keep people from seeing that big flaw of yours through the kindness you showed, trying to make witty comments but only making others laugh at how silly you seemed and that The fact that people were so sweet to you was because they found you as silly as a 3-year-old.

In short: Laszlo confirmed your biggest fear.

From the moment the doctor began to bring up that insecurity, placing special emphasis on what others thought of you, you felt how you stopped hearing from one moment to the next. You could perfectly see your fiancé open and close his mouth, and move his hands to express himself more freely, but it was impossible for you to understand what he was saying due to the feeling of sadness and anxiety that had begun to devastate you. You had heard of anxiety attacks, Laszlo had explained them to you after you had had to calm down one of the many children at school who had sought refuge in you the first time he attended the doctor's therapy, and, now if you were suffering it in the same way that young man suffered then, he made you understand that Laszlo was no longer a safe place for you; he was the one who was causing that to you, and you didn't want that to happen again, you refused.

When Laszlo watched you leave with teary eyes, your chest rising and falling at an alarming rate, and your hands slightly trembling, he knew he hadn't been able to protect you the way he wanted. He had failed you.

Now that he was home, remembering those agonizing minutes you'd suffered, he couldn't help but grit his teeth at the rage he felt at himself, letting out a snort to calm the anxiety that had begun to take over him. With his heart in a fist, he began to walk slowly towards the living room while he prayed that you were waiting for him there, just as he had previously imagined when he had entered his house, but it was not like that. Stopping on the threshold that separated the living room from the hall, he made sure that the vibrant colors that were always in that room were just a product of his imagination because now that you weren't there; everything had taken on grayer and sadder colors, only having a small flash of crimson in the small ring that was on the coffee table in front of the sofa that you always occupied to talk about your busy mornings and afternoons, both of you using that precise moment to appreciate to the other in the way you longed for, but now you weren't there, just the reminder that you were once there.

Laszlo realized that he had lost you forever and there would be no way to get you back.

The house felt cold again and as lonely as it had before I met you.

#laszlo kreizler #laszlo #kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x oc #reader #you #oc #daniel brühl #laszlo kreizler imagine #daniel brühl imagine #the alienist

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 years

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A Sensual Education - Laszlo Kreizler

I learned a lot about clits for this fic, didn't realize how much people (mostly men) hated them. Everyone, go touch your clits, treasure them, they deserve it after people like Freud wanted to get rid of them cause they were too insecure of themselves and scared of women🙃

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), typical 19th century ideology, misogyny, religious guilt, pining, innocence kink, fingering, virginity loss, soft dom!Laszlo, consent is sexy, flufffff

3.4K Words🤙🏻

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From an early age, you were always taught that anything do to with sex was a sin. You weren’t really told why but it was an unspoken moral rule.

Women weren’t allowed to have sex until after marriage and if the man wants it. Women were for men’s pleasure and to make babies; that was it. From an early age, you were always doubtful of this but you were always too scared to make your concerns known.

You had asked your mother about it after you started your courses, but you were immediately shut down and scolded for even thinking such a thing. So every time you had a question or concern, you always had to push it down and you never spoke about it.

Once, you had heard, in the middle of the night, your mother with your father in their bedroom, it sounded like they were both in pain. You peaked inside their room and what you saw shocked you to your core. It was not in fact your mother, but it was your father with another woman. It looked painful. Why would someone engage in such acts if it was painful? It didn’t make sense.

From an early age, you were already seeing contradictions from everyone and you didn’t know what to believe.

One night, you tried touching yourself, just out of curiosity. It felt…different, but good. Though you were too scared and embarrassed to continue. Surely, you were going to hell for what you did. You prayed for forgiveness, and you never touched yourself again.

You knew it would probably bring shame upon you and your family, but you had always wanted to pursue a career in psychology. The mind was fascinating, and you had always wanted to figure out what causes people to do what they do; why they lie, why they hurt others, why they are so insistent on following old rules. Doctor Laszlo Kreizler had been looking for someone to intern for him. Despite being a woman, the doctor seemed happy to welcome you to his team.

It was very early on when you started to see Doctor Kreizler in a different light, one that you had not seen anyone before. He was very handsome, even your mother had confessed that to you privately. But it felt different this time. You had crushes before, but you never thought to act on them. You just figured that your parents would find you a man to marry and that would be that, but thankfully they weren’t that old fashioned. You were allowed to choose someone for yourself if you wanted, and you found that Laszlo was someone you wanted very badly. Just one small problem: he was your boss and you had no idea if he’d ever feel the same way.

You’d feel embarrassed every time you interacted with him, which was a lot. You would have to really concentrate whenever he was teaching you what to do with certain patients, and you managed well enough. Sometimes you’d sit in on one of his counseling sessions to see what he does and how he goes about it, but his voice was so mesmerizing that you’d forget exactly what he had been saying. It was debilitating, your crush, always feeling such yearning whenever he caught your gaze; but you had to move on. It definitely would not be professional if you acted on your sinful feelings to him.

Your lust got even worse when Laszlo started to get more touchy feely with you. He wasn’t inappropriate of course, just lingering touches here and there whenever you did a good job with the patients; but that was more than enough for your fantasies to run wild with false hope that he might’ve liked you back. He even insisted you call him by his first name, before you always addressed him as Doctor Kreizler. He unknowingly was only fanning the flames of your infatuation.

Your crush just kept growing stronger and stronger.

Finally, one day, one of the doctor’s other employee’s told you that he needed to see you in his office later that day. You were instantly worried, thinking you may have done a bad job or worse, he had found out about your crush on him. But the employee said you had nothing to worry about, telling you that you were the fastest learner they had ever seen. It lessened your nerves…only slightly. You’d just have to find out for yourself.

You decided to go to his office early, otherwise you’d be worrying yourself to death and you didn’t care much for that. But when you arrived, the doctor wasn’t there. Serves you right for being impatient, you supposed.

You waited in Doctor Kreizler’s office, twiddling your thumbs and failing to calm your nerves. So instead, you decided to look around, despite knowing you shouldn’t, but you didn’t know what else to do.

Scanning his bookshelves absentmindedly, you came across a particularly eye-catching name. Kama Sutra? You let out an audible gasp as you saw the cover on the front of the book. It was a man and a woman being…intimate with each other. You tried not to judge, but what kind of deviant would keep a book like this? Despite your initial horror, you couldn’t help but skim through the pages, feeling yourself growing uncomfortably hot at the words and illustrations. There were words on those pages that you didn’t even have a clue what they meant, but they felt dirty regardless.

You were so enraptured by all this new information that you didn’t notice Doctor Kreizler walk in. You all but jumped out of your skin as you heard him clear his throat, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, Lord, I am so sorry, Doctor. I was just waiting for you to get back but this caught my eye, I didn’t mean to pry, I promise.” You rambled with a slight stutter, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest when Laszlo took the book from you with a ghost of a smile. “Please, sir, don’t tell anyone I was looking at this, if my parents found out, they’d throw me on the streets! I’ll pray for forgiveness!”

Laszlo gently shook his head, patting your shoulder reassuringly. “It’s quite alright, it’ll stay between us. Please, you don’t have to put on the pious act for me.”

You furrowed your brow, tilting your head slightly in confusion. “An act, sir? What do you mean?”

“The whole pretending that you think every single thing pertaining to sex is sinful and immoral.” He said with a brittle chuckle.

“It…it’s not?”

Laszlo froze, his eyes scanning your face for any indication that you were playing up the innocent act, but he didn’t find anything about your expression that would lead him to believe that you were lying. Were you actually this innocent? “You’ve never been taught about sex before? Anything about it?”

Your cheeks felt like they had been lit aflame, you looked down, your hair hiding your face slightly. “It’s a sin, especially before marriage. The only reason to do it is if you want to have a child.” You recited from what you learned from your parents and pastor.

“God, is that what your parents taught you? Hypocrites. It’s ridiculous. Of course sex isn’t sinful.”

“But…what about touching oneself? Surely that’s a sin, right?”

“It’s a natural part of growing up. Everyone has done it, there’s nothing to be ashamed about.” Laszlo noticed your nervousness, the fiddling with your hands and your eyes anywhere but his. “Have you never touched yourself before? Never even tried?”

You bit your lip, rubbing your hand up your arm as you felt goosebumps start to rise. “Once, but it didn’t feel right…at all. I never tried again. I never should have done it in the first place.” You felt ashamed talking about this with someone as professional as Laszlo. He must’ve been so ashamed of you as well, you wished you never even set foot in his office. But what you didn’t know was Laszlo was feeling ashamed of himself for how lustful he felt all of a sudden. The thought that you had never experienced sexual pleasure made his pants feel way too tight in that moment, and he felt sorry for you, but not in a condescending way. It would be a risk for your professional relationship, but it was one he was willing to take.

You didn’t notice Laszlo walking closer to you until you felt his hand gently graze your hand that was nervously holding your other arm. You felt your heart skip a beat as you finally looked up at him, finding his eyes to be searching yours. His tantalizing stare felt like it was penetrating your soul, him being so close to you that you could see your own startled expression in his dilated pupils. “Do you want me to show you how it’s done?” Laszlo asked in a low tone, his voice almost gravelly, causing a shiver to run down your spine in anticipation.

You didn’t know why, but you suddenly felt a burning hot desire in your lower stomach, a slick wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs. Your expression reflected in his eyes turned from being startled to almost dazed. Out of anything he could’ve said, Laszlo surprised you with that. You wanted to say yes, so badly. But… “What will happen to me if I say yes?” You asked timidly, glancing down at his hand on yours.

“Nothing that you don’t consent to.” He smiled softly, but with your fearful expression, he realized what you actually were asking. “I promise, you’re not going to hell if you allow me to do this.”

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

Laszlo smiled, running his hand up to your shoulder and moving a piece of hair out of your face. “Sit on my desk and lift up your skirts for me please.” He instructed, and you obeyed nervously, feeling your whole body heat up as he watched intently as you exposed most of your legs to him. “Good girl.” You try not to squirm as Laszlo stood right next to you, feeling his breath on your neck as he lightly held you in place with his right arm and using his left hand to gently trail up your inner thigh, eliciting another shiver from you. “If I do anything that you don’t like or want to stop for any reason, just tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

You took a deep breath as Laszlo finally reached your aching cunt, exhaling sharply when his fingers made contact with your sex. “Spread your legs for me, my dear.” You gasped as he touched a spot that was particularly sensitive. “Is that painful?” He asked, but you quickly shook your head no. “This spot is called the clitoris, it’s the only human organ where its sole purpose is to provide pleasure. Isn’t that extraordinary?” He spoke huskily into your ear, causing goosebumps to rise all over your body, all while you were still struggling to keep still as he kept slowly rubbing circles on your clit. You wanted him to go faster, but all you could do was whimper pitifully as Laszlo started to kiss and nip at your neck. “How does that feel, Schatz?”

“G-Good…” You whimpered, “so good but…”

“What is it?”

“Can you…move a bit faster, please?” Laszlo smirked at your stuttering voice, finding your shyness adorable. Instead of giving you what you craved, he did the opposite, removing his hand from you and moving to stand in between your legs, spreading your legs even further. “What are you-? Oh!” You gasped as Laszlo slowly pushed one of his fingers inside you, the intrusion foreign but not entirely unwelcome…

“And how does this feel? Still good?” He asked, adding a second finger and gently thrusting into you, the stretch causing you to wince slightly but you didn’t want him to stop. You let out your first moan as he rubbed your clit with his thumb in tandem with his thrusts. “I assume that was a yes, hm?”

“Y-Yeah…” You moaned, your hips moving against his hand mindlessly, starting to feel pleasure building and building inside you. “Feels so good, Laszlo…”

Laszlo lifted your chin with his other hand, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He wanted to see your face. He finally kissed you as he sped up his hand movements, swallowing your loud moans, a deep guttural groan escaping him as he felt your walls clench around his fingers. “You feel that pressure building in your body?” You nodded quickly, panting and moaning but you still tried to pay attention to what he was saying. “You’re getting close to what’s called an orgasm. It’s a feeling of euphoria when you reach the peak of sexual pleasure.”

“Are…are you getting close?” You stuttered.

Laszlo smiled, hiding a wince when his cock jumped in his pants. “I’m not the one getting pleasured, you are.” And as if right on cue, you felt yourself reach that peak and it was indescribable. Your body burned all over, but in a good way. You moaned loudly as you rode out that wave, gripping onto the doctor’s waistcoat for purchase. Your corset felt almost painful as your nipples hardened as you came, it felt all too restrictive. But you came down from that high, and you already wanted to feel it again. “Are you okay?” Laszlo’s soft deep voice brought you back to reality.

“Can…can you make me do that again?” You asked shyly, causing Laszlo to chuckle.

You winced as Laszlo lightly tapped your clit, the feeling almost too much to handle. “You’re too sensitive. Some people can’t come again right after because of the oversensitivity. But you might be ready to go again after several minutes.”

“But I want you to feel good too. I want you to…come.” You spoke timidly, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. He almost melted on the spot.

Laszlo frowned, shaking his head, trying to ignore his aching cock that was just crying out for stimulation. “I don’t want to hurt you. It might be too much, especially right now.”

“But I want you, Laszlo. I really do.” Laszlo didn’t say anything as you reached for the buttons on his pants, feeling guilty as he let you nervously palm his member through his trousers. “Please, I want you to be my first…”

Laszlo exhaled a shaky breath, grabbing your face and kissing you lightly with a frustrated growl. “First times for women can be painful…”

“I don’t care. I want you to show me what it’s like.” You begged, gently biting his bottom lip, doing everything in your power to let him know that you’d be okay.

Laszlo finally gave in, kissing you again with much more fervor, allowing himself to crave your touch. Your hands were all over him, messing up his perfectly styled hair and undoing the buttons of his waistcoat so you could feel more of him. You moaned as he squeezed your breasts through your dress, running his hands up and down your torso as you pulled his cock out of the confines of his pants. But he suddenly stopped, taking your hand away before speaking. “We’re going to take this slow, okay? If I hurt you, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?” He said seriously.

“Okay.”

Laszlo slowly rubbed the head of his cock in between your folds, you letting out small whines as he rubbed himself on your still overly sensitive clit. He looked into your eyes when he lined himself up with your entrance, silently asking for your approval. You nodded, holding onto his hand that was gripping your thigh.

His cock was much bigger than his fingers, that’s for sure. You let out a silent cry when he entered you, just his tip stretching you far more than his fingers. It was a burning pressure, but you still didn’t want him to stop. Despite the initial pain, it felt so natural for him to be inside you. You accepted him as best you could, him stilling inside you when he bottomed out. “Are you okay?” He asked, already panting from holding himself back.

“Yes, Laszlo, please. Keep going.” You and Laszlo both let out deep guttural groans as he started to thrust into you slowly, him keeping a firm grip on your thigh as he rocked his hips back and forth. Soon, you started to feel a new type of pleasure. It didn’t feel the same as when he was rubbing your clit, but whatever it was, it felt amazing. Every time Laszlo thrusted, the tip of his cock would hit that spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your skull. His slow thrusts weren’t enough now. You wanted more. You needed more. “Faster…please.” You whined, moving your own hips up to meet his.

“You sure?” It was sweet that he was always checking in, you appreciated it, but sweet wasn’t what you needed at that moment. You nodded vigorously, grabbing the collar of his shirt roughly and bringing him down to kiss you.

“Oh, my God-!” You gasped, moaning in his ear as he sped up his thrusts, his skin slapping against yours echoing around his office. “You feel so good.” You smiled tremulously, tears of overwhelming pleasure brimming your eyes. Laszlo’s grunting and soft moaning had to have been the prettiest sound you had ever heard, each others’ moans mixing together like a symphony.

“You’re exquisite, my dear.” Laszlo breathed out, moaning every time he felt you clench around him, your velvety walls taking him in deep and holding on with a vice grip. “You’re doing so well…fuck.” He cursed, his cock twitching as he sped up even more, chasing his own release desperately, your pretty moans spurring him on. “I’m so close.” He voiced, his words coming out strangled, his hand tightening around yours, bringing it up and placing a light kiss on your knuckles.

“Do it, come. Please, come.” You whimpered, crossing your legs behind his back, not allowing him to remove himself from you, pulling him as close as possible. His heavy breaths and soft moans fanned across your skin as he neared his climax, placing sloppy kisses on your cheek and down your neck, his neatly trimmed beard scratching at your skin. You cried out as Laszlo started to rub your clit once more, desperate to feel you come around his cock. “Please, please…” You whined, not even sure what you were asking for. His circular motions on your clit paired with his cock roughly splitting you open over and over again was almost too much, but you fully relinquished yourself to him, happy to be used by someone you admired so much.

“Come for me again, Schatz. I want to feel you, please.” Laszlo moaned, speeding up his ministrations on your clit.

“Laszlo!” You squealed, your legs shaking uncontrollably as you reached that peak once more, falling limp in his arms as you rode out your second orgasm.

“Oh, Scheiße!” Laszlo stilled as you clenched around him, letting out a loud strained grunt as he finally released inside of you, coating your walls with his cum. He buried his head in your shoulder, panting heavily along with you, trying to steady his heartbeat. “Are…are you okay?” He asked nervously as he pulled out of you and stuffed himself back into his trousers, looking into your eyes with concern. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no. You didn’t.” You shook your head, wearing a tired satisfied smile. “I really liked it.”

Laszlo let out a relieved sigh. “Good.” He said, wearing a lopsided grin, placing a short light kiss on the tip of your nose. He chuckled breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting the day to turn out like this…but I’m glad it did.”

“Me too.” You smiled timidly, but then you remembered something. “So, um, why did you want to see me in the first place?” You asked.

Laszlo chuckled nervously, gently caressing your cheek while a slight blush. “Oh, I was, uh.” He cleared his throat, “With how well you’re doing, I was going to ask you to work for the Institute officially. Paid and everything. But now…I want to take you out on a date too, if you’d allow me.”

“Really?” You beamed.

“Really.”

“I’d love that. Both. Both of those things. To work here and go on a date with you.” You rambled with a giggle, making Laszlo smile.

“Great…I suppose we should get back to work now.” He said reluctantly, holding onto your hips like he never wanted to let you go.

“I promise, I won’t let you regret hiring me.”

“I don’t think you could make me regret anything, my dear.”

~~~~~~~~~~

back on my bullshit (aka, i'm obsessed with Daniel again). nobody talk to me.

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x fem!reader #laszlo kreizler smut #daniel brühl

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nev3rfound · 2 years

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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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krazykiki05 · 1 year

Text

The Alienist Drabble:

“Are you absolutely serious!?”

“It was an accident!”

“It better have been!”

The discussion between the five adults was abruptly interrupted once they heard shouting from the kitchen. All the guests look at the owner of the house. It was his ward and servant arguing. Dr. Kriezler sighs before excusing himself to deal with the mess.

“What is such a pressing matter that you two must shout!? We can hear you!” Laszlo chastises, shouting himself. Stevie looks petrified while Cyrus looks pissed. But neither of them speak. “Well?” Cyrus looks at Stevie. Stevie shakes his head to his supposed friend.

“Nothing, Doctor. Just a quarrel.” Stevie mumbles. The Alienist knew he was lying the very moment he took the breath to speak.

“Don’t lie to me Stevie. You two have had quarrels in the past. They have never ended in shouting matches.” Laszlo snaps. “Cyrus. I trust you to tell me the truth.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not my place to tell, Doctor.” The doctor sighs before turning back to Stevie. If looks could kill, the boy would be dead. And that’s just what prompted him to speak up.

“I...got a girl pregnant.” He says. Cyrus hides his face in his hands while Laszlo sighs and bows his head. Stevie stands there ashamed.

“Are you sure?” Laszlo asks. Stevie nods.

“Yeah. She said she was late, and she looks pretty sick doc.” Laszlo thinks for a moment.

“What does she want? Money? Does she know you’re a ward of a doctor?” Laszlo interrogates.

“No! No. She doesn't want money or anything! She wasn’t going to even tell me until I asked her about her illness. She doesn’t want it, Doc. She doesn’t plan on going through with the pregnancy….” Stevie trails off.

“What do her parents think!?”

“She doesn’t have any. She ran away from them because they were abusive. Been living on the streets for months now.”

“And how old is she?” Cyrus asks.

“15…” Stevie is 17. A pregnant 15 year old, a sharp pang stabs through Dr. Kriezler’s heart. Still a child.

“And the baby...Do you want it, Stevie?” Laszlo asks. Stevie hesitates.

“Would I be a monster to say I don’t want it either?” Laszlo shakes his head no. Stevei was still young. It’s perfectly normal to not want children at this age. Laszlo feels bad for turning a blind eye to a pregnant, homeless, child.

“Bring her here. Now. I want to help her.” Stevie looked hesitant. But nonetheless, he left. Laszlo sighs once more. He and Cryus share a look.

“Was there a problem?” Sara asks once Laszlo returned.

“Yes, and it shall be resolved soon. I hope.” Laszlo answers vaguely. Now, everyone was suspicious.

“If you need to leave, we understand-” John started

“No, no. I am perfectly fine here. Stevie went to fetch someone for me about the problem.” The four people now sensed that the doctor did not want to talk about it anymore, so they continued their police work.

~~~~~

“Please, he wants to help you.”Stevie pleaded.

“Like I said, Stevie, I don’t want anyone’s help.” Regina argued. She continued walking down an alley. Stevie followed.

“Regina! You don’t have to do this alone!” Stevie called. This made the girl stop. Regina spins around.

“I have you, don’t I?”

“It’s not enough-”

“It’s enough for me! You can tell Dr. Kriezler that I said thank you, but no thank you.”

“If I return home without you, he will personally hunt you down himself. And I will help him. That man doesn't take no for an answer when it comes to helping people.” Regina hesitates. She doesn’t think she’ll get far in her condition.

“Stevie, I really don’t want to…” Regina cries. Damn hormones. Stevie comes closer, taking her hands in his.

“I know, Darling. But I promise you, the only outcome that can come out of this, is good. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust him with all my might.” The young couple hugged. Regina felt safe in Stevie’s arms. A feeling she hadn’t felt ever before she met him. As long as Stevie is there with her at the doctor’s house, she will be just fine.

~~~~

It wasn’t long before Stevie returned. Over an hour and a half. And the adults were still hard at work, not paying any attention to the time. The door opened, making everyone look up. They all watch as Stevie comes through the door with a girl.

She was sickly. Her skin is a grayish color. Bags under the eyes, cheek bones too prominent for anyone’s liking. “Regina, this is Dr. Kreizler, Doctor, this is-”

“Regina!?” John exclaimed. Regina’s soft smile turned upside down at the sight of her cousin.

“You know this girl?” Laszlo asks. Even if it was evident. John walks closer.

“Yes, she’s...she’s my cousin. A very close one at that.” John answers. Dr. Kriezler studies the girl. The fear on her face, the way she tries to hide behind Stevie, the hand strategically placed on the stomach. “Regina, why are you here? In New York? With Stevie?” John questioned. Regina tries to make up a lie.

“I have my reasons.” She answered. John doesn’t buy it.

“You look sick, are you alright?” Laszlo, looks at the girl, to see what answer she would give. A lie, or the truth.

“I’ve just been under the weather lately.” A white lie.

“Stevie, take Miss Regina to my office, I shall be there shortly.” Laszlo instructs. The couple ran off before John could ask anymore questions.

“Wait, why is she here? Why do you need to see her?” John asks frantically. The doctor calmly turns to his friend.

“Stevie came to me saying he had a friend that needed some help working some issues out. I offered my expertise. I was not aware of who the friend was.” Laszlo hated lying to his friend, but apparently there was a reason. John sighs.

~~~~

Laszlo entered the room to find the couple sitting on the chaise, Regina tucked under Stevie’s arm, her legs over his. But as soon as he entered, they broke apart. “Miss Regina…” Laszlo trails off, searching for a last name.

“Moore. Regina moore.” Regina answers. Laszlo nods and sits down in the chair across from them.

“Stevie has informed me about your...unfortune.” Laszlo starts, being careful to choose his words. Regina avoids his gaze. “And I want to help you. In whichever decision you choose. I’m sure Stevie does also.” Regina nods.

“As I told Stevie many times, Doctor, I do not wish for any help. I am perfectly fine on my own.” Regina states. Kriezler nods with a soft smile.

“I believe you. I do. But, It’s my medical conclusion that this is a situation a very young woman as yourself should not do alone.” Regina takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Stevie notices, and places a hand on her back. “Please, let me help you-” A loud banging came from the door.

“I know only one person who knocks like that.” Regina whispers. John. She turns to the Doctor. “Please, he cannot know.” She pleads. Kriezler nods before standing up.

“John! You're interrupting a session!” Laszlo chastises. John opens the door before Laszlo gets a chance too.

“Usually I would apologize when the patient is not my family who is supposed to be in the city over!” John yells, making eye contact with the girl in question. Stevie stands up in front of Regina. John has always felt an overwhelming sense of overprotectiveness when it came to his younger cousin. He remembers his grandmother forcing him to watch her as a baby as she and his aunt and uncle went out for the night. As a toddler, having to chase her around the house. He was one of the few that would play games with her. Outside her own mother. He helped her with her studies as a child. He has always cared for her. That feeling did not let up just because she was growing into a woman.

“John please-” Regina begged.

“Do your parents know you’re here? Did you run away!?” John can be an intimidating man when he needs to be. So intimidating, it broke his cousin.

“Yes.” Regina answered. John was furious. Why would she do such a foolish thing? John strided over to Regina, but was stopped by his friend.

“John, calm down don’t do anything rash-”

“Laszlo stay out of this! This is a family matter!” John pushed past his friend. John yanked his cousin from behind Stevie.

“No!” The young boy yelled. Regina yelped from the painful grip.

“What is going on here!?” A new voice entered the room. Sara’s. Everyone freezes. Sara and the twins now stand in the doorway.

“My cousin ran away from home, so I need to return her.” John answers. Regina lets out a sob.

“Please, John! Please don’t take me back there! They’ll kill me!” Regina sobs. John looks at her. He’s never seen his cousin so petrified.

“They are probably worried sick! They’ll be too grateful to have you safe back home, they’ll forget about being mad.” John argues. Regina shakes her head as tears roll down her cheeks.

“If...If...If they find-IF they find out…” Regina was too scared to finish her sentence.

“Find out what!?”

“She’s pregnant.” Laszlo answers. He couldn’t bear seeing John yell at an innocent girl. His friend looks at him in shock. Eyes wide, mouth hung open, chest heaving. His grip loosens. Regina runs to Stevie’s arms. Stevie holds her securely as his lover cries into his chest.

“Tell me it’s not true.” John asks Regina. “Tell me he’s lying, tell me it’s not true!” He took one look at Stevie, and it all clicked. “Oh, god.” John whispers. Laszlo bows his head.

“John, maybe you should sit down. You look a bit pale.” Sara suggests. John nods, trudging over to a lone chair.

“It’s Stevie’s, John. I asked her to come here so that I could lend my help. She has been living on the streets as of late.” Laszlo explains. John turns a solemn face to Regina.

“How? How? I just visited you mere months ago? Now look at you, away from home. Why?”

“They beat her!” Stevie snaps. Regina holds him tighter. A soft gasp escapes Sara. John shakes his head.

“No. No, I know my Aunt and Uncle they wouldn’t-”

“They did! I guess you don’t know them well enough.” Stevie argues. There was a long standing silence. No one had any words.

“Regina, My name is Sara Howard. A friend of Laszlo, and friend of Stevie. Tell me, how old are you?” Sara speaks, coming closer to her.

“15.” Regina answers. She comes out from Stevies chest, facing the woman. Stevie keeps his arms around his girlfriend’s waist. Sara lightly places a hand to the girl’s cheek.

“You’ve lost your color. Pregnant women are usually glowing.” Sara observes.

“Paleness during pregnancy can be caused by an unfulfilling diet, or an external illness such as flu. I suspect her young age is also an aspect.” Luscious explains. She was living on the street. How fulfilling could her diet be? “If not remedied, she may lose the baby.”

“Then so be it.” Regina mumbles, gaze to the ground. Loudly enough for Sara.

“No, don’t say that.” Sara chastises softly. Regina makes eye contact with her.

“I don’t want this. I’m not ready to be a mother.” Sara’s heart broke from hearing the cracks in her voice. The poor girl was scared for her life. Sara lifts both her hands to hold her face.

“I understand. But wishing death on an innocent thing is not a path you want to walk along. Please, let us help you. Me, Laszlo, your cousin.” Sara asked.

“I will always be here for you. Every step of the way.” Steve adds from behind Regina.

“Let’s make a deal.” Sara starts. Everyone looks at her. “You carry the baby, give birth, and I promise you, by that time, I would have found a loving family that will take the baby in as their own. They don’t have to know anything about the mother.”

Everyone thought it was a good deal. There were plenty of couples who wanted a baby, but couldn’t have one. Sara wouldn’t have a hard time finding a family. Regina nods.

“She shall live here. With Stevie. If that’s okay with you, John.” Laszlo offers. John nods before standing up.

“I would take her in seeing as she’s my family, but I’m sure grandmother would kick her out in an instant.” John agrees.

~~~~

Laszlo had set up a room for her. A guest room she and Stevie would share.

When Stevie entered the room, everyone looked at him. “How is she?” John was the first to speak to the boy.

“Resting. She refused to go to sleep, but I soon convinced her to at least lay down. Didn’t take her long after that.”

“Stevie, you do know. You are going to help the most, right? This is your doing. Being a future father is not easy.” Laszlo warns. Stevie nods. “Do you love her?”

“With all my heart.”

#The Alienist #laszlo #Laszlo Kreizler #laszlo kreizler imagine #john moore #john moore imagine #stevie taggart #stevie taggart imagine #sara howard #sara howard imagine #daniel brühl #luke evans #dakota fanning

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laszlobruhl · 7 months

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Mrs. Williams: Of all the stories I told you when I was your patient, which ones wormed their way into your mind, kept you up at night?

Oh, come, doctor. I don’t believe you were completely unmoved.

Laszlo: I found your accounts of men’s vulnerabilities in particular interesting.

Mrs. Williams: My accounts of men’s vulnerabilities?

Laszlo: I recognized my own weakness, and it gave me pleasure.

Mrs. Williams: Then there’s your answer. If your friend enjoys inflicting wounds, there’s a good chance he has wounds of his own. The cripple in him is looking for the cripple in another.

Laszlo: Forgive me madam. Thank you for your help.

What stories did she tell that kept Laszlo up at night. Why is he so intimidated by her? Why is it, this woman can talk to him, that even he lowers his head for her?

How I wished to be with the therapy sessions of this woman.

#daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #dr laszlo kreizler #my gifset #the alienist gifs #netflix series #daniel bruhl gifs #alienist obsessed #Alienist #the alienist imagine #How I love this scene #Katherine Kingsley

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vervainariadne · 2 years

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He's so bougie here

#zemo #soft zemo #daniel bruhl #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #sugar daddy zemo #zemo imagine #baron zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #laszlo kreizler #sugar daddy lazlo kreizler

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scuttle-buttle · 3 months

Note

I loved your modern Laszlo Kreizler, I just want to yank him out of the fic and into real life and marry him, but since I can’t (haven’t found the right witchcraft for that) I’ll settle for an ai bot for now, I would love to make one based on your take of your modern Laszlo, if you are alright with that

Thank you dear 🩷

Go for it, I'm curious with how it turns out so I'd love to see it 😊

#ai is a wondrous and terrifying thing #but i am curious to how it will imagine him #laszlo kreizler #the interpretation of dreams #scuttle-buttle #personal

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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Doctor | Laszlo Kreizler x gn!reader

@king-trash-cryptid asked: This isnt on the prompt list but could you write something with Laszlo and a sick reader?

summary: Laszlo drops everything to help you get better when you're sick, quite literally everything.

tws: swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking, sickness

Laszlo didn't like it one bit. Being sick was awful enough to see in his patients, in those he treated and those he tried to help, but seeing his own partner sick was completely different; his steady hand would shake and he would drop everything if you so much as grumbled and coughed, he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't help you to get better. He hated seeing you so unwell. Even though you reassured him time and time again that you were fine, that you just had a cold and you would be right as rain in a matter of days, he was determined to help you get better.

He asked for your family's traditional recipes, which were sent to him through the post and written in partially smudged ink but still legible; he could remember a few of his own, recipes for soups and stews and broths that would certainly help. He had a recipe for practically every day of the week, something for you to at least look forward to despite your lack of appetite; although it was a hard thing to come across and it costed more than Laszlo was ready to admit, he made sure that there was ice for you to have in every drink you could stomach.

Laszlo knew, though, he knew it wouldn't last but he was still more than determined to help you through it; he gave you medication, he fed you, he gave you whatever you could stomach when it came to drinks, he swapped the duvet on the bed for a thinner blanket, he opened the windows. The fever wasn't too bad, it was more the coughing and the lack of appetite that concerned him.

The lack of energy was another thing, but fatigue and lethargy were known to make an appearance during illness; still, it was something that he kept his eye on. Especially because you were so determined to try and move around and to get about your day. He wasn't having that.

Everyone had been told not to visit Laszlo, mostly so he could focus on looking after you, but also because you had told him not to have anyone over in case they could get sick from you; it worked out either way.

But as he sat there now, laid next to you and looking at you with great concern, Laszlo gently pressed the back of his hand to your sweat soaked forehead.

"How is it, Doc?" You joked weakly, your voice hoarse and raw and the words stinging and scraping as they fell from your mouth.

Laszlo wiped the back of his hand on his shirt, and smiled a little. "You're not as feverish as you were. Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"

A rattling cough gave him his answer, but you still tried your best to smile at him. "I can try... I can go downstairs and sleep on the sofa so you can have a quiet night."

Laszlo shook his head, pulling at your arm gently until he could lace his fingers with yours, holding on tightly as he cracked a smile. "I'm not going anywhere. One night's sleep being missed won't mean anything."

You glared at him, trying not to laugh because you knew it would make your ribs ache and would make your chest tighten and feel like it was being stabbed with a blunt axe. "Yet you have a go at me about staying up."

"I have to," he said quietly. "I... I care about you, and I don't want you to be in pain."

You huffed, nodding and daring to wriggle up against his side, sighing heavily and coughing for a while before you groaned and swallowed thickly, able to feel mucous and phlegm at the back of your throat, the sticky texture of it making you want to gag and retch. "Laszlo?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," you whispered. "But tomorrow... no fucking soup, or stew, or broth or whatever the fuck. I'm sick of that shit."

"You're sick," he pointed out. "It'll help."

"So would a chilie, or a curry," you told him.

Laszlo hummed. "I can see what I can do about it... maybe Cyrus can take me to town and I can get some things but... would you be alright?"

"Yeah," you said gently, trying to be soft on your own throat. "I'm sick, I'm not dying. Or stupid."

He nodded, able to feel your sweat drip down on his shirt, a small pool of it starting to form; a shirt could be cleaned, though, you being sick wouldn't be cured overnight. "Is there anything you need? Medicine, water, food, or-"

"I'd kill for a cigarette," you admitted.

"You're sick, smoking isn't going to help," he grumbled. "I meant anything to help you relax."

"A lick of whisky wouldn't do much harm," you mused. "You got any of that hanging about?"

"Actually, yes," he nodded. "I'll get it in a minute."

"Thank you."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist imagine #the alienist #daniel brühl x you #daniel brühl imagine #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl imagine #daniel bruhl x you #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl

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lettalady · 1 year

Note

Made up fic title: The Sandcastle of Sorrow

The year is 1896. Dr Laszlo Kreizler ventures to the shore because one old friend gets engaged, one turns his attention from the city's problem of crime and corruption to the plagues of a nation – leaving the third to do what can only logically follow after getting a taste of what can happen if curiosity and the proper investigative methods are put to use.

So, yes, he leaves the city behind, hoping those haunted corridors of his mind might be soothed by a change of residence and the sounds of the sea. To escape the ghosts that walk the hallways of his home, that taunt and hunt him at every turn, that torment him with a possibility lost….

#imagine dr laszlo kreizler #imagine laszlo kreizler #look I had to dig through a pile of notebooks to find these notes cause he's waiting in the pile of WIPs for his story to be told #daniel brühl #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #fic title challenge #made up fic title #but Letta there’s a hurricane that churns up the eastern seaboard that year #yes my darlings. I know 😈😘

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reinexe · 2 years

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Just watched the movie ( next door ) by Daniel brühl.. and i- 😭😭

#Daniel bruhl #Daniel bruhl fanfics #Daniel bruhl smut #zemo #zemo imagine #zemo x reader #zemo smut #helmut zemo #laszlo kreizler #movies #Daniel waltz #Daniel waltz x reader #next door 2021

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mypoisonedvine · 4 months

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𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 | laszlo kreizler x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | being a traditional, well-behaved woman, you saved yourself for marriage. but the things your new husband has planned for you are... less than traditional, and might just show how poorly behaved you can be.

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | over 9k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | SMUT (18+ only!!), virginity loss, age gap (unspecific; laszlo is in his 40s, reader is probably 20-25), multiple orgasms/overstimulation, fingering, oral f receiving, squirting, shy/innocent reader, religious reader (but nothing tooo shame-y or anything), some innocence kink, a hint of medical kink?, slightly pervy laszlo?!?! (moreso he's just a wee bit of a weirdo and says some cringe stuff but like. that's just his vibe sorry)

Laszlo was such an impossible paradox of a man. Especially compared to the sort of man you always thought you’d marry— what you’d been raised for, even.

An accomplished doctor, a successful and wealthy man of high social standing— a kind, sensitive, intelligent, and patient partner who made you feel beautiful and special and, for lack of a better word, fancy. That part was exactly as you’d always imagined for yourself, though you had never really believed you could find someone so wonderful.

And then there was the other half of him, the pieces that even in your wildest dreams you would’ve never thought would make up your future husband. First of all, he was quite a bit older than you. Even your parents, who had always preferred for you to marry someone already established (as they put it) rather than your own age, were a little concerned that he was in his mid-forties, and only a year younger than your father. Of course, that was nothing compared to their offense at his profession, and the subsequent open-mindedness he had towards people your parents would rather pretend didn’t exist. Then again, Laszlo himself having his disability made him the sort of person they would rather pretend didn’t exist, though he’d managed to hide it relatively well.

Maybe they could’ve forgiven any of that. It was the atheism that put the final nail in the coffin, unfortunately… and someone as brash and unapologetic as Laszlo had no interest in hiding his beliefs to appease your parents. He hadn’t brought it up, of course, or protested to the crucifixes and cross-stitched scriptures on the walls; but when they’d asked if he was Catholic or Protestant, he told them directly that he was a man of science and didn’t entertain any metaphysical notions or, as he’d so thoughtfully put it, fantasies.

They instantly forbade the courtship and warned you never to see him again. And maybe that was when he surprised you most— he was so romantic, so… dashing. He took a carriage to your home and literally threw pebbles at your window, daring you to climb down the lattice and join him for a midnight adventure. It was then he suggested that you marry him anyways— he had more than enough to take care of you after a disownment from your parents. He promised to give you anything you wanted, to treat you perfectly, to spend every day trying to keep you as happy as you made him without even trying.

There it was again, the contradictory enigma of Laszlo Kreizler. A serious, even stern man, proposing to you like a lovestruck teenager. He had eschewed fantasies a few evenings ago only to turn around and ask you to jump headfirst into a fairytale.

You said yes, though. You really didn’t think twice about it— you knew he would be good to you. And you knew you’d never loved someone like you’d loved him before.

You wanted to run away right then and there, but he told you to go home for a few more days, to gather your things— he would send for them while your parents were out, and you could move in with him as soon as you were ready.

When you did move in, though, he seemed a little surprised that you asked for your things to be moved to a spare bedroom.

“Is everything alright?” he asked you softly, stepping closer to you as you crossed your arms over yourself nervously; you waited until you were sure Cyrus was out of earshot, carrying your bags away, before you answered.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s understandable if you’re feeling conflicted now,” Laszlo assured. “Having just left your parents, and not knowing if you’ll see them again—”

“It’s not that,” you promised. “Well— of course, I feel something about that, but I’m happy to be here with you. That’s not my issue at all.”

“Then what is?” he pressed. “I hope you feel that you can tell me.”

You sighed as he reached up to brush your cheek; his touch always soothed you, though it felt a bit different here, in his home. Your new home. “I just… wouldn’t feel right about being in your room, until we’re married.”

He nodded. “Of course. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

You smiled a little, though it was more out of nervousness than anything. “I… I wondered if you thought my parents were the only reason that we never— that nothing had—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pushing your hair back from your face until you looked up at him. “I don’t expect anything from you now. Well, only that you do whatever you like to make yourself feel at home here.”

“And what… what will you expect from me once I am your wife, Dr. Kreizler?”

Though you were a little afraid to, you met his gaze; his brown eyes seemed deeper than ever, and you were powerless to look away from them. “What do you think is right to give me, when you are my wife?”

You sighed a little, feeling his hand on your cheek move carefully down to your neck, his gentle fingers brushing along the smallest part of your collarbone exposed by your dress. Words escaped you; you wanted him to know that just because you wanted to wait for him didn’t mean you didn’t want him. Even before, even when you first met him, your mind had supplied you with thoughts that sent you straight to the confession booth.

You wanted to be one with him in every way you could think of… you just needed some to come before others, to feel right with your own beliefs. Even if you loved an atheist, and felt surprisingly little guilt for it, you were still religious yourself and wanted to honor God’s intention for marriage.

Didn’t mean you couldn’t yearn for your soon-to-be husband, right? It certainly didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the full benefits of physical intimacy when the time came.

But obviously, you were far from brave enough to say all that. Instead, you found your hands wandering to his chest, following the pattern of his suit coat up to his shoulders, biting your lip without even realizing it. He simply continued to watch you, and you got the feeling that he understood you better than you could explain it yourself. One of the bonuses of being loved by an expert on the human mind, perhaps.

You were almost in a trance, not noticing how long you were spending just gently touching and holding him in this simple way— until you looked up and met his gaze again, and felt a little weak. “Can we marry soon?” you asked softly, almost under your breath. You hoped he wouldn’t tease you, you weren’t secure enough for him to mock your obvious eagerness, to call attention to your desire for him. Thankfully, he stayed perfectly serious, because he was just as affected as you were.

“As soon as you like,” he replied earnestly.

It was probably for the best that Cyrus walked in to the parlor at that moment, and you instinctively pulled back from Laszlo, crossing your arms again. “Your bags are in the downstairs bedroom, madam,” he informed you, “down the hallway under the stairs.”

You nodded at him as Laszlo responded, “Thank you, Cyrus. That will be all.”

He left, and you looked at your fiance again, feeling a bit silly for what he’d seen in you a moment before. But he smiled at you, and you figured he’d be the last person to judge you for any of that. “I’ll give you a little time to unpack and freshen up, if you like,” he offered. “I hope you’ll join me for dinner at seven this evening. I believe we’ll be having quail.”

“Of course— thank you,” you smiled, watching him begin to turn to depart. But for a second, he hesitated— like he didn’t want to leave you— and you prayed he wouldn’t kiss you. It’s not that you didn’t want him to… you wanted him to more than anything. He’d only kissed you once before, at the end of a particularly exhilarating night out together, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a moment since.

So no, it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to kiss you. It was only that, if he did, you knew you’d have trouble letting it be just a kiss.

Therefore, you were just as relieved as you were disappointed when he departed without incident.

///

A few days later, you eloped. You hadn’t felt much urge to have a ‘proper’ wedding when no one you knew approved of the marriage anyway— they were all too deep in your parents’ pocket, unfortunately. And even if anyone cared enough to come, Laszlo refused to be wed in a church (you thought maybe he would bend on it if you really begged, he was overall quite accommodating to you, but it wasn’t worth your trouble) and so it would’ve just been another scandal.

Truly, you were just as happy this way— it was the happiest day of your life, really. You left the courthouse as Mrs. Kreizler, wearing a stunning silver band he’d had engraved with your new initials and flowering vines all around in a swirling, whimsical pattern. His band was simpler, but you loved it even more— just because it was his, and seeing him wearing it made your heart skip all day.

Anticipation for your wedding night only grew with every passing moment. Laszlo himself was in the bathroom with the door shut— you heard the sink running, the various sounds of him preparing for bed. You were just trying to get your heart to slow down, trying not to have any specific goals or expectations for the evening. Today had already been perfect.

But, of course, it was hard not to imagine what was next for the two of you— your things had already been moved into his room. A vanity had been placed in it as well, a wedding gift from Sara Howard (a friend of Laszlo’s you had become acquainted with during this whirlwind romance), and you were using it now as you prepared yourself for bed. You were already in your nightgown, having changed after Laszlo left the room (not that you had to, but it felt more natural that way), and you were carefully unpinning your hair from its meticulous style.

As you concluded the final steps of your evening routine, you saw the bathroom door open behind you in your reflection; your husband emerged, wearing an embroidered silk robe that offered a view of a sliver of his chest— not very much, but more than you’d ever seen. You didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed against each other more tightly; he approached you slowly, and you eventually turned to look at him directly. With you still sitting on the vanity’s padded stool, he towered over you when he stood close… and as you lifted your head to look up at him, his hand brushed softly along your jaw. You tilted into his touch just a bit, smiling at him while your heart fluttered.

“You’re so beautiful, mein Schatz,” he whispered, and you felt a little giddy when he talked like that— he’d only ever indulged you in his German after having a few drinks, so this instance caught you off-guard in the best way. Not to mention he’d called you Schatz before— treasure, apparently, and a common term of endearment— but he’d never tagged it with mein before. And you were his, truly. You were glad he’d waited to say it until it was actually true (even if, in a certain sense, it was already true before).

He motioned, rather subtly, for you to stand up. It seemed simple enough, but you felt a little shaky as you did it— a nervous excitement, like the kind you would feel before a piano recital or debutante ball. Except those were all public engagements, and this was as private as anything could be.

Touching your face again, he wove his fingers back around your neck, his thumb cradling your jaw right in front of your ear. And he kissed you— just like that, quick at first but then slowing down as you both sighed a bit.

You admired how easily he’d done it, and thank god for it, because you would’ve spent quite a while working up the courage. This was different from the night you’d kissed him after a few weeks of seeing each other— it was very different from the kiss you’d shared at the courthouse earlier that day. It would’ve made sense if there was a sense of neediness to it, as if he were making up for lost time or relieving all the anticipation for this night. But really, it was all rather relaxed, at least on his part. Like he had all the time in the world: which, you know, he did.

You, on the other hand… you were feeling a bit more out of your element. Not that you weren’t enjoying this new one so far, it was just a little unfamiliar.

His hand floated lower and traced down your back— delicately, with the tips of his fingers brushing your skin through the thin fabric until chills started to run over you. You gasped a little into the kiss, and put your hands on the patterned lapels of his robe; you didn’t actually push him away, but he pulled back as if you had, examining your face carefully for a moment.

You hadn’t needed him to stop, but you were a little glad he did: just a moment’s break from it all before it became overwhelming. His fingers still traced gentle shapes on your lower back through the nightgown, and you found your gaze drifting to his chest, to your hands resting on it— and your own fingertips ventured into the exposed piece of his chest. His skin was paler here, with a reddish-blondish patch of hair just starting to be visible. You touched it, taking a quick and shaky breath, and wondered why something inside you tightened as you pet him here. He was so… masculine. His looks weren’t sweet and boyish, no: he was broad and strong (he would deny that one if you said it, but to you he was) and sharp around the edges, and it was something you never expected to excite you so much.

But you loved that you could still feel a bit of friction from his beard after he’d kissed you. You loved the subtle scent of his cologne, how sturdy he felt under your touch.

Your hands drifted up to his face, fingers brushing through his hair slowly, and he smiled at you. His hair was just a bit long for what was typical of men these days, and you enjoyed combing through the dark brown locks and noticing the little golden highlights in the dimmed light of the room.

The hand on your hip pulled you closer, pressing your body against his, and you tried your best to relax into the warm strength of his form while your heart kept racing.

When he kissed you again, he moved in slowly, watching your face before his own eventually met with it, and you fluttered your eyes shut as his lips gently pressed to yours. This time, you found yourself leaning in for more, kissing him back with more passion; you let out a little dampened moan when his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, taking the next opportunity to gently move further into your mouth.

He broke away all too soon, embracing you even tighter, pressing his cheek to yours. And when you, in turn, wrapped your arms around him and pressed yourself against him everywhere you could… you felt it.

Even if you had very little knowledge about this sort of thing, you understood what that hard, curved shape was, pressed just above where your hip met your stomach. You knew what it was, and your body did too— heat pooled at your core, every touch awakening you even more.

“Oh,” you sighed shakily, holding tighter onto him to just have something to hold onto.

“It's alright,” he whispered, soft words floating on his breath which tickled under your ear. “It's alright, my darling, I won't hurt you.”

You hummed softly in return, nodding as his lips brushed over your cheek, then moved to your neck. “I know,” you replied. “I trust you, Laszlo.”

But you couldn't help but gasp when his tongue teased your pulse, his teeth gently grazing the most delicate places they could find. His grip at your waist tightened when you whimpered. “Is this pleasurable to you?” he asked softly; even such a formal statement made you shudder when he said it in that low, buttery voice…

You nodded, your back arching slightly to press yourself against him, but you felt him smile against you suddenly.

“I'd like for you to say it,” he explained, an unfamiliar darkness to his voice.

“It's… pleasurable,” you panted. “When you kiss me there… it's like I feel every touch s-somewhere else—”

“Where, my love?”

“Here,” you sighed, grabbing his hand from your back and moving it between your legs. He instantly cupped and rubbed your mound, and your knees nearly buckled from the pleasure.

“Mein Gott, you're so sensitive,” he observed, his own voice sounding a little strained, “I've hardly touched you.”

“L-Laszlo, just touch me more,” you pleaded.

Though he’d been so careful until that moment, he suddenly started to pull up the skirt of your nightgown rather hastily, nostrils flaring as he bent down slightly and worked to hoist the fabric up. Finally, he got under it, but teased you by rubbing and groping at your thighs instead; under his breath, you just barely heard a growl before he began to kiss your neck again.

“Even if both my hands were strong, I'd wish for more to touch you with,” he mumbled against your skin. “I'd still want to cover you entirely, reach every part of you at once.”

Well, you liked the sound of that, but one hand was doing you plenty of good already— especially when it slid back up to cup you again, making you sigh and moan as his fingers slipped through your folds, spreading your abundant wetness all around.

Desperate to return even a portion of the sensation he was giving to you, you placed your hand against the bulge in his trousers. Though the shape and firmness of him made you gasp excitedly, he only let you rub it for a few moments before sighing and moving your hand away. “Not yet, my darling,” he instructed. “It's best if we take this one step at a time, for now.”

You felt a little silly, having to be held back like that, but you nodded. He obviously knew better than you about all this.

It was almost too much, the way he was touching you: you had your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders to try to keep yourself upright, frankly. And yet, for how overwhelming it was, you heard yourself saying—

“More, please,” you begged, “I-I need you, just give me more, please—”

“I will,” he promised roughly, “but not here. I think it’s only right that I take you to bed, hm?”

If you weren’t all worked up, you might’ve made some witty comment about how at least the bed’s not too far or whatever— but no, you just let him guide you the few steps to the mattress, and you sat on it as you simply awaited further orders. So little that he’d done to you, and you’d already do whatever he asked in exchange for continued attention.

You watched him roll up his sleeve— it took him a little while with the weaker hand, but you didn’t mind letting this moment last— and didn’t even notice the way your mouth had gone slack, you were nearly salivating. “Lay back, darling,” he instructed simply, still looking at his sleeve as he finally folded it up to his elbow, “and open your legs.”

You obeyed, of course, and bit absent-mindedly on your lip as you slowly lifted your knees and parted your thighs. There was no point being shy now, of course— and you were more than eager for him to get back to doing what he had been before— but you still felt a nervous hesitance that made your hands (and heart) shake slightly. Something about stopping to get in the bed had brought a bit of sobriety to the moment, and you realized in retrospect how desperate you must have looked. Surely he wouldn’t hold that against you…

He lifted your skirt again, up to your hips, and hummed lowly at the sight of your sex. Your face burned hotter; you liked the way he touched it, but you didn’t feel entirely comfortable with him… staring at it.

Still, it was the sort of slight discomfort that felt oddly… good? Yes, you were a bit embarrassed and exposed at the moment, but it felt wrong in that fun, naughty sort of way; it made your hips shift a little, presumably in hopes of some friction. Thankfully, their wish was answered: his hand was on you again, pulling your lips apart, slowly exploring you until your eyes fluttered shut.

“May I touch you inside as well?” he asked— as if there was any risk of you turning that offer down.

“Y-yes, Laszlo, please,” you whispered, whimpering as you felt the tip of his pointer finger— suddenly it seemed a little thicker than you remembered— press up to your entrance and ever so gently slide inside.

“Just one to start,” he narrated softly as that one finger made your toes curl, only one finger making your hips twist and your back arch. How could he do that to you so easily? “And my thumb can help with this lovely little organ you have…”

His thumb circled your bud, and you shuddered all over— even inside— and instantly struggled to catch your breath. “Laszlo, what… what is that…” you breathed, whimpering when he rubbed it again.

“Your clitoris, my love— you’ve never touched here before?”

He should’ve known you hadn’t— even if you had… explored yourself out of childish curiosity probably a decade ago, you would’ve remembered if it felt like this. Shaking your head, you were surprised by his little growl.

“Your poor girl,” he cooed, something a little attractive about the slight condescension of it. “You have so much to learn. I can’t even imagine the things you’ve never felt before…”

He slowly moved the pad of his thumb up and down over the flesh, which only grew firmer as he continued. “Oh!” you whimpered, hips rocking back against his touch— it was so wild of you, you thought, but you couldn’t really stop yourself. He pressed harder and your whole body jumped. “Fuck!”

He laughed a little, and your face got warmer. “I’ve never heard you use language like that, Schatz, but it sounds impossibly adorable when you say it.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you began, “I couldn’t help it—”

“No, don’t apologize,” he insisted, “I’d rather you said it again. Whenever you can’t help it, of course.”

You knew that Laszlo knew more than you about many topics, being a highly-educated man of great intellect, but you hadn’t expected him to introduce you to an entirely new body part that you’d been carrying with you this whole time. If you’d figured out how to do anything like this to yourself, you might have spent your entire adolescence trapped in your room, so maybe it was for the best that you never put it together.

You weren't sure how any woman was meant to learn these things— you figured she wasn't meant to, unfortunately— but if she had a choice, you'd certainly recommend this method, provided she could find her own husband to try it with rather than borrowing yours. What a visceral and beautiful way to learn how much that little organ could really do: Laszlo rubbing it with his thumb, with just the right amount of pressure to make a loud moan crawl out of you.

“The noises you make are just delightful, my darling,” he praised. “Keep going, so I know what I should do.”

“Just do that,” you begged, “just keep doing that.”

“Only this?” he pressed. “I shouldn't even add another finger?”

Of course, that was when he did— gently pressing his middle finger to your opening until it accommodated it, and you heard your own high-pitched whine in disbelief that you'd made the sound. “F-fuck, that feels… Laszlo, you're so—”

But you interrupted yourself, because he did something so diabolical with his fingers just then. He'd only twisted and scissored them inside you for a moment before curling them up, rubbing the most delicate place you never knew you had— just as he pushed down harder on your poor clit. You felt ravenous all of a sudden, terribly overwhelmed but greedy for more.

“Please, oh god, please—” you started to beg before you even knew what you wanted. He knew what you wanted, and he gave it to you: more. It wasn't even very significant of a movement, and yet it turned your whole body into his plaything as you started to shake all over.

“You react more than I ever expected, my darling,” he cooed. “I never dreamed how well you would respond to my touch. I've only just begun and I think you're already nearly there.”

Before you could wonder where he was talking about, he pulled his fingers out of you carefully. You heard yourself whimper a little, opening your eyes and looking at him worriedly. He smiled, seeming to enjoy how much his interruption seemed to bother you; “Take off your nightgown, my love,” he requested plainly. “I think I’d like to get a good look at you before I go on.”

Sitting up (and finding your head a bit more dizzy than you expected), you started by unbuttoning from your neck halfway down to your chest, before lifting the thin garment up over your head slowly. You felt so strange doing this— undressing in front of a man— but your heart pounded with hope that he would enjoy what he saw. Tossing the dress aside, you sheepishly bit your lip and waited for his assessment as his dark brown eyes grazed over your nude form.

He moved a little closer, his hand running up your leg and then around your side, reaching up to carefully cup one of your breasts. You breathed deeply but unevenly, your chest rising and falling against his touch. You were almost nervous that he hadn’t said anything yet, but the look in his eyes just became more and more clear; you whimpered under your breath when his fingers brushed over your hardened nipple, ever-so-delicately pinching it until your hips shifted a bit in response. “How beautiful you are, my love,” he whispered, making you squirm again with just his words. “Is it true you’re really my wife? This lovely, delicate body that only I can touch and caress, laying next to me every night… I don’t know when I’ll really believe it.”

You had to shut your eyes for a second— you might be too brash if he kept on like that, praising you so tenderly. “You could’ve been a poet,” you told him with a little smirk, blinking open your eyes again as he guided you to lay back once more, “if medicine didn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I’m no poet, Schatz,” he smiled in return, taking one more careful squeeze of your other breast before moving down to pet inside your legs again. “All I am is painfully honest.”

His fingers slid inside you again, and you could’ve sworn he was rubbing inside you a bit more firmly than he had been before— thrusting a little faster, pushing a little deeper. And all the while he was staring down at you, back and forth between your face and your hole, with a delicious darkness in his eyes.

It was still a patient endeavor, so much so that you never really noticed that he was getting a little quicker and rougher with it. You really didn’t figure it out until you heard yourself choking out his name, groaning and gasping louder than you meant to— but you couldn’t suppress it very well, either.

You soon began to realize what he meant before with that nearly there comment, without even having any prior knowledge of what it could be… there was something instinctive about it, something totally natural. You didn’t know what was coming, but you understood it; you knew you were on the edge of something and that if you could just get there it would be perfect.

Still, you couldn’t have known how much you would enjoy it.

You couldn’t stop moaning— it was this all-surrounding, ecstatic feeling, like… sinking into something. Relaxing into something… something warm and soft and good. Even a lifetime of religious repression couldn’t convince you this was anything but perfect. Actually, nothing had ever felt right quite the way this did.

Your back arched rather dramatically, until you had a good view of the headboard upside-down; and he gave you few more fast, rough pumps of his fingers into your shaking body before slowing down to a stop and letting you rest.

Suddenly drained, you melted back down onto the bed with a long whine. “How did that feel?” he asked, sounding a little formal about it, and you only could muster a little, exhausted laugh because what did he think you were going to say? ‘It was alright, tickled a little bit, but I didn’t mind it.’

“That was… you… you’re so—” you began a few times, giving up to open your eyes wide when his fingers pet up and down over the seam of your lips, gently exploring you, making you quiver from how sensitive you’d become. You weren’t even done recovering from the stimulation and he was giving you more; he seemed sort of absent-minded about it, the way he gently and repetitively slid up and down and up and down through your slick and swollen folds… but it was deliberate, you knew it was, because he smiled when you moaned weakly.

One finger pressed inside you again, and he watched your face closely and you shuddered. You were just the slightest bit sore, and it felt like that one finger was more of a stretch than before… which seemed impossible, but with the erratic pulsing of your walls, it was a little hard to keep track.

You gasped sharply when he put the second finger in you once more, almost snarling a bit as he watched you react so strongly. “Laszlo, I— I don't think I can do that again—”

“You can, I'm sure of it,” he encouraged, curling his fingers inside of you, which required a bit more force with your channel bearing down against him in response. “It might even come faster this time, that little spot is all swollen now—”

Before he could finish that sentence, he proved it by circling the place, making your hips jump up as another whine eked out of you. “O-oh, I— fuck…”

He smirked a bit, a delicious smugness to his expression, and the emotion looked much too good on him. “See? Just let me take control, my love. I think you'll like what I do, if you simply let me do what I like with you.”

Fuck, that had to be the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard. You were biting your lip to try to keep back the flood of terribly embarrassing things your pleasure wanted to say for you: you can do whatever you like with me; I'm yours; I'd do anything for you; don't ever stop, but also if you don't fuck me soon I might lose my mind, you know, things of that nature. Instead you let out a muffled moan, and nodded to make sure he knew that he had your permission for whatever he thought was best.

And, of course, he’d been right about you: that you’d be even more sensitive after coming, and would be able to go through it all over again. It only took probably a minute or two of dedicated, precise stimulation for the feeling to grow again… except it felt a little stronger this time, like it was building past the point that it had broken at before. Maybe your tolerance was higher, or something? You really weren’t qualified to say— all you could think about was this sensation, this tension, and the way he looked at you as you started to shake all over.

Your eyes fell shut instinctively, your shaking hands clutching at the bed under you; you felt sort of numb all over, except instead of everything being dulled and distant, it was only heightened.

“O-oh, oh, Laszlo, I—” you tried to warn him, words escaping you as the heavy, almost sharp feeling gathered tighter and tighter…

“Give into it,” he insisted, “it’s alright— I want to see it. I want to hear you, I want to feel you when you come—”

His voice was getting darker, rougher, more demanding as he went on; and in the same way, his fingers’ thrusts into you became more aggressive. “Fuck, I— I think I’ll— oh god!” you yelped.

“Yes,” he encouraged, “let go, darling!”

Your arms flailed around for a second before finding a lump in the sheets to grab onto tightly, your hips rocking against his hand, your head falling back in a scream; it was so intense, and so sudden, and you felt like the pressure that had been building broke so violently that it would’ve been painful without all the ecstasy running through your veins, numbing you inside and out.

You could tell that this one was different— hotter, warmer, wetter— but you had no idea what you’d done until the high had started to fade just a bit.

His hand slowed down to a stop, you heard him quietly catching his breath, and you blinked your eyes open… that’s when you noticed small wet stains on his rolled-up sleeve, and shiny fluid along his forearm— and a very proud grin on his face.

You felt your eyes go wide and your cheeks start baking. He spoke up before you could even try to process what to say: “That was excellent, my love— I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so magnificent,” he praised. “You’re incredible.”

You wanted to believe him, but it didn’t really offer much explanation. “Laszlo, I… did I—?”

“No, darling, don’t worry,” he cooed, scooting a little closer on the bed as he pet the inside of your thigh. “It’s natural— one of the… rarer ways that a woman’s body can respond to stimulation. I’ve always found the concept fascinating, but until now, my knowledge was… purely theoretical. Actually, I’d love to gather your perspective on the experience, possibly for a future research paper on the topic— but that’s an issue for another time. There’s a more pressing matter I need to discuss with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious what matter could be discussed in a time like this.

“I… I'd like to try something else,” he announced, and you dropped your head back on the bed in a sort of defeat.

“Something else?!” you whimpered, still catching your breath from the last thing he had “tried”. “What else could there be but making love?”

“That will be soon, I promise, I just… I can't resist such an opportunity,” he explained. “Your scent is so erotic, and it's only grown stronger now that you’ve so generously covered my arm in your ecstasy. And with anything that smells so delectable, one can't help but crave to taste it.”

You'd only heard about this before— sort of a dirty schoolyard secret, almost an urban legend. The whole thing had always sounded odd to you, if maybe not as icky as you thought it was when you first had the concept whispered to you as a child. You didn't realize it was actually something you might experience someday, assuming it was a practice reserved to the especially perverted. Now that he was offering it, you found yourself biting your lip as you tried to imagine what it would be like.

“I'd like to pleasure you with my mouth,” he concluded, really spelling it out for you. “Would that be alright?”

You weren't sure what to think of that, and yet you were already nodding yes. This was your husband, after all— who else could you trust to do something like this? Most of all, you did it because you wanted to please him. Because he'd asked you for it.

He smiled a little when you agreed, and began to lean down between your legs. Those deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle more than ever when he looked up at you, but his gaze couldn't stay with yours for long before he had to give a closer look to your cunt. He carefully spread the lips with his fingers, humming at the sight. “I wonder if it's even possible for you to be as delicious as you look,” he spoke quietly, and a needy whine caught in your throat.

It was just a gentle kiss to your clit first… then another, with his lips parted. Then he started to ever-so-gently suckle at it, tongue softly petting it; he wasn't doing too much, physically, but you never could catch your breath while he was doing it.

You whined a bit when he broke away, looking down at him in search of an explanation but finding instead him looking back up at you with an indescribable look in his eye.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice rougher and darker than you'd ever heard it before, making you shiver gleefully.

“Wet,” you blurted out, making him smile a little, a small laugh on an exhale through his nose that made you feel a bit foolish in an unexpectedly pleasurable way. “A-and warm… please don't stop, Laszlo, it felt so nice…”

He got back to it, a little more intensely than before, and your eyes rolled back when he really started to lap at you with his tongue— harder and wider each time, making you writhe from the intensity of it.

You couldn't even describe the sound you made when he pushed his tongue inside you. He moaned against you in response to it, though, and thank God, he kept going.

He kept petting your thighs, even encouraging you when your legs clamped down around his head unintentionally; presumably that was his way of saying it wasn’t giving him any pain, which you were a bit concerned about, even if you couldn’t really stop yourself. Sometimes you had the strength to meet his gaze, but most of the time you felt like you’d melt if you looked back at him— the way he was staring up at you was just too fiery, too intense, too beautiful.

Just when you thought you were getting used to the pattern of his tongue’s movements on your clit, he gently pushed his two fingers back into your pulsing channel. You were all tingly and sore inside, but a long, deep moan fell from your mouth as your back arched.

“Beautiful,” he praised, the word muffled by what he was doing— which he got back to more urgently than ever, twisting and thrusting his fingers inside you carefully at first.

“J-just like that,” you pleaded. “Oh, Laszlo, I— I didn't know anything could… feel like this…”

You could feel the smallest smirk on his lips as he continued; even just being able to feel his smug smile there was such a lovely, erotic, totally novel concept to you.

When he really buried his face in your legs, you could feel the roughness of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and buttocks, and god was it the most beautifully filthy feeling. It was really an excellent metaphor for the whole thing: the symbol of his maturity, the well-kempt facial hair itself a balance between his wildness and his meticulous self-control, rubbing raw your delicate and untouched skin in such an intimate place. If you weren’t too busy shaking and crying and seeing stars on this bed, you might have appreciated the beauty in those parallels, but clearly you weren’t capable of thinking about it to that level of depth.

The stream of helpless praises you'd been trying to hold back earlier? There was absolutely nothing stopping it from spilling forward now. “You're incredible,” you blurted out, your hand holding tighter to the sheets beneath you. “Laszlo— my husband— you… you must be the devil, o-or an angel or prophet— or something. You make me feel things, such incredible things, that I didn't even know—”

He opened his mouth wide around you, breaking the seal of his lips so he could speak against your skin. “I'm just a man,” he promised, “I'm just a husband becoming addicted to his new wife's pleasure, that's all, my dear.”

As he started to do it again so suddenly, you reacted suddenly as well: your hand found his hair and grabbed it, and your mind was too far gone to worry about it being too aggressive. Not that he gave any signs of annoyance— if anything it was the opposite, as he lapped at you harder in response.

This, of course made your hips jump up— until his hand slipped out of you, grabbing them and pulling them down, keeping you still as he continued. The simple show of dominance affected you greatly, another heavy pulse of pleasure hitting you suddenly.

“I-I'm close,” you whispered. “Laszlo, I'm so close— and it feels so different than before— I swear, nothing's ever felt so— fuck!”

He hummed encouragingly, and your whole body rocked in time with the growing pressure. His fingers sliding back inside you, seeming to curl even more than before, certainly added to the sensation.

Just as you were teetering on the edge, his teeth grazed impossibly-carefully over you, a sharp and raw sort of pleasure jolting your entire body. Of course, you couldn't fight against that, and the feeling inside you snapped as yet another flood of pleasure ripped through your body. Your ears were ringing but you still heard how loud you must have been, how totally wrecked and helpless your moans had become.

It wasn’t as… aggressive of a feeling as the one that had made you… you know… but it was probably the most powerful in its own way. The highest, the heaviest, the most whole. You couldn't hear him moaning against you through all that, but you could feel it: a deep and bassy vibration that only heightened the feeling even more. Your moans turned to cries and then sobs; it was too much, the feeling was spilling over inside you— you weren't sure how much longer you could take it all before you broke.

It seemed, however, that he broke first; he pulled away and sat up, leaving you both panting, sweaty messes.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he sighed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up into a filthy, heated kiss. You surrendered instantly, grabbing into his shoulders with hands that were still pricked with pins and needles as your high dissipated slowly. “I can't wait anymore,” he mumbled against your lips, “I need to be inside you.”

“Please,” you gasped softly— you'd been waiting for this all night, at least. You'd never imagined yourself so eager, so desperate for it, though…

He made quick work untying his robe, leaning over you as he held tightly onto his cock and guided the swollen, leaking head between your lips. Yes, even with desire coursing through your veins, a touch of anxiety was still present. You just couldn’t imagine what this was going to be like, you could still hardly believe it was happening to you— and, though it was a bit crass to think, you were a bit surprised by the brief glance of his cock that you’d gotten. You wouldn’t really know what was big or small or normal or abnormal when it came to that… you had nothing to compare it to. What you did know was that it seemed much… thicker, than seemed appropriate to go inside you. Of course you knew that a young woman’s first experience could be painful, you’d heard that bleeding was normal (if not expected, but that seemed a bit barbaric and certainly not what a progressive man like Laszlo was after) — yet, you still weren’t properly scared. It was just the sort of anticipation that made you shiver and let out a long breath to compose yourself.

He groaned a little as he continued to rub against you, and you noticed the arm that held him up over you was shaking. You could only imagine how frustrating it must have been to be giving you all that attention and not getting any in return for so long, and you could only hope he might take a little of that frustration out on you…

“Please,” you said again, quieter, as you looked up at him. Thankfully, that was enough to make him press forward and slide into you all at once.

While his fingers had stretched you in such strange, sometimes overwhelming ways, his cock… it just fit. It filled you exactly the way you needed— not too wide or too deep… though you suspected it would've been had he not prepared you so incredibly thoroughly. And while his tongue has made you feel such unimaginable things, though his lips had effortlessly sucked ecstasy from your shaking body, having him inside you felt so simple and natural and easy.

He hissed in his breaths as he moved— slow at first, but each one just a bit faster than the last. Every movement stimulated all the places he'd already awoken inside you, and your legs moved on their own to latch around his hips while your head fell back with a satisfied sigh.

“My angel,” he groaned, staring down at you as each of his thrusts rocked you under him. “I knew I— fuck, darling— I knew I'd have trouble keeping myself together when I was finally inside you. Yet you're… you're even more perfect than I imagined.”

You smiled proudly, reaching up to hold his shoulders; he seemed encouraged by that, becoming just a bit rougher in his movements until your nails accidentally dug into his skin just a bit.

“I won't be able to last much longer,” he grunted, “but I-I can't stop. I can't even slow down, I never… I've never lost control like this before.”

A shiver ran up your whole body, even seeming to make you clench inside— and he moaned in return, a beautifully pitiful sound.

“I'm sorry,” he offered between panting breaths, and you barely mustered the energy to laugh.

“Beloved, what do you have to apologize for?” you teased through a grin. “Surely you're not worried that I will be left unsatisfied.”

“I would rather bring you to orgasm again,” he explained, “but I'm so desperate for you, I'm afraid I lack the patience for it.”

“I would rather pleasure my husband, for once,” you replied, “but you couldn't possibly feel what I felt, I don't think I'll ever be able to really return the favor—”

“It's no favor,” he insisted. “Your pleasure is what I desire. And a good wife gives her husband what he desires, no?”

You whimpered desperately, pathetically even. “I'll be good for you, Laszlo,” you promised weakly, “I want to be a good wife to you…”

“You're a very good wife, my dear,” he assured. “Look how much pleasure you've let me take from you, look how you've soaked our bed with your lovely nectar…”

You weren't sure which part of that aroused you the most… but our bed was a serious contender.

“And you taste absolutely divine,” he added, before kissing you again to let you taste it, too. It was a sloppy and needy kiss, not precise and careful like basically everything else he'd done to you so far, but you loved it. You loved any sign that he might be just as desperate as you.

Once again his speed and intensity picked up, until you could hear his skin hitting against yours loudly, and your back arched a bit at how perfectly dirty it felt. His cock hit a spot deep inside you, and you sucked in a sharp breath. “Laszlo,” you blurted out, and he groaned as he moved his kiss to your neck.

“Keep saying my name,” he demanded. “Tell me who your husband is— who makes you feel this way you've never felt before.”

“Laszlo,” you said again, “I'm yours. Anything you want from me, it's yours.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a heavy sigh.

“Your wife, always,” you continued, and it made your own heart swell along with encouraging him: he moved faster, rocked deeper into you, and breathed heavy against your ear as your back arched from the erotic perfection of the moment.

“My wife,” he repeated, making you whine and nod and bear down on him with your walls.

“Yes,” you gasped, “yes— yours, I’m yours—”

“I-I can't hold back anymore,” he moaned, “I don't… I don't even know if I can bring myself to pull out before—”

“Don't,” you begged. “I want it inside, Laszlo. I want all of you inside me.”

“Oh, darling, mein Schatz, I—” he choked, but he never finished his sentence. He just moaned louder and louder and fucked you faster and faster— until you were nearly screaming from how hard he hammered into you.

It stopped all at once; he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could, so deep you felt like you were struggling to breathe, and hid his face in the curve of your neck as he came inside you.

And for a long, beautiful moment, you just laid together; you were sort of halfway between awake and asleep, your whole body thrummed with emotions and sensations you never thought you could fit within yourself. Time passed, surely, but you wouldn’t have known the difference. His weight on top of you wasn’t too heavy, though it did keep you pressed into the mattress and sheets— not that you were going anywhere anyways.

You only really came back to reality when you felt small kisses trailing your neck; you hummed and squirmed a little beneath him, making you both groan as it stirred where you were connected. He must have been a bit sore, too, though you felt like you’d been through quite a lot more and had a better excuse.

He moved again, just barely, and you winced as you held onto his back. “Don’t go,” you whispered, afraid of the pain if he didn’t just stay still inside you.

“I have to, sometime,” he breathed in return.

“But—”

“I know, my love,” he cooed, “I’d stay inside you forever if I could. But I’ll hurt you more if I don’t give you time to rest.”

Resigning yourself with a sigh, you nodded a little and scrunched up your face as he pulled his hips back. It did sting, but it faded quickly once he was out— and the feeling was replaced with a warm, wet feeling that you realized must have been his seed leaking out of you. It made you feel a bit dirty, but wonderful, too.

He laid beside you with a deep breath, his hand coming up to your face and turning it so you would look back at him. You had to blink a few times to really see clearly, and even still, everything seemed a bit blurry around the edges. The whole world seemed a bit softer, really. “I love you, darling wife,” he told you simply, his voice soft but no longer a whisper, and he pet your cheek as he leaned in to kiss the bridge of your nose.

“I love you too, husband,” you cooed in reply. “You’re so wonderful— a-and you’re nothing like I imagined, sometimes.”

“Perhaps I should have been more careful,” he offered nervously.

“No— that was perfect,” you promised.

“I meant the very end, there,” he clarified, his hand running down over your body and resting on your stomach. “You might have wanted to wait longer… if you had a child so soon, you might wish we had more time just the two of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he meant. “Oh, that…” you mumbled, smiling a bit to yourself.

“I fully intended to have my finish elsewhere, to lower the chances— I didn’t think I would become so… impulsive,” he sighed. “I hoped to still control myself, but I’m afraid I wasn’t quite able to, once I was within you. But I couldn’t help it, with the way you feel…”

“It’s alright,” you laughed weakly, “it’s not as if I were acting rationally. I never… I didn’t think I could be so… so—”

A thousand words came to mind. Unladylike. Animalistic. Desperate. Insatiable.

“I didn’t think I’d ever act like that,” you said instead, voice getting a little softer as you felt a bit shy again.

“I knew you would,” he responded, making you look at him with wide eyes and warming cheeks.

“You— but I— I was always—!”

“Yes, you behaved very well each time I met you” he recalled with a proud smile, “always so sweet and well-mannered. But I knew you had so much need within you, so much hunger… a being of pure instinct just waiting to take over when the time was right.”

Your heart skipped a beat— you felt a bit… accused by that statement, yet you couldn’t really deny it. Even if you hadn’t known it before, it was clearly true now. “How… how could you have sensed that?” you wondered.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you again; you loved the way he looked in that moment. His expression was familiar, but the total lack of composure— flushed cheeks, sweat on his brow, messed hair— was totally new and quite pleasant. “If you didn’t have any desire to misbehave, my darling, you wouldn’t have been going out with me.”

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler smut

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jomarch-wannabe · 2 months

Text

Daydreaming

Laszlo Kreizler x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut 🔞 (fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v sex, him speaking absolute filth in German, basically the inner workings of my sex deprived mind)

Warm amber light filled the cabin of the train as you and Laszlo journeyed home. A novel sat in your lap, capturing your attention for most of the ride. After a little while though, boredom got the better of you, and you flicked your eyes up to Laszlo sitting across from you. He was lost in thought, watching the passing scenery out the window. A rhythmic thumping commenced in your chest as you watched him, mesmerized by the habitual stroking of his fingers tugging at his dense facial hair.

The book on your lap shuffled slightly as your thighs shifted together. You swallowed, trying to peel your gaze from him, but they were stuck. Glued to him by a thick, sticky, invisible substance: lust.

Heat rushed to your face as your mind unwillingly became flooded with obscene thoughts. You bit your lip subconsciously as you imagined his large fingers pushing into your mouth. Spreading over your tongue and sucking on them, as you looked up into his commanding dark eyes. Coaxing deep groans from him, as he would become aroused, growing hard from the slippery suctioning of your mouth, imagining how they would feel sucking on his cock.

God you wanted that too. The heavy weight of his cock in your mouth, stealing your breath as you pulled deep groans from his chest, praising you in his German tongue. To be his good little schatz.

You'd free his fingers with a pop and he'd eagerly lift up your skirt, pulling you onto his lap with ease as he held open your legs with one hand, taking the fingers you just lubricated with your saliva and pushing them inside of you.

Curling and thrusting over and over again, hitting your sensitive spot, each time sending jolts of pleasure down your legs, until it's too much, and your head is spinning and you're holding onto his wrist, beads of sweat rolling down your flushed face.

"Laszlo.. Laszlo.." a choked whimper would come out in prayer like muttering, thanking him. Leaving red nail marks on the tops of his hands as you clawed at his shifting knuckles, reaching your climax.

"Be a good girl for me liebling. Come for me, go on schatz, come for me." He would mutter against your ear, making you shiver with his coarse facial hair.

His deep baritone would be your undoing, making you convulse suddenly in ecstasy, hips rutting against his hand as your eyes fall closed. The firm tip of his nose brushing against your neck, ticking your skin as he muttered breathless praises.

The weight of his large hands would come suddenly over your waist, manhandling you so you were facing him. It would be his turn. You'd hold onto the fur lapels of his coat, panting as you're just coming down from your high.

You'd be given barely any time to protest before he'd force you onto his thick cock, pinning your arms behind your back with his strong masculine grip. A helpless choked whimper would flee your throat at the feeling. Squirming uselessly as he fucks you hard and fast, smacking his thighs against yours, over and over and over, hitting that spot so deep. God it would feel so good, so full, so stretched out.

A unison panting would saturate the air as your bodies collide, chasing your highs. In exhaustion your head would dip forward, resting lazily against his forehead as your body was helplessly used.

"You feel so fucking good schatz. So fucking tight. Mein Gott." His Adam's Apple would bob with his moans, uttering German praises.

"F-fuck." a pathetic whimper would flee your trembling lips, numb with pleasure as his cock pounds ruthlessly in and out of you.

"Are you close schatz?" His voice would vibrate against your skin as he speaks against your chest, peppering sloppy kisses along your collarbones.

"Y-yes, Laszlo please." You'd squeak, groaning slightly from the burning ache in your arms pulled behind you.

The desperation in your squirming would only serve to spur him on. In a deep, frantic pace he would command you once more, "Come for me schatz, come on my cock. Let go, that's it, come on my cock."

His words would be your undoing. With a high pitched moan you would shake violently against him, rutting your hips as your second orgasm hit you, even more intense than the last. He would follow you, groaning loudly as his grip tightened, leaving red marks on your wrists as he injected you with his warm release.

You’d pull away slightly in overstimulation, making a mess on top of his thighs. He would release your arms, capturing your face with his hands and pulling you into a hungry, open mouthed kiss. A primal growl would flee his lips, satisfied at his claiming of you.

A string of saliva would connect your lips as he would pull back, "So fucking perfect, my little Engel." His lips would brush against yours, making you shudder with his intense brown eyed gaze.

"Y/n?" The deep sound of Laszlo’s voice abruptly awoke you from your sensual daydream. “What's the matter darling?" He asked curiously, eyeing you with his deep-set observant eyes. “You look to be in some sort of trance.”

"N-nothing.” A violent blush rose to your cheeks as you looked down at your lap. The pages of your book were crinkled from your grasp. You gasped softly, moving it aside to find a dark spot marking the red velvet cushion between your thighs.

A heavy inhale filled your chest as you looked up, surprised to see Laszlo smirking with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Is there something I can help you with schatz?”

#daniel brühl #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler smut #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kriezler x reader #Daniel brühl smut

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lorna-d-m · 1 year

Text

Chapter Three: Emails

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

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

Word Count: 2,831

W: Drinking, language.

A/N: Heyyyyyyyyyyy y'all. Good news, my semester is over! So hopefully I can make steady progress on this fic over the summer.

previous chapter

Alice sat at her desk scrolling through her emails. There were still a few minutes before students would stream through the halls, so she thought she would take advantage of the time while half-heartedly eating a granola bar. Alice skimmed through typical messages pertaining to district news, reminders about school policy, and pleas for club chaperone volunteers or coverage for another class.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw an email from Dr. Kreizler though she could not explain why. She ignored the subject line and clicked on the email. His tone was professional and polite, even wishing her a pleasant morning. She could hear his voice through the text, even imagining the soft accented lilt. He requested updates on unit tests and paper due dates so he would be aware of when Stevie should be studying or working. Dr. Kreizler mentioned, as he did at the open house, that Stevie was not a traditional student. This was his first time attending public school in two years, and prior to that, he was not known for his perfect attendance or grades. Stevie has potential, Dr. Kreizler urged her to remember, but he requires structure and support to succeed.

Alice took a sip of her coffee. She was almost out of creamer and rationed, so it did not taste as good. He must have sent a similar email to all of Stevie’s teachers, she thought, until she caught a note at the end clearly meant for her.

I checked the reading list for this semester, and I am thrilled you chose Lord of the Flies. It was one of my favorites as a student. I remember writing a paper analyzing the novel from a psychological perspective; even then my interest in psychology was strong. Admittedly, I am tempted to re-read it alongside the class’s reading to see what piques my interest now.

A smile flickered across her face, quick and furtive. Alice did not know what to say, and thankfully she did not need to respond immediately. She wanted to talk with him about the book and pick his brain, but a little voice in her head told her not to. Instead, she should grant his request to know summative assignments and leave it at that. But then again, there was nothing wrong with discussing a book.

Ugh, perhaps she should talk to Bitsy before emailing him back. But then she would ask questions and poke into why Alice felt so uncertain, and she did not want to open that can of worms.

The bell trilled, and Alice snapped out of it. She switched tabs, hit the button for the projector, and pushed the dreamy Dr. Kreizler from her mind. Alice enjoyed this part of the morning before classes began when people could chat and plan, and there was still hope for the day.

***

“Did you see admin’s email about coverage?” Bitsy popped her leftover pasta in the microwave. “I signed up for Smith’s class during my planning.” She leaned against the counter with her arms crossed while she waited.

“I did,” Alice sighed, “and I didn’t sign up for either of them. It’s not worth twenty bucks to me.” She took another bite of her sandwich and wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

Bitsy stirred her pasta, still cold in the center, and stuck it back in the microwave. “Fair, not when you need to lesson plan and prep,” she chided.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Alice punctuated her point with a long sip of her water. She was still sorting out her plans for the end of the week, and Bitsy knew it.

“Anything else going on?” Bitsy finally sat down across from Alice with her Pasta.

Well, to be fair, Stevie was also in Bitsy’s class, so she probably received an email as well. It could be a casual conversation regarding an email they both received. There was no reason for it to venture into the uncharted territory of how his comment made her smile and how he held her eyes when they spoke at open house and the soft lilt in his voice.

“I got an email from Dr. Kreizler, and since you seem to know a bit more about him, I thought I would ask what you thought of it.” Bitsy nodded knowingly. “I can pull it up now-”

“-no bother, I know what you’re talking about. I got the same this morning.”

“Afternoon, ladies,” Coach Connor entered the break room with a small nod, wave, and his lunchbox. They acknowledged him with a polite response and returned to their conversation.

“Honestly, he can sound like a bit of dick over email,” Bitsy shrugged, “but remember that he has good intentions.” Alice was taken aback while Bitsy continued. “He spends all day helping other people, so he doesn’t have time to be polite in his emails.”

Coach Connor hovered on the edge of their conversation, and he took their pause to butt in. “Are you talking about that whack job Doctor Kreizler? Because I got his email this morning, and I don’t like his attitude.”

“Well, I-”

“-I don’t believe in mollycoddling these students, and he has no right to go sticking his nose into the way I teach. He can have all these fancy ideas about how to teach, but I’ve been in that gym for over twenty years.”

Alice and Bitsy sat in uncomfortable silence while Coach Connor ranted. They didn’t want to interrupt him or defend Dr. Kreizler for fear of receiving Connor’s red faced yelling.

“-And I talked to my buddy Byrnes the other night, retired from the police station you know, and he sure had a lot to say about that crackpot Kreizler and his delinquent.”

She wanted to tune him out, but she was curious about what he had to say. Clearly, she knew to take what Coach Connor said with a grain of salt — or a handful —, and she did not want to give him the satisfaction of her attention. Alice did her best to seem uninterested though her heart raced.

“He told me all about “Steve-pipe”, and if it was up to me he wouldn’t be here,“ he gave them a knowing, condescending look. “Theft and assault, of an officer no less, I don’t know how that man weasled him into this school. It’s a disgrace,” he huffed. “I won’t let any of that fly, not in my gym. He’ll learn in my class,” Connor chuckled darkly.

Alice’s stomach flipped, and she cleared her throat to speak. “From what I’ve seen in my class, he seems to be turning over a new leaf.” Bitsy smiled and nodded in support while Connor crossed his arms in disbelief. “I think we should respect that, and approach him with an open mind. Is that so much to ask for?”

“Well,” Connor scoffed, “if he ever tries to pull anything in your class, give me a call.” He wrote his number on a scrap piece of paper. “You know I’ll handle him,” Connor winked. He left soon after.

“Ew,” Bitsy laughed, “Did he just hit on you?”

Too stunned to speak, Alice blinked slowly. “Yes, I believe he did. Now excuse me while I throw this away.” She crumpled the scrap paper.

Stretching his back and rolling his neck, Laszlo settled into the plush leather armchair. He thought he would have time to cook dinner for once, but a mild emergency at the Institute prevented him from leaving on time. Stevie said he understood on the phone and didn’t mind, but his tone dropped when Laszlo said he would have to pick something up. Guilt weighed in his chest for canceling, as Stevie would often assist him in the kitchen cutting and dicing whatever he needed, but he knew if he left he would have felt worse.

And, if Stevie’s disappointment wasn’t enough, the responses from his teachers were less than positive. Some provided vague answers, while others outright dismissed and disrespected him. He scrolled through his inbox, deleting unimportant emails on instinct when he spotted something significant.

Ms. Greene responded to his email in the afternoon. He double-clicked on the email and leaned forward. Her answer was polite, helpful, and genuinely kind. Of course, that was his impression of her at the open house. She seemed the most receptive to him and Stevie as if she was genuinely excited to have him in her class. Laszlo remembered her enthusiasm.

She said she would be “happy to help” since the parents and the teachers form a team to help the student succeed. Laszlo smiled at that. He remembered saying the same thing to parents at the Institute. It was nice to see someone agree with him. She went on to say she overheard unkind comments regarding Stevie’s background in the teacher’s lounge, and she is sorry if his teachers are holding his past against him. Ms. Greene wanted him to know she understands Stevie is in the process of turning over a new leaf, and he needs all the positive encouragement and support he can get. Laszlo felt relieved that at least one of Stevie’s teachers understood. He spent many late nights worrying about Stevie’s well-being and adapting to high school, and one sympathetic teacher could make all the difference.

At the end, she left a note for him.

If you find yourself so tempted to read alongside us, please let me know what you think. I would love to know your insights.

His heart skipped a beat, and if he thought about it for a moment he could rationalize why. But Laszlo did not want to think of that. He did not have time for feelings or doubt. Instead, he started drafting a response so he could call it a night. Laszlo was willing to bet who spoke in the teacher’s lounge, but he was not the gambling type. That was for John, or even Stevie when he didn’t think he would be caught.

I am disheartened someone would speak of a child that way, but I confess I suspected something like this may occur. I hoped it would be later in the year when his teachers formed impressions and ideas of him without this knowledge, but it seems that is not to be. I can imagine the thoughts that may have run through your head, and I appreciate you for maintaining an open mind. Thank you for letting me know. I truly appreciate it.

Laszlo stared at the email. Something did not feel right to him, but he did not have the energy to fix it either. Instead, he saved the message as a draft and told himself he would return to it in the morning. Laszlo shut down his laptop and turned out his desk light, leaving his office until tomorrow evening.

He changed out of his slacks and button-up shirt, telling himself he would do laundry soon. Stevie offered to wash their clothes at the same time, but he did not pay enough attention to the water temperature and settings as Laszlo liked. It was well-intentioned but unpreferred. Perhaps he could make up for the dinner incident with Stevie on the weekend. He could pick something that would take time to cook, such as soup or braised meat, and Stevie could assist him with the prep work.

A cheesy cooking competition show played on the television, but neither woman sitting on the couch paid any attention to it. They scrolled on their phones, sending each other posts, and sipped their wine glasses.

“I’m thinking of doing a face mask,” Alice decided.

Bitsy didn’t bother to look up from her phone. The two friends were comfortable and familiar enough with each other that half their conversations passed without ever making eye contact. “Which one?”

“Maybe the lavender? It’s supposed to reduce stress, and we know I need that,” she laughed. “Plus I love the smell.”

“True true. If you’re getting one out, can you grab me one?”

“Of course.”

While up, Alicce also refilled their wine glasses and the snack bowl of chips. She knew Bitsy’s apartment like the back of her hand. Alfred, Bitsy’s adorable gray cat, made his presence known, and Bitsy called to him. He was shyer than Georgie but warmed up to Alice after several years of friendship.

She sat back down on the couch, and her fingers hesitated over her phone. One of the contestants was from Germany, and his accent reminded her of Dr. Kreizler. Alice glanced at Bitsy, and she was distracted by her own phone. Still feeling suspicious, she typed his name into the university staff directory search bar.

There was a small, professional photo next to his name. Light blue to gray background, and he wore a black suit jacket. He did not smile, and his piercing eyes gave him a hawkish appearance. Alice did not realize how much a smile changed his mien until she noted its absence.

He completed a doctoral degree in psychology at Harvard. Laszlo published numerous academic papers regarding criminal psychology before shifting his focus to child psychology. He taught introductory psychology to undergraduates, and criminal psychology courses to graduate students.

Bitsy glanced up from her phone to ask about changing the channel and found Alice engrossed in her phone. She was practically hunched over, not quite scrolling, with her thumb hovering over the bottom of her screen.

“Whatcha doin?”

Alice was so startled she dropped her phone in her lap. Her phone lay screen up showing Dr. Kreizler’s university picture. Bitsy looked from the phone, to Alice, and back to the phone.

“Listen, I-” Alice blushed.

“-I’m not here to judge,” Bitsy assured her. “I’m here to guide you, my padawan.”

Alice giggled, embarrassed and relieved. She could always count on Bitsy.

Bitsy took another sip of her wine and petted Alfred as he sashayed by the couch. “If you’re going to internet stalk him, you need to do it right. First, if you’re looking at his university bio, then you should also check his Rate My Professor. Get the balance of his professional work and what his students think of him.”

“You’re a genius.” Alice picked up her phone and started typing in the website. “I never would’ve thought of that.”

“Read my ass off, came to all office hours, still barely got a D in his 100 level”

“Horrible with freshmen, amazing with grad students. If you can’t survive his intro, drop the course.”

“He psychoanalyzed me in front of the entire class on the first day. I dropped the course.”

“Helped me with my thesis, but horribly blunt and rude the entire time.”

“Fuck this guy.”

“Great depth of knowledge that he may use against you.”

“Oh.” Alice kept scrolling, but Bitsy held out her hand. Alice surrendered the phone and stretched against the armrest.

“Ouch,” Bitsy grimaced. “A few positive, some neutral, and a whole lot of negative.”

“But I feel like most people who leave a review are people who had a bad experience.” Bitsy looked at her skeptically, one eyebrow raised in judgment. “Like if you have an okay or even a great time, you don’t think to say anything. At least I never did. But if you hate it, you’re going to shout it from the rooftops.”

Bitsy couldn’t resist teasing her. “Sounds like you’re defending your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she protested with a playful kick. “He probably doesn’t like me like that, and if he did, it’s got to be some kind of breach of ethics. I’m teaching his kid.”

“That could be a conflict of interest,” Bitsy admitted, “or it could be a happy coincidence to bring you together.” Alice snorted and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t he bring you coffee this week? What was it, Wednesday afternoon?”

“No, it was Tuesday. He came to pick up Stevie, and he wanted to have a quick conversation with each of Stevie’s teachers regarding his recent emails.”

“Uh huh, I remember. He spoke briefly with me, too, and I certainly didn’t receive coffe.”

“He’s just polite like that, I suppose.” Alice knew it was a feeble defense as soon as she said it.

“Does this,” Bitsy pointed to his Rate My Professor score, “seem like the kind of guy who commits random acts of kindness?” She waited for Alice’s response with eyebrows raised in certainty.

“Maybe?”Alice’s voice inflection revealed the truth.

“Yeah, he’s into you, babe. I think you should go for it, and get some of that German sausage while you’re at it.”

Alice giggle snorted again, shocked but not surprised at Bitsy’s humor. As much as Bitsy insisted, Alice did not believe Dr. Kreizler was interested in her. There could be a dozen reasons for the coffee and smile, reserved for her. A dozen reasons not to get her hopes up. To wear her heart close to her chest. To keep her head screwed on her shoulders. A dozen reasons…

Next chapter

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

#laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #daniel brühl fanfic #daniel brühl fanfiction #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 months

Text

Chapter One: A Change In Attitude

Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

The Devil In Manhattan

Summary: Intent on acquiring a job at the Kriezler Institute, you attempt to provide for yourself as a woman living on her own in New York City. Whether your plans succeed or not is dependent on your actions.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Scolding, Rudeness, PTSD,

Mentions of: Murder,

A/N: Despite the following, for story's sake I won't spoil it, but trust me, it is a reader insert.

It was a necessity, all a part of the plan; an expected transfer, a job wherever followed, somewhere close in reach of your sister. You'd come close to a divergence, the cautious eye of the Headmaster unsure whether you'd be a good fit for his Institute. Yet, the unexpected dismissal of a staff member meant that a replacement was needed, and thus, a spot opened up just in time! Fortunate luck, you'd reckon.

There'd been rumors, gossip of what the recently notorious Doctor Kriezler was like. Though you'd done a brief interview with him, there was still an air of interrogation, a hostile sense that despite answering all of his questions in length, it was as if he could see through you. That he knew something was fishy. Was something awry? You're not sure, however, the fact that he's known for calling people out is something that does you and your case no favors.

Upon your first day of work, you're handed a uniform. Grey in nature, you don't mind the way the plain fabric of the frock suits you. It isn't ostentatious or attention-seeking in any way, shape, or form. Something different from the dresses you'd been used to wearing prior. Having been given a room the day before to move into, even if you'd only brought a sparing number of items in your suitcase, an allotted day was still favorable. Set up in the dormitory, you were to oversee the girl's hall during nights. Now, having eaten breakfast with the children and staff in the cafeteria only a half hour ago, your colleague, Helena, guides you around the Institute.

"Usually the Headmaster would take on such responsibilities," she informs you, "however he's been intent on finding that killer of late. He denies it. Ludicrous, if you ask me." With a solemn shake of her head, the woman, at least a decade your senior, guides you through the long halls of the Kriezler Institute.

"Is that so?" You respond, curious to hear more about not only hear which murder she's referring to, but hopefully acquire more about the Headmaster supposedly playing the part of detective? If you haven't misinterpreted her words, that is.

"Miss Sanktorini, I can assure you it is unprofessional to fraternize whilst on the job, nevertheless unladylike to speak on such matters. I'd think you'd know better." Taken aback by Helena's response, your steps slow down, your figure falling behind slightly. She'd started it! She was the one who brought it up. Euuugggh- and the audacity she has to implicate me?! Attempting to control your breath, you run your hands down the apron of your frock before picking up the pace again.

Eyes roaming the elegant window-lined halls of the Institute, you're surprised that it's much bigger on the inside than it'd looked on the outside. High ceilings adorned with chandeliers, walls decorated with paintings and busts atop podiums, you can't even begin to imagine how the Headmaster acquired the amount of wealth it'd take to fund this place. Helena prattles on about routine and the different activities going on in the classrooms you pass, though none of it interests you, really. Her words linger in the back of your mind, digesting the information for if it ever becomes useful, however, you can't help but admire the foliage outside in the courtyard.

"It is rather beautiful, isn't it?" Helena speaks your thoughts aloud as she comes to a stop at the end of the hallway, books still saddled on her hip.

"Stunning," you respond, hands lazily clasped in front of yourself as you make no motion to move.

"The Headmaster has a few gardeners who maintain the lawn, while we maintain the innergoings of the Institute. Firstly I'll-" A shrill dinging sound emits from everywhere all at once and you can't help the way you jump. With the way that the sound of doors slamming open and the quick padding of feet follow, you finally recognize the sound. It was only the bell. Unconsciously your hand flew to your chest and you find it there now as your heart races within the confines beneath your corset under the uniform frock.

"The bell rings multiple times a day. Once in the morning for breakfast, then again for the children's recess, and finally for lunch and dinner." Helena dusts off a piece of flint from her dress which you hadn't seen. "Our tour comes to an end anyhow, the entrance is just through those doors to your right. Now that it's recess hour, I suppose your first task can be to help the other staff outside in watching over the children. Find Clarissa, you'll be in her charge for the remainder of your stay."

With nothing more than a curt wave of her hand, she leaves you to your own devices. Normally, you'd find this impolite and demand some sort of direction. This only provides the perfect opportunity for you today. After all, the only purpose for your appearance is Elizabeth. She crosses your mind once more, and you find yourself looking back down the hall where teachers have gathered their students in lines, leading them in your direction. Will Elizabeth be in one of them? She has to be here, you think to yourself.

Determination in your veins, you close your eyes for a moment to gather yourself, memories, and the impetus of your plan surfacing to the forefront of your mind. It's like you're right back there, the scent of the flames burned into your nostrils, smoke causing your eyes to burn and itch. Breathing more rapidly, it takes a moment for you to come out of your stupor, the reason being the people passing to your left, just inches from you.

"Who are you?" One of the children asks, the young girl holding up the line as she stares up at you, a curious look upon her face.

"I've never seen you here before!" A boy comments, garnering the rest of the line's attention.

"Children, it's impolite to bother strangers," the teacher reminds, having turned on her heel at the outbursts and started to walk over. "You must be the new attendant," the woman speaks, offering you a gentle smile and outstretched hand. "I'm Clarissa Aerborn."

"Marina Sanktorini," you respond, meeting her hand with yours in a firm shake. "I was supposed to find you! Helena told me you'd be my supervisor," you inform her.

"Oh? Well, it's a pleasure, Miss Sanktorini. Children, this is Miss Sanktorini. She'll be accompanying our class for the remainder of the day. Let's get to the courtyard," she introduces herself before following suit with her children. With a beckoning hand, she guides you down the hallway and out one of the side doors into the courtyard you'd been mesmerized by earlier.

The teacher lists out a set of instructions, or guidelines, for her children before letting them run free in the yard. Once she turns to you, intent on making conversation, you listen diligently, even while Elizabeth consumes your mind. She has to be somewhere around here, you remind yourself.

"It's rather amusing, actually. We haven't had anyone new in awhile so you should understand tha-"

"Is there anywhere else the children play at recess?" You inquire, the thought consuming you, even if you're sure it came across as rude to interrupt her.

Taken aback, Clarissa gathers herself for a moment before shaking her head. "All the children play here, unless they're summoned by the Headmaster for a meeting, or perhaps were put on punishment, though that's a rarity. Doctor Kriezler doesn't believe tha-

"Forgive me for interrupting, it's just that I have so many questions, and I'm afraid that Helena wasn't favorable to any," you explain.

"Ah... I see. Helena can be quite a-" Clarissa is about to speak her mind before she spots a child, her eyes roaming as she attempts to find a proper phrase. "well... you know."

"I believe I do. You seem to be so close with the children. How did you manage that?" You ask, attempting to form a reason for departing the conversation, even if she is rather nice.

"Well, you'll get to know them over time. I wouldn't worry too much since it's only your first day," she responds with a friendly and encouraging smile.

"Perhaps I'll attempt to introduce myself," you propose. This should be a sufficient reasoning for your departure, and won't make you look suspicious. Two things you'd desperately hoped for. Recess would be the perfect opportunity to find Elizabeth and give her a quick message, let her know that everything is okay and that you're alive.

Albeit, the task seems much harder than you'd thought. Out of all the children in the courtyard, blondes seem to be rather common. A quiet sigh tumbles past your lips as you attempt to scan their faces, searching the crowd for one that's familiar. You could pick your little sister out in a crowded street square, not to mention the crowds of the theatre, so this shouldn't be too difficult. Yet, with everyone running around and moving about, it's rather trying.

Eventually, you start to approach some of the children on the outskirts, not playing with the others. Most of them don't seem to know your sister or haven't seen her today. Still, you introduce yourself, seeking out your reasoning for this job. The bright light of the sunrays streaming through the leaves and branches begins to leave you with a headache, a dull tug of pain behind your eyes. It's only as you're beginning to grow half-hearted in your determination that a call of your name rings out clearly amongst all the chatter.

Panic rises, whatever pain had been troubling you is suddenly no longer in focus as you race to meet the voice. Careful not to get hit by one of the balls or trample an innocent child, you reach the little girl who had been running toward you. "Shhhh, shh," you command, one hand holding her head while the other brushes her hair back behind her ears. "You know how Mommy thinks that I'm dead?" Crouching to her level, you speak to her quietly.

"But you're here! You're here!" Elizabeth cries, jumping for joy despite the tears that well up in her eyes.

"I know. I'm here... yet you can't tell anyone, Lizzie. You have to keep it a secret between us. Remember how I told you that things were dangerous, how I had to save you? I promise-" you run your hand over her hair, sitting back on your heels just enough to search her eyes and gauge her reaction. "I still promise I'll make things safe for us. You have to trust me, okay? And in trusting me, no one can know my name. I changed it, it's Marina Sanktorini from now on, okay?"

Though you know she's probably confused on some of the details and reasonings that were best left to her ignorance, she nods in understanding. If anyone had understood the things you went through and the pain you'd suffered at the behest of someone you once admired, it was her. Everything you'd done... everything you ever did was for her. To protect Elizabeth and shield her from the awful things and people that roam the Earth.

"Do you understand, Lizzie? It has to be a secret between us," you repeat, sure that your gaze set upon her is beyond intense, but it's for good reason. You have to know; at this point things are life and death for the two of you.

"Mhm, I understand," Elizabeth repeats, sniffling as her fist comes up to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand.

"What's going on here? Did someone get hurt?" It's the teacher. Damn it! You were hoping for more time to talk to Elizabeth, but at least you got your message across. The teacher bends at the waist, inspecting the way you have Elizabeth's crying face between your hands in a gentle hold.

"I think so, you're okay, right? What was it, Elizabeth? Or should I call you Lizzie?" You ask, a smile tugging across your lips as stare at her fondly, glad to have her back within your reach.

"Lizzie! It's Lizzie," she responds happily, the smile on her lips clearly giving Miss Aerborn an answer.

"Alright, well it's good to see you making friends with the children, Miss Sanktorini," Clarissa responds, offering you a hand up. Begrudgingly taking it, you let her guide you back toward the front of the courtyard.

"You can't leave! You can't-" Elizabeth protests, running after you both a few steps. When you turn around, you can't help the tug you feel at your heartstrings as guilt clouds your emotions. Even if you know it's something you should probably feel the least considering all you've sacrificed.

"I'm afraid I need to continue showing Miss Sanktorini around, Elizabeth. You can play with her later," Clarissa retorts. With a gentle pull she resumes the path she'd taken, you following with a frown as you offer one last, hopeful look in your sister's direction. Mouthing an 'it's okay', you gather yourself enough to turn and face the music. After all, now you have a guise to put up.

~~~~~~~~

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