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hereticpriest · 1 month

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Bite

Rating: Mature?

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

Warnings: Heavily implied odaxelagnia, period typical misogyny, period typical relationship culture, period typical discussion of a physical disability.

Note: Kincsem means 'my treasure' and szerelmem means 'my love' in Hungarian.

Warmth sinks into your back as you lean heavily against the strong legs and plush sofa behind you, chasing away the chill you might've had from sitting on the cold floor. Your upper body is wedged somewhat between bony knees and soft thighs, holding you in place in case you were to fall asleep. It wouldn't be the first time. A blissful sigh leaves your lips as you nuzzle your cheek against your arms, pillowed beneath your head and draped lazily over your dear doctor's thigh. The fingers of his non-dominant hand comb shyly through your hair, still learning to touch you with what he refers to as his deformity when he manages to speak of it.

His voice, thickly accented when he's as relaxed as he is now in the fire's crackling light with you at his feet, lilts over the words of whatever book he's chosen to read for you tonight. You haven't absorbed much of it, though you believe it to be a text rather than a novel - delving into the science behind love, how quaint - since he keeps pausing to underline passages as he goes. He doesn't ever seem to do that with novels - that's your territory. He often remarks that he likes to read some of his favourites again after you've made your way through them simply because he likes to read the little notes you've jotted down in the margins.

You let out a plaintive noise as he removes his hand from your hair, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes to look up at him with all the disgruntled displeasure of a toddler told no. His eyebrow raises at you as if to ask what you plan to do about it, and you scoff, shifting your arm ever so slightly to give you room to sink your teeth into the meat of his thigh. He yelps, fisting your hair in order to wrench your head back, and you let him. Your lips form a smug grin, eyes half-lidded and smouldering. The would-be pain of having your hair pulled bleeds into pleasure instead, sparking like wildfire under your skin.

"No biting, kincsem." He murmurs, guiding your head back down to his leg delicately for a man who’d just yanked on your hair. You wait on baited breath to see if he'll keep touching you, and hum with delight when he does, indulging you despite the fact that it reinforces your unfortunately bratty behaviour. He's been trying to get you out of the habit of biting since you met, with very little success. First, as a typist at the Kreizler Institute with a bad habit of biting the skin around your nails - stress induced, due to the pressure from your parents to marry instead of working for him. He had recommended a healthy outlet for your stress and a set of gloves to redirect you, and while the gloves did work when you weren’t actively typing, you hadn’t yet found an outlet for your stress. Then, your parents found a suitor for you willing to overlook your unfortunate desire to make something of yourself beyond a wife and mother, which led to you biting the thenar eminence of your dominant hand until you had to wear gloves to hide the marks and bruises. The gloves were somewhat of a deterrent when you wore them, as you learned to get quite adept at wearing them while typing, and had to pull them up to bite properly.

As you were reluctantly contemplating the aforementioned suitor's offer of courtship, Laszlo came to you with an offer of his own, a decidedly sweeter offer despite your parent's distaste for foreigners and lack of respect for his profession. He was still a wealthy man (wealthier than the alternative) of good standing (relative to the man they'd found for you) with a somewhat prestigious job, who wished to marry you with some level of expediency. Up until that point, you'd done your best to look at Laszlo as Dr. Kreizler - your boss first, and a man a distant second - in order to avoid any misunderstandings or scandals. You did not acknowledge his good looks, or his delectable accent, or the way his eyes seemed to see right through you. None of those things were relevant to your job. Somehow, you’d managed to do quite well in removing the man of him from the equation.

When he proposed a courtship, it had not been a way to save you from a worse fate like you might have feared it to be if you'd ever even had an inkling to the idea that he might ask. Which you hadn’t, because you had blinded yourself to him willfully to achieve a healthy working relationship. An entire world of possibility opened up between you when he forced your hand and made you finally acknowledge him as something other than your polite and kind boss, Dr. Kreizler. Your good doctor had asked you with sweetly pink cheeks and a flustered tongue, an honest fear in his eyes as he attempted quite needlessly to be forthright about his faults and how he might make up for them. You knew who he was. As you allowed yourself to think of him as an option, you realised how good of a man he truly was. He wasn’t a perfect man, certainly. He had a habit of being manipulative, and was far too shrewd not to recognize it. He lacked some social graces, which had given him the ability to see people that society had shunned, but also made him a bit abrasive at times. He was profoundly intelligent, which led him to sometimes confront people with the things they did not want to be faced with.

And yet, he was kind. Compassionate. He saw beyond your pretty wrapping to the heart of you, and appreciated both. He indulged you even when you were difficult. He gave everyone a chance based on merit, not class. His love warmed you like a fire, and very rarely burned you in equal measure. He was incredibly handsome, distinguished, and carried his age well. He dressed well, groomed himself appropriately and his voice made you quake. His arm did little if anything at all to quell your passion for him, once he lit the fire. All it took was one spark for you to burn.

It was as if the moment he began courting you, you began to see things you had never noticed before. Things that had always been there, and yet you had been completely blind to them. Despite the difficulty it gave him, he always pulled out your chair for you. He offered you his arm anytime you two had to walk anywhere together, and helped you in and out of the carriage despite having Cyrus there to do it for him. You, quite by accident, noticed him staring at you in the quiet moments in his office while you were typing up his notes for him, or taking his dictation. It wasn't the first time, though you had always passed it off as the man thinking, the direction of his gaze less important than the thoughts running through his brilliant mind. It wasn’t until you knew the fire in his eyes when he looked upon something he wanted that you began to recognize it in his gaze whenever he was looking at you.

Once, long before your courtship began, he had invited you to dinner with his motley crew of investigators at the Delmonico. You remember playfully remarking that you would have to buy a new dress for the occasion, only to find a dressbox laying on your desk the following morning when you came into work. Your insistence that he not waste his money on you was met with a disdainful look at the simple notion and a reminder that it would be impolite to refuse a gift given in earnest. Your parents would have had a fit if they knew you accepted such a gift from a man, but what they didn’t know couldn’t possibly hurt you. Every compliment from Ms. Howard and Mr. Moore made Laszlo subtly preen, apparently pleased to have picked something that suited you so well. You had thought his behaviour a tad odd - inviting the group's admiration of your dress, subtle as it may have been, was certainly not the doctor's usual style.

You had kept yourselves to courtship rules, holding hands only in presence of a chaperone for your good public image, what little remained. He took you on several long, chaperoned walks in between dinners with your family, and exchanged letters with you despite the fact that he saw you nearly every day for work. Your engagement swiftly followed, perhaps a bit faster than might’ve been acceptable if your parents hadn’t been in such a rush to be rid of you. The first time he kissed you, you swore you heard and felt him whimper. He was endlessly gentle with you, cherishing you in ways you never expected. He loved you long before you even knew that was a possibility, and he had hungered. Your next bite was to his lower lip, and then his chin, and then his neck. Instead of using gloves to redirect you, he now wore higher collars or guided your nipping mouth further down under his clothing.

It was a happy marriage. It is a happy marriage. Only a couple of months in and you’ve never been happier in your entire life. Your doctor, your husband, takes very good care of you. You want for nothing, except a moment more of his time. Just one more look. One more touch. One more kiss. You’re voracious - he’s accused you multiple times of being spoiled with a fondness in his voice that said he was perfectly okay with that. You think he’s been so hungry for you for so long that it’s only fair that you suffer the same ailment.

Your doctor combs your hair back from your face, leaning over you just the slightest bit to see your open eyes before he speaks, “You, my little wife, have not heard a single word I have said for the last hour, have you?”

You smile against your arm.

“Oh, no, my love. I was definitely listening.” You correct him, and he sighs, stroking the pad of his thumb over your plush lips and inviting a bite he knows is coming. He barely even flinches as you clamp your teeth around his skin, then he does shudder when you pull his thumb into your mouth.

“Some day, I will rid you of this compulsion.” he murmurs, and you bite around the base of his thumb before letting him pull free of you. His hand slips below the neck of your nightgown, and you shiver at the wet swipe across your nipple.

“You hardly want to, husband. Deny it all you like, we both know you like when I bite.”

He smirks, his strong hand slipping under your arms to help you stand on shaky, numb legs. Despite himself, he likes when you walk like a baby deer around him, whether due to his nightly (and often daily) passions, or simply because you like to kneel at his feet so often until your legs go numb.

“Come to bed, szerelmem. I think there’s still an inch of my neck that is yet to be bruised.” He teases, and you laugh, leaning into him as he helps you towards your bedroom. You’ve no doubt he’ll find yet another way to make your legs shake before the end of the night.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #female reader

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lorna-d-m · 9 months

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Chapter Five: Parent Teacher Conferences

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: 3,192

W: mentions of drinking, bullying/hazing

A/N: I unexpectedly had to go out of state for a week and then move into my on-campus apartment when I came back but in my time before classes started I got this finished :) Yeehaw senior year here I come

previous chapter

Although the university semester and the public school system did not line up exactly, there was enough overlap to swamp both Stevie and Laszlo in work. They were two sides of the same coin. Stevie worked his ass off studying and writing papers while Laszlo burned the midnight oil grading exams and essays. He almost fell asleep at his desk with his reading glasses on, trying to understand a student’s ill-conceived paper, when Stevie told him to call it a night.

Laszlo received an email from the school reminding parents, and guardians, the week after progress report cards the school would host a parent teacher conference night. He suspected it was to designate a night for all the overbearing parents to heckle the teachers after grades came back. After all, his office hours were always booked after midterms with crying freshmen begging for extra credit or another chance when they never did the reading to begin with. He always listened, some students had valid or extenuating circumstances, but he was better known for being unrelenting.

Stevie’s grades were excellent. Not valedictorian, but reflective of his work. Laszlo did not consider attending the conference until he received an email from Ms. Greene.

Dear Dr. Kreizler,

I hope you are doing well, and I hope midterms have not overwhelmed you. As difficult as they are for students, I know grading is no walk in the park either.

I’m sure you saw the school’s reminder about parent teacher conferences, but I wanted to personally invite you. I have some concerns about Stevie, and I would like to discuss them with you in person. If you are unavailable that night, please let me know and we can schedule another meeting.

Thank you so much!

Ms. Alice Greene

Laszlo reflected on the last few weeks. In their weekly conversations, she mentioned she thought some of the students might be giving Stevie a hard time. He anticipated it would settle when the novelty wore off, but now he was not sure. Laszlo rearranged his schedule, ensuring he wouldn’t be stuck at the university or working at the Institute and miss the evening.

He asked Stevie if he would like to attend the conferences as well, not mentioning the email from Ms. Greene, but stating that if they were discussing him it was only fair for him to be present. Stevie declined and joked that with Doctor Kreizler there he had the best defense. Laszlo was glad Stevie still thought so, even in jest. Stevie’s only request was for him to bring back dinner after the conference. The refrigerator was empty after midterms, and he wanted to eat something other than eggs and toast. Laszlo laughed and promised to bring back whatever Stevie wanted.

Apparently, Alice did not learn from her previous mistakes. At open house, the cookies she hand-baked and decorated were barely touched by the parents. And yet, she made cookies for the conferences. Alice decorated them like books, giving each of them a classic literature title, and arranged them on a cookie carrier.

This far into the year, her classroom was not spotless and picturesque like it was at open house. She swept the floors again, finding half a dozen discarded pens and pencils, and rewrote the information she kept on the whiteboard. Parents and administrators loved to see objectives, standards, and assignments in clearly visible spaces. Looking around, she realized several of the desks never made it to their original places after their group discussions, so she rearranged them. A few desks positioned across from her desk would be suitable for the evening.

The first parent arrived with a sheepish student in tow, and she gestured for them to sit down and take a cookie. Neither did.

***

An hour later, Alice was dying for an iced coffee. She knew drinking one at this time would keep her awake half the night, but she needed something to make her smile. A few of her conversations were genuinely productive, exploring what she and the parents could do to better support the student, addressing her concerns, and building positive relationships.

However, she had just as many discouraging conversations from parents insisting their child was right and she was incorrect. Bitsy warned her in a more affluent area the parents were more involved and typically more self-righteous, but her expectations did not match reality. They had the audacity to tell her all the ways she did her job incorrectly

She was tired, and she wanted to go home. Iced coffee wasn’t a strong enough drink, but she might settle for it on her drive home.

Laszlo debated visiting Stevie’s other teachers. He performed well in their classes, and as far as he knew they had no matters to discuss with him. Still, since some of them were communicative with him when he emailed them, he decided to drop by a few classrooms. Laszlo kept his visits brief as he knew he was expected elsewhere. Additionally, he did not want the ice to melt in his surprise.

“Are these the same recipes as before?

“What?” Confused, Alice looked up from her desk. He stood by the cookies she no doubt painstakingly designed, and yet looked as if they hadn’t been touched all night. “Oh,” she smiled, “Dr. Kreizler.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Greene.” His sheepish smile was genuine. “I brought you a gift, but maybe I should call it a bribe in exchange for some of these cookies.” He set the iced coffee on her desk and sat down.

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have let you take some home anyway.” She picked up the coffee and read the label. “Decaf? You are intuitive, Dr. Kreizler.” Alice reached into the minifridge behind her desk and grabbed the bottle of coffee creamer. Laszlo did not know how she took her coffee, so once he learned she kept supplies in her classroom he reasoned black was fine and she could sweeten it to taste.

His cheeks reddened, and he hoped it was not terribly noticeable. “I thought you would appreciate a pick me up without it keeping you awake.” She thanked him and urged him to take some cookies. Laszlo debated between them, knowing the flavor was the same, but there were implications based on the titles he chose.

“Dracula and In Cold Blood. Interesting. I’m totally not judging you based on that now,” she laughed.

“As a literature teacher, what’s your formal determination?” Laszlo evaluated people professionally, and for fun, so he was curious about her opinion.

“Well,” she took another sip of her coffee and smiled mischievously. He liked the way she crinkled her nose. “Dracula is a classic, and honestly underrated. It’s much more humorous than people think, and the original sotry is often overlooked. And In Cold Blood, well, you must be a true crime junkie. Based on a true story, but obviously dramatized. You probably researched the real case while reading and felt better for knowing the truth.”

Laszlo wiggled his eyebrows. Impressive. He took a bite of his sugar cookie. “And you? What books would you choose?” This was his opportunity to read her.

She checked her watch on her left wrist and playfully sighed. “I was saving these two until the end of the night, but I think you will be the last parent I see tonight.”

“I’m honored,” he demurred.

“And it’s only fair since I judged your taste,” she hesitated for suspense, “so I’ll take Pride and Prejudice and Count of Monte Cristo.”

Laszlo thought for a moment. Her first choice did not surprise him, but her second did. He grappled with the Count first. “The Count of Monte Cristo is complicated, and so are you. You enjoy unraveling plots, and you’re a sucker for a tragedy. As for Pride and Prejudice, you are a romantic, but with particular taste. You want to be swept off your feet as if you were in a Jane Austen novel, but that has not happened yet.”

He tended to push people too far, and Laszlo feared he was too blunt. Ms. Greene was taken aback, the nervous set of her mouth said that, but her eyes told him it was true. She stirred her drink with her straw and took another sip.

“You’re very insightful, Dr. Kreizler.” She met his eye and held it. He never noticed the flecks of color and how they glimmered even under the fluorescent light. Laszlo wondered how she would look in warm light, candlelight, moonlight. A door slammed down the hall and broke them from their trance. “But, I think we should talk about Stevie.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right,” Laszlo agreed. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his suit jacket pen. At the top of a clean page, he wrote the date and “Conference — Stevie”.

“Stevie is doing well in class. I’m sure you know that from checking his grades and his progress report. That’s not what I’m concerned about, unless his grades start to drop, of course.” Laszlo took notes as she spoke. “I noticed that in my class at least, Stevie doesn’t have a solid group of friends. Which, some kids don’t and that’s completely fine, but there’s a group that has been antagonistic toward him.” His pen scratched to a stop.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Pretty much since the beginning of the year. I know it can be difficult when you don’t fit in—” Laszlo arched an eyebrow, but she ignored it. “— and I’ve spoken with him several times. I’ve done everything except go to administration which he expressed he does not want. However, if the situation escalates then I will have no choice.”

Laszlo sighed wearily. “I have noticed Stevie being quieter, less chatty, than before. On the other hand, he has been out of the house more, too, and I think he has friends in another class”

“I’m glad,” she said. “At least he has some support even if it’s in another class.”

“Stevie has support in your class. You’re an excellent teacher, and I appreciate you telling me what has happened. If you had not noticed, I don’t think anyone would. They lack your observational skills.” She blushed, remembering their earlier conversation.

Having settled their official business, the conversation wandered again. She asked about his work at the university and the Institute, and he happily answered. Alice noticed his chest seemed to puff up with pride when he spoke about his students and he grew more animated. She enjoyed listening to him, and he made sure to reciprocate and ask her questions when appropriate.

Alice soon finished her coffee, but she made no moves to leave her desk or pack her stuff. It was only Bitsy’s knock on the open door, and immediate regret, that made her realize how late it grew. Laszlo’s head whipped around at the knock.

“Just checking on you and letting you know I’m headed home. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Thanks, Bits. I’ll talk to you later.” While Laszlo was turned, Alice mimicked a phone by her ear, signaling Bitsy to call her later.

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you close friends with Ms. Sussman?”

“She’s my work wife, and before that, she was my school sister. Bitsy is the one who told me this school was looking for English teachers, so I have her to thank.” For more than just the job. Alice doubted she would have met Dr. Kreizler any other way.

“It’s good to have friends nearby. As much as John annoys me, I cannot imagine working without him.” He chuckled and glanced at the watch on his right wrist. “My, it’s grown late. You can’t have eaten if you’ve been here all night.”

“What do you mean?” She giggled. “You saw me eat these two cookies and drink this coffee. That’s my dinner.”

“That does not count as a meal.”

“Of course it does, when you count the half a dozen cookies I had between baking them and setting them out.”

He scoffed. “That is not a meal. Delicious, but not a meal,” Laszlo teased. “Would you like a late dinner and to continue our conversation?”

Alice froze. Laszlo’s piercing brown eyes never left her face even when she wished they would. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew if she spoke she would stammer. A million thoughts ran through her head, and she would trip over the words. Alice desperately wanted to accept. Laszlo was handsome, respectable, and polite. An excellent conversationalist, and he listened to her.

Conversely, he was a parent and she was his child’s teacher. It was a moral dilemma, and it must be a breach of ethics. If anyone knew, they could accuse her of favoriting Stevie at Dr. Kreizler’s request, or even worse exchanging sexual favors for better grades. Alice imagined the red tape they would have to go through to be together.

She took a deep breath in before speaking. “I would like to accept, but I can’t.” The expectant smile disappeared from his face, and it tugged at her heart. “This isn’t a good night for me. I need to check on Georgie, and you need to get back home to Stevie.” He twitched at the mention of Georgie. Alice couldn’t resist a snicker. “Don’t worry, he’s not my boyfriend or anything. He’s my handsome tuxedo cat, and I fear what he will do if I don’t feed him dinner soon.”

Relieved, Laszlo chuckled. He was such a serious man that Alice liked seeing him laugh. She admired the crinkles by his eyes and the way he cracked a smile. His whole face scrunched.

“Cats and children are not so different. I know Stevie is perfectly capable of making dinner, but I promised him I would pick something up on my way back.” He checked his watch again and stood. “It’s late, and I should leave.”

“Wait, Dr. Kreizler,” Alice scrambled for a post-it-note and pen. “Just because tonight isn’t a good night doesn’t mean I don’t want to have dinner with you.” She wrote her phone number in pink ink.

He blinked twice and accepted the sticky note. “Thank you.” His round cheeks flushed rosy red, and she found it adorable. “I will plan another night, and I should let you return home to Georgie.”

“Goodnight, Dr. Kreizler,” she grinned.

His brows pinched together in thought. “Please, call me Laszlo. There’s no need for such formalities.”

“It’s funny. I still want to call you Dr. Kreizler. Goodnight then, Laszlo.”

He entered the hallway, conscientious that half the lights were dimmed to denote the late hour. His leather messenger bag threatened to slip off his shoulder, but holding a paper plate of cookies he didn’t dare fuss with the bag. Laszlo glanced around for a desk or a table in the hallway to set them down so he could fix it, but instead, he found the blustering figure of Coach Connor.

Laszlo gave the coach an obligatory nod and continued on his way. He did not visit him during the conferences, and his absence was noted. Curious, Laszlo hesitated in the hallway.

He heard Ms. Greene — Alice! — greeting the coach, and he noted the difference in her tone of voice. It was colder, more rigid and reserved, but still seemingly pleasant. However, Laszlo recognized the difference with a small smile. She wanted the conversation to end as quickly as she could. It was only a minute or two later that Coach Connor reappeared in the hallway, red-faced and grumbling. He became the target of his frustration.

“Get the hell outta here, can’t you see it’s late?” Laszlo stepped back, but Coach Connor insisted on being in his face. “You shouldn’t be here.” Laszlo opened his mouth to protest, but when he did Coach Connor knocked the paper plate of cookies from his hand. He stormed off, but not before Laszlo could cut in with the final word.

“I see she didn’t offer you any, Coach. Perhaps there’s a reason why.”

Once he was out of sight, Laszlo knelt to the ground to pick them up. He was not the type of man to leave a mess behind him, and he would hate for her to see them scattered on the floor when she left her classroom.

***

Laszlo returned home with a box of pizza from Stevie’s favorite pizzeria. He sprung for garlic knots and extra marinara as a treat and poured himself a glass of wine. Stevie commented it was later than expected, considering the conferences ended at eight and it was going for ten now, but Laszlo insisted it was because of a big party at the pizzeria slowing down orders. Stevie shrugged, not pressing the matter, but clearly not believing him. He regarded Laszlo with a suspicious eye.

Laszlo ate and spoke normally, but the sticky note with her number burned a hole in his pocket. He thought about what he might text her, or if he should call her instead. Which restaurant would she prefer? If he went too formal would she be intimidated? But if he went more casual would she be disappointed? Laszlo knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he did not mind.

Alice scratched Georgie’s ears. He purred while he ate, and he did not allow her to do anything else in her apartment until he fed her. She couldn’t set down her bag, slip off her shoes, or fill her water. Demanding, but her little darling, so she gave him his regular meal and a treat.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and sure enough Bitsy’s face covered the screen as her call came in. They shared locations once years ago trying to find the right café and never undid it. Now, Bitsy could tell precisely when Alice arrived home to ask about her evening. She spoke quickly and almost tripped over her words.

“What happened with you and the doctor? And don’t you act coy with me or lie to me.”

“Well,” Georgie arched his spine as she ran her hand down his back, “he brought me another coffee, but it was decaf this time since it was evening. We talked about Stevie, of course, and you know my concerns about him.”

Bitsy cut her next sentence off. “You know that’s not what I want to know. Tell me what happened after!”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, knowing she had every ounce of Bitsy’s attention, “we talked for a long time, and he asked me to dinner. I said no—”

“—What?! Are you crazy?

“No to tonight, Bits, not to anything. I gave him my number so we could plan something for another night.”

“Thank God, you almost gave me a heart attack there.”

“I’m not stupid. Maybe a bit impulsive, or foolish even, but not stupid.” She thought for a minute, knowing she had been standing on the edge of a precipice. Alice took the plunge, giving him her number, and she knew everything would change. She just didn’t know how yet.

Next chapter

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

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fairyysoup · 2 years

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

ADHAKFHSKFJFL thank you so much bb i love doing these 💕

All of my works are 18+ MDNI. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Ouroboros - Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x fem!reader

Smut. Fluff. Idiots in love. You're in denial about your crush on Eddie until he has to go on the run and crash at your place. Horny antics ensue.

Ceremony and Devotion - Khonshu & Moon Boys (Moon Knight) x fem!reader

Smut. Human/Deity relations. Khonshu fucks, send tweet.

Hotel Room Service - Adrian Chase (Peacemaker) x afab!reader

Smut. Fluff. Drunk Sex. Sharing a hotel room with Adrian just got a little bit complicated.

The Somnambulist - dark!Laszlo Kreizler (The Alienist) x fem!reader

Darkfic. Smut. Noncon. Horror Elements. What if Dr. Kreizler was actually a terrible human being and also committed grievous malpractice with a patient?

A Dangerous Line - Eros/Starfox (Marvel's Eternals) x fem!reader

Smut. Human/Deity relations (ish). Surprise! The myth of Eros and Psyche is mostly true, and you're about to find out just how much.

120 notes · View notes

gaypirate420 · 2 years

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Jealous//John S Moore.

John Schuyler Moore x male!reader.

A/N: this is based off a dream I had last night, also this is my first (and probably last) time writing for John or the alienist in general so yeah.

You were staying on Dr. Kreizler's home, you lived on the other side of the country but the infamous trio of self named detectives called for your help on a case two weeks ago.

You enjoyed your tea upstairs while John and Sara got ready to leave downstairs.

John followed Laszlo upstairs.

"I don't think he fancies my company anymore, Laszlo." You heard John murmur outside the guest room the doctor had for you.

"Nonsense John. He was more than exited when you send him a letter back in november." Laszlo said low. The doctor opened your door.

"Where are your manners?" You teased, Laszlo looked at you with a discreet smirk. You were resting besides the window.

"Miss Howard and John are leaving, would you like to go along with them?" The doctor asked, you looked at your cup.

They're going to see something for the case, on a restaurant.

You makes circles with the spoon on your tea.

"No, thank you. I'm actually very tired from the trip." You answer quickly, John looked at you confused probably even offended.

"I'll go tell Mary to prepare dinner for two then." The doctor leaves quickly, you meet John's gaze.

"Look at you, all dressed up." You said getting closer to him, he felt his cheeks warm.

"When was the last we had a time alone?" You asked resting on the door frame.

"Since Harvard." He remarked softly, you hummed.

"Since Harvard! We had fun back in the day, just you and me. I mean—I love Laszlo but you know." You commented with a smirk, he smiled softly.

He catches himself daydreaming constantly about a time alone with you just like in the old days.

John is hurt by your actions, writing him letters where you tell him you miss him, but almost ignoring him when you got reunited.

There was silence, he meets your gaze.

He looked at your almost dandy style, so rich and elegant.

You're handsome at least to him.

John always wondered why you haven't married one of the endless ladies that send you letters.

"John! We must hurry, the sun will go down soon." Sara speaks from downstairs, you looked at the stairs with anger and melancholy.

"Lucky you." You told him, he looks at you extremely confused.

"You're going to enjoy an evening with— Miss Howard—she's a beautiful and strong woman." You said bitter, John scuffed, you arched your eyebrow.

"What is so funny, John?" You asked.

"It seems you are jealous of me." He said with a smirk, you laughed.

"Of you?!— Oh sweet John, No!" You said with a giggle, you crossed your arms.

"I'm jealous of Miss Howard—" You said lower while you got out of the room, John followed you.

"Why would you?" He asked curious, you stoped and turned around facing him, you smiled and got closer to his ear.

"Because I like you, John." You whispered, before he could say anything you hurry downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Ayo???? Here have this, I dream of it and I needed to write it down.

You saw me reblog shit about this show, I made gay shit about this show, it isn't a surprise I made a fic of this show.

#the alienist #john moore #laszlo kreizler #john moore x reader #the alienist x reader #x male reader #john s moore #john moore the alienist

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

Note

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

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

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, mild victorian dirty talk)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stevie? Who is it?”

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

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

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

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

“Guten Abend, my love”

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

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

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

“Welcome home, my love”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No”

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

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

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

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

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

“Which letter was your favourite?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soaked wet without me even touching you”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, my husband”

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

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

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

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

“I am such a lucky man to have you”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is his name?”

“Oh, he is not famous, Gustav Klimt”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life was bright over Kreizler’s household.

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

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

#dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kriezler x reader #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler imagine #the alienist x reader #the alienist fanfic

515 notes · View notes

munsons-maiden · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞?

Hi! I’m so sorry it took me so long, I just couldn’t decide which direction I wanted this to take. I hope you enjoy! - Love, Kiki 🖤

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Laszlo Kreizler x female reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Laszlo and you bump into each other at a ball - but he's not the friendliest person on earth (I promise that the story is better than the summary, I didn't want to spoiler anything 😂)

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending, smut, romance

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.3 k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | a little bit of angst and some implications of misogyny.

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

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

The ball was already in full swing when you manoeuvred the swishing skirts of your gown out of the carriage, sweating already with the warm, humid air of early summer, and nobody in the dancing, laughing crowd paid any attention to you.

The air was stuffy in the ballroom, and all the voices and laughter mingling with the music of the orchestra created an overwhelming noise hammering against your eardrums. You flinched.

“We’ll meet you there, it will be fun”, you mimicked Sara’s voice under your breath while you made your way through the throngs of dancing couples, your eyes scanning the crowds for your friend. You weren’t fond of crowds – and balls, for that matter, since crowds and balls walked hand in hand – but Sara had managed to persuade you to meet her here. Her, and her friends from the institute she wanted to introduce you to.

You were about to give up your search and return home to a cup of tea and a good book when you bumped into someone – or, rather, someone bumped into you. You huffed with the force of the impact and stumbled a step backwards, barely fast enough to grab your skirts in your fists to avoid falling over the voluminous fabric, and glanced up to see who it was you’d bumped into, to meet a pair of stunning hazel eyes.

Neither of you uttered a word as you just kept staring at each other. He was beautiful in a quiet kind of way. His hair was dark and sleek, his beard neatly trimmed and his eyes, the beautiful brown colour of whiskey, glittered with a quiet, attentive intelligence when they met yours.

“Laszlo! Y/N!”, someone called out, and a second later, Sara was at your side, a smile gracing her flushed features. For someone who wasn’t that fond of balls either, she certainly looked like she was having a lot of fun.

“So, you’ve already met,” Sara stated when neither you nor the man answered her, her eyes flitting from him to you and back.

“I apologise”, the man finally said, “For bumping into you.” He gave you a shy little smile which finally managed to tear you out of your trance.

“I – No, it’s me who should apologize. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was searching for –“

“Me”, Sara interrupted and linked arms with you. “Laszlo, this is my good friend Y/N.”

“Dr. Laszlo Kreizler”, he introduced himself with a small nod. He looked a little awkward upon the formal introduction, then added, “Laszlo. You may simply call me Laszlo.”

“The alienist”, you nodded with a smile. “I’ve read your works. They’re very fascinating, especially your theory about the development of social skills in children from violent family backgrounds. You’re the first one to believe it’s nurture rather than nature that defines a person’s character.”

You stopped yourself before you could ramble on any further, but the intelligent spark in those beautiful brown eyes seemed to brighten when he answered, “This theory has been met with a lot of disdain among the alienist community, I fear. As much as I believe in Darwin’s theory of Evolution, I fear that the influence of society and upbringing are still very much neglected when it comes to the workings of the soul.” His timid smile made you feel dizzy despite not having drunk any champagne yet.

Usually, when you tried to engage in conversation about the scientific theories you loved to read about, you were met with incredulous looks and – oftentimes, mostly by men – with ridicule. Upon hearing Dr. Kreizler – Laszlo, you corrected yourself – meet your own words with the same respect he would pay any other man, and the same excitement to talk about these matters you felt whenever the topic switched to them, you were filled with a strange giddiness.

But before you could reply, Sara announced, “Well, this is a ball. Laszlo, why don’t you ask Y/N for a dance –“

“I don’t dance.” The warm smile on his lovely features had dimmed, and his adorable shy demeanour had fused into something distanced before he averted his gaze from you.

Sara’s smile beside you faltered, as did yours. “Laszlo, you’re being rude”, she hissed.

“I’m sure she will find someone else to dance with.” His voice had frozen over like a lake in winter; all traces of warmth and excitement erased from it.

You swallowed at the rudeness of his rejection, opening your mouth to reply that it was fine – which it clearly wasn’t, but someone had to stay friendly here – when a second man joined your group, handsome and smiling at you with a flash of white teeth.

“You must be Sara’s friend!”, he grinned, “I’m John Moore.”

“The painter”, you nodded weakly, grateful for the well-timed interruption of the humiliating moment.

John winked at you and offered his hand. “May I ask for this dance?”

The moment of your hesitation was brief, and your gaze flickered momentarily to Laszlo, who still seemed to be avoiding to catch your gaze at any cost, and you took John’s hand.

“My pleasure.”

With this, you let John sweep you away.

“You’re not dancing with me out of pity, are you?”, you couldn’t help but ask when he twirled you across the parquet; the question earning a scowl from John.

“I’m a gentleman, but I asked you to dance because I wanted to. How could I not? You’re beautiful. And Laszlo is an idiot. Don’t mind him – he knows his theories and he likes to analyse people, but despite all his considerable knowledge he’s not the most…skilled man when it comes to social matters. His company can be rather trying at times, I dare say.”

You chuckled. “I noticed.” Your eyes drifted over the crowd of dancing people towards Laszlo, who was deep in conversation with Sara. He seemed to notice your stare, though, since he raised his head and met your eyes across the ballroom. This time, it was you who averted your gaze.

“You’re an idiot, Laszlo.” Sara’s tone didn’t leave room for an argument, and Laszlo could sense an oncoming storm in her grey eyes.

But seeing you dance with John was somehow worse than Sara’s wrath. You laughed at something he said, and Laszlo could feel something coil in his stomach that felt a lot like jealousy. He should be the one dancing with you. Not John. The familiar rage started to boil in his veins at his physical incapability, the hatred at how he couldn’t even dance, and the green-eyes monster slithering in his stomach purred contentedly.

“You know, it’s not your arm holding you back to live a little, Laszlo. It’s fear.” Sara’s words were worse than the thunderstorm of rage he’d anticipated. They were true, as well.

The evening had moved on in a blur of dancing and talking with John Moore, who really was good company. But no matter how much you laughed about the stories he told and how fun it was to dance with him, you couldn’t erase the thoughts about Laszlo Kreizler spinning in your mind, woven into yet another possible explanation for the rapid change of his mood by the spinning-wheel of your thoughts. No matter how often you told yourself to let it go, you couldn’t. And so, every laugh was half-hearted, every smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. A few times, you scanned the dancing crowd, but it seemed Laszlo had left the revel. Possibly, you would never see him again. Possibly, it would be best. What was it that irked you so much about his simple rejection to dance, apart from the obvious rudeness? The doctor had put a spell on you, and you found your mind caught in it like a fly in a spider’s web.

When the next tune ended and its notes faded into the stuffy air of the candle-lit ballroom, you excused yourself to take a quick stroll through the adjoining gardens of the estate hosting the ball. You needed air to clear your head and chase away the annoying thoughts about the doctor. Thus, you stepped into the humid night air. Despite the gentle warmth of the night, there was nobody in the gardens but you – all the other guests were obviously having fun inside on the parquet. You took a deep breath, letting the scents of flowers and earth wrap around you, the air for once cleansed of the stink which usually rose from the surface of the Hudson River to be carried through the cobbled streets and alleyways of the city that seemed to never go to sleep. The gravel path led you a little deeper into the quiet park, and you followed it to a small pond in the centre. The reflection of the crescent moon adorning the star-splattered night sky above shone of the calm surface of the water, and the stalks of the reeds growing at the edges of the pond swayed gently in the warm breeze like a flock of drunken revellers. Water lilies floated across the water, and in the pale moonlight, they looked like stars themselves with their soft white petals, infusing the air with their sweet, floral perfume.

“Please don’t be startled”, a quiet voice suddenly spoke up behind you, and – most definitely startled – you whirled around with a small squeak of surprise. There, on the path a few steps away from you, stood Dr. Kreizler. You could still hear the voices and laughter floating out of the open glass doors of the ballroom, see the flickering lights and dancing silhouettes across the grass behind him.

“I told you not to be startled”, he insisted, and you blinked.

“What else would I be when I’m alone in a garden? There are murderers roaming free in the streets.”

Laszlo chuckled softly. “I did not think you were easily frightened, considering your choice of literature.”

“Reading about something in front of a warm fireplace in my parlour is not granting me immunity to its horrors”, you quipped.

There was a beat of silence, filled by the distant laughter wafting from the building, the clacking sounds of hooves on the cobblestones outside and the chirping noise of cicadas hiding in the old trees which surrounded you.

“Is there a reason for your appearance out here, Dr. Kreizler?”, you finally asked, intently choosing not to call him by his first name. He noticed.

“I fear I have conducted myself with unnecessary rudeness”, he finally conceded, and you couldn’t help the small smirk which tugged on your lips as you saw how nervous the doctor had become, how he looked a little lost with his hands clasped in front of him while he waited patiently for your reply.

“I fear you’re right”, you quipped with a raised eyebrow.

“I am not made for gatherings of this kind”, Dr. Kreizler finally admitted, and your heart softened for him. You could relate to this.

“Me, neither”, you said quietly, and your gaze flicked to the lights of the ball glittering behind him, their glow paining a soft halo around his dark hair. “I feel like an intruder on revels like these. I don’t belong there, and everybody seems to know it as well. Like a human walking among fae folk.”

“Your words capture the feeling far more poetic than mine ever could.”

“So you’ve merely fled to the gardens, as well, doctor?”

“I felt I owed you an apology.”

You folded your arms in front of your chest and lifted a single eyebrow. “Well then. I haven’t heard this apology yet.”

You felt a little wicked to let him stew like this, but he’d hurt your feelings. A little bit of pettiness on your side was due and allowed. What had stung the most wasn’t the simple rejection – not wanting to dance was no crime. It hurt, though, that this rejection had followed the most intriguing five minutes of conversation you remembered to ever have had. Laszlo Kreizler had talked to you as if he could truly see you. With respect instead of ridicule when you showed you interest in an academic topic. With wonder not for the gown hugging your form or the way your hair had been styled, but for what he’d possibly seen in you in these few minutes of your conversation. The man had simply been intriguing, like a book in the forbidden part of a library you desperately wanted to read. You wanted to open the beautiful cover and dive into the words it held, the mysteries its pages would reveal. It had led you to believe you might have found a kindred spirit in him. It sounded ridiculous, to have such thoughts about a man you’d just met, but it was the truth nonetheless.

“I apologize”, he said quietly.

“I enjoyed our conversation earlier”, you replied, and watched the small smile flit across his face before his expression grew serious again.

“So did I. There are not many people as fascinated with the human mind as I am. I fear it’s one of the reasons why people typically don’t like me. They’re scared I could see right into the murky depths of their minds, to see all the rotten parts they hide away from the world.”

You heart broke a little at his words, but the doctor himself seemed unfazed by the notion people couldn’t like him. His tone wouldn’t have been different had he been talking about the weather. He probably didn’t care too much about the opinion of others.

“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your sudden rudeness?”, you teased. It was bold and probably far more impolite than rejecting a dance, to talk to him like this, but you felt he valued honesty much more than feigned propriety. He seemed like a man who would need a little talking back from time to time.

He chuckled in response, confirming your assessment. “As your – our – dear friend Sara likes to point out on every possible occasion, I am a difficult man.”

Now it was your turn to snicker. When silence settled over the two of you again, it was an easy silence, devoid of any awkwardness or bad feelings.

“May I ask you for the reason you’re so opposed to dancing?”, you hesitated. The question had burned through your thoughts for the whole evening.

Something flickered in his eyes, and you could tell there was far more of a story to be told than a simple dislike for dancing while Dr. Kreizler seemed to be contemplating how much of this story to tell you.

“My arm is deformed”, he finally answered, and you couldn’t help the small frown crossing your face. He’d hidden it well.

“You’re scared it could make you feel vulnerable if anybody noticed”, you concluded, and the flicker of surprise in his eyes, the slight tilt of his head in curiosity as he held your gaze didn’t escape your notice.

“I don’t intend to be rude,” you continued, “but I don’t believe it’s solely because of your arm. I’ve seen people dance just fine with a wooden leg before.”

“Are you insinuating that I merely dislike to give away control, as dancing would require?”

“I never insinuated anything, Dr. Kreizler. You’re the alienist, not me.”

Was he bantering? Flirting, even? Were you? Only then did you notice that he’d begun to walk towards you, and you towards him, both of you crossing the distance which had stretched between you on the path with slow, hesitant steps as if an invisible string was tied around both your wrists, connecting you, pulling you towards each other.

“Please, call me Laszlo”, he said softly, repeating the words he’d said earlier.

“Very well, then. Had you ever decided to give dancing a chance, Laszlo,” you began and took another small step in his direction, the gravel crunching under your feet, “You would have noticed that it allows for another form of control, to follow the steps in tune with the music.”

There were only a few inches left to separate the two of you now, you noticed with a jolt of exhilaration.

Laszlo gave a small nod, and you could see the cogs spinning in his mind as he contemplated your words. “And still, the church sees dancing as prelude to sin, a courting of the devil himself,” he smirked.

“And you certainly seem like a man devoted enough to God to believe the words of the church”, you quipped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Though I would argue that, if dancing felt like a prelude to sin – it would indicate that one was doing it right.”

The sudden tension sizzling in the air between you and Laszlo felt like it was heralding a summer storm. It made your skin prickle and your thoughts race like kite caught in a gust of wind.

He chose his next words carefully. “Then it seems on the few occasions I was forced to dance, I never did it right.”

“It seems that way, indeed. Maybe it had nothing to do with your arm and everything to do with your choice of a partner.” Heat was creeping up your cheeks at your own growing boldness, and the mischievous spark dancing in his watchful dark eyes made your breath hitch and your pulse quicken as no mere eye contact had done to before. It most definitely felt as if the conversation had moved on from the topic of dancing and to something far more delicate. You enjoyed every second of it.

Yes, Laszlo Kreizler was a forbidden book you couldn’t wait to read, to learn the truths the words hidden inside would whisper to you. Beneath the cover, there was beauty in his soul, and darkness as well. Hurt and pain, and empathy to fill an ocean of its own. What did he see upon gazing into your eyes?, you wondered. Could he see all the things in you that you couldn’t? Did he even care to? In this very moment, the orchestra started to play the next song, and the lilting tunes of the piano, mingling with the voices of fiddles, floated through the night air as if it was meant for only the two of you.

“A valid theory. One worth examining.” Laszlo smiled – a beautiful, genuine smile, with this ember of mischief sparking in his eyes – and held up his good hand. “May I have this dance, Y/N?”

You mirrored his expression with a radiant smile of your own, and without hesitation placed your hand in his to let him pull you closer. The skin on your palm tingled pleasantly where his skin brushed against yours, and the contact sent a shiver through your spine. His other hand – the weaker one – settled on the curve of your waist, a light touch against the delicate embroidered fabric of your dress. Laszlo was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body, for his intoxicating cologne to invade your senses and tangle your thoughts as if they were made of the sticky cotton candy sold at fairgrounds. And thus, Laszlo led you into a slow dance to the beautiful melody ringing through the gardens, his steps steady and confident. His movements were flowing with yours, like the ebb and flow of the tides. To a spectator stepping into the gardens, the two of you would look like a pair of secret lovers, dancing beneath the silver glow of the moon and the twinkling light of the stars splattered across the night sky above, to the enchanting music of the orchestra and the crickets and the cheerful lapping little waves in the pond. Yes, Laszlo though as he danced with you across the grass, this was the first dance that made him feel like doing more than just following an order of steps. It most definitely felt like a prelude to something – not sin, probably, but what was sin but a social concept? He was intent on further examining this theory of dancing with you.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤): @justfangirlthingies @boneheadduluc @trelaney @thesunflowersutra @sokoviandelights @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @stephlent @fandom-lover-4 @cazzyimagines @daniel-bruhhl @aisling1985 @roseabee25 @apparrio @cable-kenobi @marchingicenotes7 @rumblelibrary @purebloodwitch

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

322 notes · View notes

bruhlsbees · 3 years

Text

broken wing || dr. laszlo kreizler x fem!reader

summary: laszlo catches reader attempting to play the piano

pairing: dr. laszlo kreizler x fem!reader

warnings: this shit just pure angst but at the same time so soft

word count: 2924 (this got a little out of hand LOL)

a/n: based on this set of prompts specifically "stroke - my muse gently runs a hand over your muse's back/arm", takes place before the events of the first season of the alienist

You knew you shouldn’t have been in here. You were supposed to be helping Cyrus in the back with something to do with the chickens...or was in the weeds? To be quite frank, you hadn’t been paying much attention to what the man needed help with, you were fixed on doing one thing and one thing only…

Playing the piano.

The piano that sat in Dr. Kreizler’s study always fascinated you. You didn’t know how to play, but you were always tranced by the music that came from the keys. You had heard someone play once before, in one of the fancy restaurants that Dr. Kreizler often went to. While you hadn’t exactly been inside to see the pianist perform, you were out on the street, dancing under the light post to the adoring classical music of Mozart.

At the time, you had no idea that it was Mozart, but later that week when you were prepping Dr. Kreizler’s dinner, he overheard you humming the tune and questioned your knowledge of it.

“I heard it...on one of my walks. It’s beautiful - although I do not seem to be familiar with the composer.” You explained, looking down at him after setting his plate in front of him.

Looking up with a weak smile, Dr. Kreizler nodded once, picking up his silverware to cut into the chicken, “It’s Mozart. Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor to be more specific,” He put the slice of chicken in his mouth, chewing it in thought before swallowing, “I had no idea you were fond of the piano.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “I enjoy music, Dr. Kreizler...anyone who enjoys music is fond of the piano.”

Nodding his head once, Dr. Kreizler paused, glancing ahead of him at the piano that sat in the corner of his study. The tune was not one he had fond memories of, as they were attached to his childhood. It pained him to know how much she adored it, and how incapable he was of even being able to play it for her.

Pulling back from his thoughts, Dr. Kreizler looked up at you and his expression fell slack, as if something changed in the air that left him sour, “Thank you for bringing me my dinner. I wish you a good night.”

You were taken back slightly by the dismissal, not understanding what you did to upset him. Embarrassed by the situation, you could find yourself only nodding, bowing slightly before turning on your heels and quickly leaving the room.

Ever since that night you hadn’t brought up pianos or Mozart again. You found yourself biting down on your tongue when you were around the doctor to avoid from humming the tune and upsetting him again. But as much as you tried to forget, tried to avoid the subject, your curiosity only grew.

And here you were, in his study sitting at the piano, the keys glossy and free to be touched. You noted how the keys looked as though nobody had played them in so long.

Running your fingers gently along the keys, you smiled as your fingers maneuvered over the black and white keys. You felt like a sneaky child, sitting at the piano, trying to not make a sound and get caught. Your fingers would occasionally slip down too hard and a low note would echo from the instrument, sending chills down your spine. The smile on your face though never went away, no matter how on edge you felt.

You noticed the music book sitting on the stand in front of your eyes and your hands moved from the keys to the book, running your fingers down the cover.

Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor.

A light gasp escaped your mouth and you instantly opened the book to the first page, looking at the notes that were on the pages. Did the doctor know how to play this?

While you read the music, humming in your head what you thought it sounded like, based on what you heard outside the restaurant, you knew that it wasn’t accurate. You had no idea how to read music, nor did you understand what any of this meant. You wished you knew how to play, to be able to recite note for note what you heard.

Sighing, you dropped your head down slightly and closed the book, not bearing to look at the music anymore, only feeling your heart twitch in pain...envy in a way, as to why you couldn’t play, yet so many others could.

Sliding off the bench, you figured it was time to go find Cyrus, before he came looking for you and turning the Institute inside out. As you turned around to leave, taking a step forward, you immediately stopped in your tracks, mouth gaped as you jumped, seeing the doctor in the entryway.

“Dr. Kreizler! I-I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be in here I ju-”

“You’ve been intrigued by one of Mozart’s many fine compositions,” He said, cutting you off. A smile formed on his face as he made his way into the room and towards you, brushing past you to sit at the bench, looking at the music book, “I can’t say I can blame you. I do admire his work.”

While the doctor didn’t seem upset with you in his study, your body still felt tense, as if you were walking on eggshells. Your body stayed in place while your head turned, looking behind you as the doctor lifted his good arm up to the keys, playing a few notes.

The silence that fell over the two of you alerted him of your discomfort. “Please, why don’t you join me? I assure you I am not upset.” He explained, his voice soft as he knew the state of your emotions at the moment.

You were hesitant at first to join, part of you almost telling him that you couldn’t and had to go help Cyrus - but the chance to listen to the doctor play overcame you and you found yourself seated tightly beside him, looking at the keys in awe.

While you didn’t notice, the doctor was looking over at you, smiling in admiration at your newfound love for the instrument. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I believe that everyone should have the chance to learn. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Feeling his eyes on you, you glanced to your left for a moment, cheeks pink as your eyes faltered back to the keys, a small smile on your face as you nodded.

The doctor nodded back, smiling as he reached across with his left hand to open the music book to the beginning of the song, licking his fingers once to unstick the pages. When the book was at the beginning, he smoothed the spine so the book would stay open before leaning back.

“I must admit, I do not believe you’ll be able to play this piece today, but if you continue to practice and stick with it, I have no doubt your capability of performing the piece.” The doctor explained, pulling his weak arm up to the piano.

You noticed that Dr. Kreizler was a bit frustrated with the state of his weaker hand, not being able to properly show you how to play. He let out a faint grunt as he attempted to move his right hand to play the keys, failing miserably.

While learning to play was something you found yourself yearning for, you knew it was wrong, given the state of Dr. Kreizler’s condition and not wanting him to be embarrassed. Seeing him in so much pain broke your heart, as you couldn’t understand how the man who cared so much for the ones he saw didn’t have anyone to do the same to him.

Reaching out, you found your own right hand placed over his, stopping him from attempting to push down on the keys. In surprise, Dr. Kreizler looked over at you, eyebrows furrowed for a moment before the turned into a somber expression.

“I believe I got in over my head,” He admitted sadly, “I used to play, you see, but after my arm, I haven’t been able to play as it requires two hands.”

You didn’t want to press on the manner. You never knew much about his weaker arm, but assumed that it was a sore subject for him. Smiling weakly, you shook your head and took his weaker hand off the keys, placing it in your lap as you squeezed his hand, gently running your other hand up his arm.

The delicate flesh that sat under his shirt was noticeably thinner than his other arm. The bones felt more prominent and his muscles were miniscule, perhaps not even there. You could hear his breath hitch in his throat as you stopped as his bicep, holding his arm close to you, almost in a hug.

“Dr. Kreizler...you do not need to push your own comforts for me and my lust for the piano,” You admitted, turning to look at the man in the eyes. “Perhaps one day I shall be able to play, but right now it is not necessary.”

Dr. Kreizler returned the smile, staring down at you and into your eyes contently, his breathing still hitched from his rising nerves, “Perhaps...but it still doesn’t excuse that I wished to teach you,” He admitted before continuing, “And please, call me Laszlo.

Your hand that was holding his reached to his face, your fingers running down into his beard, “Laszlo…” You whispered, almost as if to test the name as it came from your own mouth. You noticed his smile twitched bigger at the sound of his name coming from you before closing his eyes and pressing his chin down on your head.

The both of you stayed in that embrace for moments, enjoying the sound of one another’s steady breathing and the scent of one another. The moment went on for several more minutes before you finally pulled back, smiling once more at Dr. Kreizle- Laszlo before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Forgive me, Laszlo, I just felt as though it would be nice to kiss you.”

Laszlo could only smile, his cheeks pink before he nodded his head, “There is nothing to forgive...if it wouldn’t be bold of me to ask, perhaps I could return one for you?”

Pausing for a moment, your smile crept into a toothy grin before nodding, watching as he leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss to your cheek, your face twitching slightly at the tickle of his beard.

“If you wish, I would still be willing to teach you,” Laszlo began suddenly, leaning back now and untangling himself from you, looking back at the piano. He looked over his right shoulder and smiled down at you, “We could have dinner together and practice for an hour. As part of our new nightly routine...that is if you are not busy after dinner.”

The offer was more than what you could have asked for. Dinner and time to practice the piano? The doctor was spoiling you, there was no doubt about that. But how could you deny the offer? It was far too good to turn away.

Nodding your head furiously, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, ecstatic now for what lied ahead of you two, “Yes, yes I would quite enjoy that proposition, Laszlo. Thank you.”

Pleased to hear your agreement, Laszlo nodded and turned to the music book, pointing at the first note before directing you where to put your hands on the piano.

The rest of the afternoon and evening in the Institute was filled with repeating rhythms and phrases as well as the occasional echo of laughter between you and Laszlo. The time you shared that night went on for hours until you found yourself drifting off onto his shoulder as you listened to him explain the next measure that was more complicated than the others.

Laszlo couldn’t be mad at you for falling asleep as he was talking - in fact he was quite pleased to see, and feel, you asleep on his shoulder. Turning his body slightly, he looked over your face before leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to your forehead, pulling away after a moment. He heard light footsteps approaching and turned his attention from you and to the entryway where Cyrus now stood.

“Cyrus, please help me in assisting her off to her room. I don’t believe she will be waking up anytime soon.”

Approaching the two, Cyrus nodded and carefully scooped your sleeping figure into his arms, wishing the doctor a well evening before taking you up to your room, leaving the doctor to his thoughts for the evening.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Laszlo was more than impressed to see you seated at the piano no more than two months later, flawlessly playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor. The two of you had spent every night since the night he found you practicing until you were seated there now, playing for himself and Cyrus.

You worked hard to be able to perform the piece for the two men, working late most evenings and oftentimes on your own once you were able to understand how to play without Laszlo’s assistance. He went above and beyond with you as his pupil, being more than patient and understanding when you couldn’t get the measure right after numerous tries or when you first started and you couldn’t understand the proper wrist form.

But here you were, no more than a couple months later being able to play the piece without any hesitations. You could hear the other accompanies in your head - the strings, woods, and brass - which made your playing more confident as you felt as though you were on a stage, performing for a grand hall.

When the song finally came to and end, however, you lightly moved your hands up, letting the notes finish ringing out before dropping them into your lap, mouth opened in awe at yourself for being able to perform the piece. Turning your head, being brought back to reality and into Laszlo’s study, you stood from the bench and bowed, like you were told by Laszlo that performers do once they are done, before your smile spread wide, seeing them applaud you.

You couldn’t help but blush, especially when both Cyrus and Laszlo presented you with flowers picked from the garden out back.

“That was wonderful. I haven’t heard such a lovely song in how long.” Cyrus praised, his hands back at his side, a proud smile on his face.

You couldn’t help but feel warm, not expecting the praise from Cyrus, “Thank you, Cyrus. Your words are too kind.”

Nodding, Cyrus smiled and gently clasped Laszlo’s back, “As much as I’d love to stay up and chat,” He said after a moment, “I better be off to bed.” He bid you both a good night before going to retire to his room, leaving you both in study to yourselves.

Twirling the two flowers in your fingers, your attention was fixed on the yellow and orange daffodils, doing your best to ignore how obvious it was that Laszlo was staring at you.

Your attention was soon pulled from the yellow and orange to meet the honey brown of his eyes. A smile grew on your face as you laughed lightly, motioning towards the flowers, “I should be giving you one of these, at the very least, after all, you were the one who taught me.”

Plucking the stem of one of the flowers, you gently placed the flower in the front of his coat pocket, taking a step back before letting out a giggle, thinking he looked charming, yet silly. “I don’t know, Laszlo, I don’t know if daffodils are your flower.” You teased.

Before your hand got drop fully back to your side, Laszlo quickly caught your hand with his good one, holding it as he looked down at your. His smile turned weak, shaky almost, as if he was trying to not cry. You frowned, confused by the sudden reaction before he beat you to it.

“I haven’t been able to play in so long, and now hearing you tonight play…” He found himself choking on his words before he swallowed the painful lump in his throat, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss before holding it against his face, “Thank you, for bringing some I love back to life.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his confession, how close you were to him, and how extraordinarily handsome he was this evening. Your mouth fell open, unsure as to what to say next before you found your gaze wandering to his lips.

“Laszlo I-”

But before you could make out your sentence, you felt his soft lips on your, his beard tickling your face as he kissed your sweetly. Instantly closing your eyes, you melted into the kiss and shifted your hold to be around his neck, kissing him back.

You felt his weak arm placed on your waist and didn’t mind the connection, in fact, you adored it. Moving your left arm down, you gently ran your grasp down his weaker arm, squeezing the flesh delicately. As you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes to preserve the moment before hearing him speak again.

“Thank you, for letting my passion fly again.”

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x you #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x reader #angst #blurbs #the alienist

279 notes · View notes

mehphoobia · 3 years

Text

Coming Over

Pairing - Laszlo x Reader

Warning - none

Summary- laurentrvn [REQUEST]

Would you do Modern!Laszlo x Fem!reader Reader was a fashion designer, making clothes are casual style. Her phone ring, it was your psychiatrist (Laszlo your bf). He called you that how was you day doing. Of course he would like to ask you if you could go to dinner with him on his apartment. You could always say yes. Tonight they are getting dressed and ready. Then she came to his apartment, ring his doorbell. Laszlo open it, you can come in, his apartment was modern Victorian and very unique. They are in dining room, having dinner ready. They start talking. They are being honest at each other. You two head to his living room. Laszlo seem to look at you that he thinks that you are beautiful. Laszlo pinned you at couch. Kiss passionately. You always wanted to cherish him more. Laszlo was sweetness in your heart, they shared bed together.

___________________________🤍___________________________

Just like a piece of fabric, even people have layers. Some people tend to hide their real selves in front of people by pretending to be someone they are not or people just don't expect them to be any different. But you had seen all kinds of people in your life.

Being an unwanted child and regularly abused had left its mark in your life that was more of a dent than a mark. At the age of 17, when you finally decided to have your life and your future your way, there was no looking back.

After six long years, here you are today, a fashion designer in a well-known company with a good education. As always, the exterior background you had attracted more people even before they knew your story. What difficulties you had to go through and who you were.

That's what you thought before meeting Dr. Laszlo. Your past haunted you for a long time until you decided to get help from a psychologist. "You can talk to me, its alright. Its all in the past." That was the first thing he said. It wasn't much, but somehow the scars and wounds on your skin made all those years ago, somehow healed.

Well after that, the appointments, got extended. Most of the times, Dr. Lazslo would end up dropping you off at your apartment. Both of you felt awkward at first. He was supposed to be your psychiatrist after all. But him waiting outside your office building, sending you flowers every alternate day with cute little messages on small cards, was something you found endearing.

"You want to work on the report? Ms. Lee suggested your name." asked your colleague. Her sudden intervention had you stuff the card in your drawer and broke the moment that had you in all smiles. "Uh? Yeah sure." you had no idea what that report was because you were busy admiring the messages.

"The year end report Ms. Y/N. Its due next week." Your colleague's voice trailed off as she left your cabin. You bit your lip in embarrassment. You liked being loved and you loved him too.

Your phone's screen lit up just like your face when you received Dr. Laszlo's call. "Y/N?" his voice was laced with honey. "Hey" you replied. "If you are not too busy why don't you come over for dinner?" Laszlo asked. You understood that all his appointments were done for the day. "I am done with my work for today so I think I can join you." His voice was doing a terrible job in hiding his excitement and you couldn't help but giggle at that.

Around 1 hour was spent in front of the mirror contemplating the light blue dress that comfortably sat on your curves. Dealing with dresses is what you do normally then what was happening today? After tirelessly staring at the mirror you decided to let it go. You were confident and looked beautiful in what you were wearing. After grabbing the scented candles, you sent Laszlo a message giving a heads up.

Never were you so happy for the foundation on your face, enough to hide your tinted cheeks. He was all smiles when he saw you as he opened the door. His apartment was beautiful. The intricate design on the racks and the quality of the furniture was outstanding. That man had quite a taste.

Within no time you reached at his place and he got your shawl and overcoat as he placed his briefcase near the rack. "Can I help you with something?" you asked leaning over the kitchen counter.

"There is the vinaigrette, why don't you season the salad" he suggested. The dinner was amazing. No out of the line talks, no fake comments just a simple and quiet dinner, something you didn't realize was needed but it was. It was perfect.

"I will do this, could you help me with the dessert? It's in the fridge." Laszlo said he took the dishes from your hands and put it in the sink. You smiled and nodded your head. "Someone was prepared?" you said looking at the two servings of tiramisu placing them on the tea table near the couch. "For you? Always" he said sheepishly as he pinned you on the soft velvety surface of the couch and captured your lips in a searing kiss. His lips were soft on yours. He could the taste of the sweet wine on your lips as he devoured you.

It was a tough job keeping his hands to himself since the time you passed him when you entered the apartment. The subtle fragrance of your perfume was driving him crazy. The blue dress exposed your curves to his hungry eyes and the comment ignited it all. He was always a spectator of your beauty but tonight he was its victim.

Your eyes felt heavy as the movie ran on the T.V. "Tired?" he asked. "Yeah maybe" you chuckled at his observation. He slowly placed his arms beneath your neck and adjusted your head on the crook of his shoulder. The comforting smell of his cologne had you curling in his embrace.

It wouldn't hurt to shut your problems out for a night, right?

____________________________🤍_____________________________

A/N: Hello guys, I am back with another fanfiction. I had a major writer's block but I am happy I could come out of it. It was a much needed brake anyways so..

You all are seriously increasing my standards in men. But writing fics wouldn't hurt right.

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST | OTHER FANFICTIONS

Love yourself...you are worth it ❣❣

71 notes · View notes

mlmxreader · 2 years

Text

Tease | Laszlo Kreizler x gn!reader (🍋-ish)

Anonymous asked: seal anon- back on my bullshit

"Here, I'll teach you"- laszlo maybe some doctor or daddy kink plz

summary: Laszlo comes to stay with you while he’s on a break from work, and while at first everything is fine, certain desires do tend to get in the way.

tws: Daddy kink, dom/sub, swearing, mentions of collars/leads, mentions of handcuffs, mentions of rope, mentions of praise kink if you SQUINT

word count: 1000

MINORS DNI

Laszlo thankfully wasn’t working, for once, he had a little time off for himself and he could actually relax; there were no murderers on the loose to torment him, there were no cases to be solved, and the majority of his patients were more than looked after by the staff. He had been begged to take a break, practically forced to, and although at first he was bored and he was struggling to find anything to keep his mind busy, he soon turned to you; his dashing and handsome partner. He found himself spending more and more time with you, more than making up for the time that had been lost between him helping others and the cases he was involved in, he practically moved in with you temporarily. Your bedsheets soon started to smell like him, and his presence around the house was more than welcomed; sitting with him in the evenings, your head in his lap as he read one of your books, cooking together in the afternoons, with him often telling you to add one thing or to avoid using another, long walks together in the morning through the woods, with you more often than not stopping in your tracks to observe a fox or a deer in the distance. It was more than a welcomed occurrence, more than a comforting time together.

But Laszlo wouldn’t stay so domestically sweet forever, and you were counting down the hours until he would treat you how he usually did; the more dominant side coming out of him one bit at a time. You were more than excited for what was going to eventually happen, hoping that he had brought over the handcuffs, the collar, the lead, and the rope; you did your best to behave, to be good in hopes that he would reward you one way or another, but you also knew that his punishments were also so fucking good, and you couldn’t help but to act up just a little bit.

It was fairly late, around twenty to ten at night, and you and Laszlo were doing your usual; he was sat in the chair in the corner with the lamp on, reading through his current book and waiting for you to hurry up with the laundry so that he could move onto the sofa and you would put your head in his lap as you kicked your feet up on the leather arm and settled down for the night. He was waiting, looking up every now and then when you walked past the room with an armful of washing, although he had a feeling that the little routine would be shattered into a million pieces; he kept reading, and when you settled down on the chair at the opposite side of the room, he put the book down, and tilted his head to the side as he looked at you.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug, looking at him with those big puppy dog eyes that you knew he could never and would never refuse. “I was just thinking about how awfully I’ve been good recently.”

Laszlo furrowed his brows a little, looking at you with that hungry gaze that always came to his big brown eyes when he knew that you were about to start acting up, when he knew that you were about to start being a tease. “Don’t start that with me now, nyuszi.”

You scratched at the back of your neck, tilting your head and looking at him with as much innocence and ignorance as you could muster. “I’m not sure what you mean, Daddy.”

His jaw clenched, and he clicked his fingers. “Here. Now.”

You smiled, a little smug as you made your way over to him, and straddled his lap, your breath hitching when he placed his hand at the bottom of your throat. “What?”

“I told you not to start,” he said lowly, his voice hardly even a growl as he kept his dark brown eyes on you, keeping you pinned where you were as he shook his head. “If you’re good, you know I’ll reward you later.”

You pouted a little. “Yeah, about that… I don’t think I can wait until later.”

Laszlo scoffed, biting down on the inside of his bottom lip as he let out a harsh sigh. “So you’re going to start being a brat? Is that it?”

“Well, technically, no,” you started, “first of all, it’s my house, so… my rules.”

Laszlo couldn’t help but to laugh a little, swiping his hand down his face when he let go of your throat. He nodded. “Of course, where are my apologies? Would you like to be the dominant one when we… when we go to bed, too?” He laughed again. “Here, I’ll teach you if you want.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Daddy, you know that’s not what I mean. Don’t be a fucking dick.”

He shifted his hips, just enough so that you could feel him and you would let out a soft whimper of need. “Don’t be a brat.”

“I’m not the one acting like-”

He moved his hips again to shut you up, and although you tried not to for the sake of playing fair, you ground down against him, drawing a shuddering growl from the back of his throat. “You were saying?”

“Can we go upstairs?” You asked quietly, swallowing thickly. “Please, Daddy? I promise I’ll be good if we do…”

Laszlo considered it for a moment, thinking about the things he could ask you if you wanted, thinking of how he could possibly use it as an excuse to thank you for letting him stay with you, and although a thousand and one things crossed his mind, he narrowed it down to what he knew were your favourites; even if you were teasing him a little, if you were playing a little game, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to praise and reward you. “Alright, come on.”

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - do not just leave a "like", REBLOG IT. you may also leave feedback in the form of asks, tags, etc which is greatly appreciated, but you SHOULD reblog it regardless.

#mlem writes #laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #The Alienist #the alienist imagine #daniel bruhl imagine #daniel bruhl x you #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl imagine #daniel brühl x reader #Daniel Brühl

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hereticpriest · 1 month

Text

Chew

Rating: Mature?

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

This is a bit of a prequel to Bite, expanding upon the beginnings of their relationship. Soon to be followed by another prequel about their wedding night.

Warnings: Heavily implied odaxelagnia, letters of an intimate nature, flirting in the 1890s, period typical misogyny, period typical relationship culture.

Note: Szerelmem means 'my love' in Hungarian.

When you had first started your job as typist at the Kreizler Institute, you thought that you would have a small cubby tucked away somewhere in the bowels of the Institute. Somewhere where the good people who ran the Institute could forget that you existed until they had need of you, like any woman who dared have a job in these tumultuous times. Your interview with Dr. Kreizler had been perfunctory, but he had paid attention to you as you spoke, and he only interrupted you once, to stop a somewhat self-deprecating verbal spiral. He gave you a short test regarding your typing skills and ability to take dictation, reading over your results with a double-edged comment about your remarkable grasp of the spelling of complex medical terminology.

When you had arrived for your first day, you were surprised to find yourself led up to Dr. Kreizler's office, where a desk had been placed with a typewriter and appropriate supplies. The chair was comfortable, but you felt a little bit nervous under the heavy scrutiny of your boss. Thankfully, he was fair, and genuinely kind most of the time. He was wonderful with the children, and you truly admired the easy manner in which he spoke to them. He had a habit of prying, as if he needed to understand the way your mind worked, and you remember distinctly the moment you told him he couldn’t ever be capable of fully understanding your mind seeing as he was a man, and you were a woman. You had experiences he could never properly relate to.

That had certainly sparked one hell of a debate, but he hadn't been upset with you. Instead, he seemed to want to prove you wrong by way of dissecting your brain while you were meant to be working. He asked you questions endlessly, sometimes completely out of nowhere, and often those of a personal nature. However, you found yourself happy enough to speak to him, exposing your tenuous relationship with your parents, who were upset that you chose to have a job despite their intense desire for you to marry as soon as possible. He noticed your compulsion to chew the skin around your nails and asked you questions about it as if you were his patient rather than his typist. The following morning, you came into work to find a brand new pair of gorgeous gloves on your desk, and Dr. Kreizler suspiciously quiet.

Shortly after, you met the first of his friends, John Moore. He was very kind to you, with a certain sensitivity you weren’t used to seeing in high society men, though he always treated you as if you were very delicate. Next, came Sara Howard, a woman who impressed you very much as she was the first woman to ever work for the Police outside of cleaning staff. You both spent many a time together commiserating over the trials of working for men, though you felt a bit bad since you had much less to complain about than she did. Dr. Kreizler was very kind to you, if blunt and manipulative. He’d never made you feel uncomfortable in the way that men often made women feel uncomfortable, and he was respectful of your personal space. You often stayed at the Institute as late as he did, and he would always offer you his arm to walk you to his carriage, giving you a ride home safely, and walking you to the door despite you insisting it wasn’t necessary.

He was, however, prone to staring. It wasn’t like you thought he was staring at you - you were sure he was just lost in thought and not really seeing what he was looking at - but you could feel his eyes burning into you regardless and it had taken some time to get used to it. He was also prone to prying in ways that were considered socially inappropriate. He asked you about your fears, your dreams, your desires, and your relationship with your parents. He probed when you told him that your parents wanted you to marry instead of working for him. He asked about your prior suitors, or at least attempted suitors, and how you felt about them. Every time you helped with a case, be it criminal or simply a patient, he would demand your opinion and make you defend it.

The fact that he did it to everyone made it easier to handle - he didn’t think you were stupid and feel as if he needed to decipher your nonsensical thinking. On the contrary, he valued your opinion and thus wanted to hear it, and discuss it. He just wasn’t very good at the discussion part, and made it feel more like defending one’s scientific papers. Mr. Moore tended to get offended on your behalf when Dr. Kreizler did it in front of him, but you always took it in stride, and when you were done with the conversation or had run out of points, you simply had to admit it in order for the good doctor to leave you alone. He wasn’t trying to be a pest, he just liked a good argument to get his brain whirring. He liked dissecting every point to find the truth of a matter, and was very much open to considering the opinions of others, which was a rarity. He just made it seem like a fight when it was really his burning curiosity.

The brothers Isaacson entered Dr. Kreizler’s group last, and together they began to work on the case of the murders of young boy prostitutes. Mr. Moore protested your involvement like he did Sara’s, but you were a bit more gentle in telling him that you had a very strong stomach. You were, in fact, fascinated by the whole ordeal, which was a morbid fact you tried to keep to yourself lest you seem rather strange. You didn’t do any investigating yourself - you were simply there to take notes, and make copies of the files that Sara borrowed from the Police department. However, Dr. Kreizler brought you everywhere with him when he was investigating, offering you his arm and keeping himself between you and any other men to avoid you becoming uncomfortable. He was careful with you, and you appreciated that he took you into consideration when he brought you to less than appropriate places.

Note-taking for the investigators brought you to becoming somewhat comfortable in Dr. Kreizler’s home, as you all often met there, and Dr. Kreizler had a habit of thinking aloud when he was finished at a crime scene. He began asking you to come back with him to the house so that you could discuss the case, notes you had already taken, and what you were missing. Often, John Moore and Sara Howard would join you if they had the time, though you lied to your parents when you told them you were never actually alone with Dr. Kreizler. Countless times, you had curled up on the sofa across from him, talking until Cyrus or Stevie would have to remind you that you might want to leave before nightfall. The good doctor would come with you in the carriage even though he had no need to, and it always made you feel soft, even if he’d been rather annoying or mean that day.

It was only recently that things had begun to change.

Your parents were on a rampage - a backhanded reference to your wasted youth and beauty by one of their high society friends had sent them into a tizzy, and you found yourself the victim of near-constant badgering. They were insistent that you leave your job and let them find you a husband so you could raise your station and theirs. For a long portion of your employment, you’d been able to stave them off by promising that you did want to marry, you just wanted to experience the world a little bit first. Unsurprisingly, that had come to bite you in the ass. They had found a gentleman whose prospects were affected by his unfortunate stutter, and he was willing to overlook your want for employment. Your parents had given you a lecture the previous night, and made it very clear that you were going to marry this man when he asked. The ‘or else’ was implied, and had kept you up all night.

You stumble on the slight ridge where the door to Dr. Kreizler’s office closes, which he told you was used for privacy as it helped dampen sound. It’s the first time you’ve ever been careless enough to trip over it, and you find yourself caught in the stare of the good doctor, his honey-brown eyes scanning over you quickly as if looking for an explanation.

“Are you okay, Miss L/N?”

Something about the soft way he asks you causes a crack in your demeanour, and you nod, swiftly making your way to your desk.

“Of course, Doctor.”

A disbelieving hum answers you and you settle yourself at your desk, opening Dr. Kreizler’s journal to the marked page where you left off so you could resume your work. You lose yourself in it, the soft clicks of the typewriter lulling your mind enough that you don’t hear the doctor’s approach until his hand gently closes around your wrist, pulling your palm away from your mouth. He hisses air through his teeth as you stare, ashamed, at the mottled purple of your thenar eminence. You didn’t even realise you were doing it. You knew you had been biting last night after your lecture from your parents, however, you never thought you would unconsciously do it in the presence of Dr. Kreizler.

“Your biting habit worries me.” He states as he leans his hip against your desk so that he can look at you properly, “What troubles you?”

Another crack.

“Let me help you, Miss L/N.”

Spiderweb cracks spread across the glass separating you from your emotions. You have so little control of yourself left, so close to breaking. You close your eyes briefly, steadying yourself, then look up at your boss as calmly as you possibly can, “It is a childish matter, Doctor, I couldn’t possibly trouble you with it. Please excuse my behaviour.”

Dr. Kreizler sighs.

“Miss L/N, please tell me.” he asks a little more sincerely, and you shatter. Your bottom lip wobbles, and his fingers slip up from your wrist to wrap around your hand instead, an intimacy that makes both of your faces’ hot. His fingers slip through yours, and you stare at your hands instead of looking at him, nerves sparking at the intimacy.

“My parents want me to marry.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Yes, well, they’ve found a man willing to take me on despite my questionable desire for employment.” You inform him, looking from your linked fingers to his face and noticing a tightening in his jaw.

“Ah.” He acknowledges, taking a breath, and for the first time you notice the flowers sitting on his desk, and the letter attached to them. You don’t forget your troubles so much as grab the distraction with both hands.

“Oh, those are lovely. I apologise for overstepping my bounds, however, may I ask who they’re for?” You ask, “You even wrote a letter. That’s so lovely, Dr. Kreizler.”

The doctor’s cheeks go pink, and he glances at the flowers before looking back at you, “Have you accepted his courtship?”

Your face falls, and you frown as he outright ignores your query, which seems almost worse than if he were to tell you off for it. But, you shake your head, looking away from him as you pull your hand free of his. He holds on for a moment longer before letting you go.

“He has yet to formally ask me, and thus I haven’t yet been forced to decline as I intend to.”

The tension in Dr. Kreizler’s shoulders ease, and you wet your lower lip as he leaves you, walking over to his desk and picking up the flowers. His nervousness rubs off on you, and you stand, following behind him.

“The flowers are for you. I know it is wholly unprofessional for me to propose courtship at your place of employment, however I believe we’ve surpassed the simple bonds of employer and employee to something more akin to friendship, so I hope you will forgive me. I-I know that I may not be what you want in a man… I have… deficiencies that may make you hesitant, and I know that I am difficult.” he says as he touches his right arm, which you knew about only because he had needed assistance one evening while you were at his home without anyone who knew about it, ”But I would take care of you in all ways. You would want for little, and of course, you would be able to continue your employment and pursuits of knowledge. I would never deny you anything simply for the fact of your gender.”

You’ve never thought of Dr. Kreizler that way. In the interest of keeping a professional relationship on both sides, and treating him with the same careful respect as he treated you, you had put his being a man firmly in the back of your mind. He was a doctor. He was a brilliant mind. He was your boss. He was something of a friend. Last, and very much least, he was a man. As you stare at him in shock, you begin to put latent thoughts together that you’ve often pushed to the back of your mind. He is a handsome man, with sweet honey-brown eyes and lovely brown hair. His body is appealing, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. His intelligence is attractive - you’ve always known it in the back of your mind, but you’ve ignored how that might’ve made you feel, instead focusing on the outcomes of his intelligence. He is well-groomed, from his pristine facial hair to his fantastic outfits, which you know cost a pretty penny. He has always cared for you, and shown you some of the best sides of himself to balance the times when he is more difficult. His weaker hand ghosting across your back when he helps you from the carriage while his strong hand holds yours to steady you comes to mind when you think of how he cares for you. Your father has never shown that much care for your mother - your coachman helps your mother from the carriage while your father marches on ahead.

You realise with a start that Dr. Kreizler is everything you’ve ever said you wanted when you considered marriage. And as you examine the softness and the twinge of hope in his eyes, you realise that you do actually want this. You want him. Your cheeks grow hot as you realise that you truly, honestly, deeply do want him. And he just asked if you would let him court you.

A surprised ‘oh!’ escapes your lips in a rush of air, and you take the flowers from him, staring at them in shock.

“I… I would accept, should you propose courtship, Dr. Kreizler. I thank you for asking me rather than my parents, however, my family is old fashioned and you… well, you would need to ask my father as well.” You admit, and he seems surprised that you agreed, which hurts your heart.

“I had intended on pursuing this properly, once I knew your desires on the matter.”

“And now you do. Perhaps you should call on my father.”

“I will.” He assures you, and you stare into his eyes for a moment, holding your flowers to your chest like he might try to take them back.

“Good. I will await the good news.” You reply with a firm nod, and a smile creeps across your face like you’re trying to restrain it, mirrored on his own. You head over to your desk, and he moves quickly to pull your chair out for you, drawing a shy smile to your lips. You spend the rest of your day at work listening to the soft rumble of Dr. Kreizler’s voice and trying quite hard not to laugh when three separate patients, two of the other workers at the Institute, and John Moore remark on the man being in a particularly good mood today.

That evening, a knock comes at your door, and you wait with baited breath, hiding at the top of the stairs as Dr. Laszlo Kreizler asks your father for permission to court you. His proposal is professionally detached, running off of what you’ve told him about your parents, and emphasising that he would like to pursue marriage swiftly. Your father knows exactly who the good doctor is - he had done his research when you began working for him - and he is aware of exactly how wealthy the man is. His social status has suffered from his career choice and his strange views, but he’s still above the man they’d intended for you, and they knew you would be well-looked upon for getting the man to finally settle down. It would look good on him to marry a high class woman with good standing as well.

You stand up quickly as you hear your mother approaching the stairs, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees you, looking happy about you for the first time in a long while. She encourages you to come down, and as you approach her, she teases you gently about having a gentleman suitor and that perhaps she should have seen the wisdom of you working with a well-to-do man as if this had all been your plan. You’re happy enough to let her believe what she likes so long as she isn’t angry with you. You had changed after returning home from work, and now wore a dinner gown that was much prettier than much of the clothing Dr. Kreizler - Laszlo, as he’d asked you to start calling him - had ever seen you wear. He brightens at the sight of you, and you smile demurely, taking your father’s arm delicately.

“Dr. Kreizler has come to ask to court you, darling.” He says as he pats your hand on his arm fondly, as if he hadn’t been arguing with you a short few hours ago. You smile with a bit of faux surprise on your face, and you give your father’s arm an encouraging squeeze.

“Well, with your approval, Father, I will most heartily accept.” You reply, and you smile as Laszlo holds out a sealed letter to you, taking it from him and tucking it into one of your pockets. He kisses the back of your hand and bids you all farewell, promising to return in the next week or two to get to know your family better, and asking your parents if it would be acceptable to take you for a chaperoned walk this coming Saturday. You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your excitement, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you try to keep your cool in front of your parents.

You tear into your letter and drown yourself in his words, his proclamations of adoration and desire. He begins with a softer tone - how surprised he was when you came in for your interview, the way you provoked his mind, how impressed he was to find that you’d read not only his own work but the work of other alienists. How you coaxed him to open up piece by piece, in ways he hadn’t expected. How you’d encouraged him to see some of the little joys in life when you’d brought him to the rooftop gardens and told him what each of the flowers was. The way he loved to hear your opinions on cases, be they criminal or patients of the Institute, for you always surprised him with a new perspective.

Next, he professes little intimacies. You were wrong when you’d assumed he wasn’t staring at you and was simply lost in thought. He admits to getting lost in the soft curve of your smile, the delicate click of your fingers on the keys of the typewriter, and the way you sometimes hum while you’re working. He loves the way you grip his bicep in your hand when you walk together, and the gentle flex of your fingers when you get excited by something you see, or the clench of your hand when you get annoyed by something. That you trust him so deeply as he helps you from the carriage, barely looking where you’re going as he guides you, trusting him to keep you safe. How his heart races when your knees bump together in the carriage, or when you let him place his hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowd at Delmonico’s. How he dreams of the soft curve of your back, and what it might look like unbound.

By the end of the letter, your heart is racing just as he’d professed his own had raced, and you lay back on your bed after you’ve unburdened yourself of your day’s clothing with the help of your maid. Alone, you hide yourself under layers of blankets, your hand between your thighs as you read your doctor’s private words for you. You stroke your pleasure from sparks to a fire, eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones as you toss your head back into the pillows, a silent cry caught in your throat. Guilt burdens you afterwards in the cold dark of your bedroom, and you slip from your bed to sit at your desk in your nightdress, writing in a flurry to your doctor. Now, with the last remnants of your act of devotion cooling on your inner thighs, your writing is sinful. But your doctor does not believe in a God, nor the binds that society places on a man and a woman, and he will not shame you for your weakness. Perhaps he will even take himself in hand like you did, and devote himself to you in love and sin.

The idea of it burns you, and you bite your trembling lip as you write about what you’d done with his name upon your lips, hidden under metaphors that he will doubtless understand. By the time you’re done, you know this letter should be burnt. If you were a good, pious, proper woman you would walk down the stairs to the fire in the fireplace and burn the letter to avoid anyone seeing your shameful words. You seal it, then slip it into the pocket of your coat, crawling into bed and getting comfortable for the night. The following morning, your face is burning as you place the letter into Laszlo’s hand, and he gives you a discreet smile that only worsens the feeling until you settle at your desk to pretend you aren’t an unprofessional ball of embarrassment.

You hear a soft gasp, and your eyes meet Laszlo’s as he reads your letter, his cheeks burning. He coughs, adjusting in his seat, and folds the letter, presumably to read later. A wise choice. You giggle, and he smiles despite himself, turning his gaze back to his papers. You admire him for a moment longer to make up for all the time you’ve wasted not gazing at him, then turn back to your work, excited for the future. Hopefully, he won’t make you wait too long to be wed. It seems almost a waste to delay any longer.

You find yourself engaged no more than two months later.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler

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lorna-d-m · 9 months

Text

Chapter Four: Assigned Reading

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

Word Count: 2,050

W: mentions of drinking, bullying

A/N: In hindsight, I should have combined this chapter with the previous since they're both a touch short. However, they're both setting up for something important. I'm sorry this took almost my entire summer to write. It seems I'm more productive when I'm busy, and when I'm free I can't get anything done lol.

previous chapter

Late September, marked by the paling of green leaves to yellow and cooler temperatures, also marked three weeks of school. By this point, students and teachers alike fell into routines and began new projects. Ms. Greene assigned a variety of short stories to her students, and they completed several assignments in preparation for a class discussion.

Knowing her students as she did, she knew talking would be no difficulty for the discussion. Would they stay on topic? Of course not, but she could always guide them back to the matter at hand. Once or twice in the past week, she needed to nip conversations in the bud, and it troubled her.

Being a teacher meant picking and choosing her battles. Alice did not remark on every student conversation of questionable nature she overheard. If she did, she would never have any time to teach. However, when she heard rude comments about another student or anything to incite concern, Ms. Greene stepped in.

Twice she caught members of the football team picking on Stevie, and twice she intervened. As cliche, as it sounded, she spoke to her students about respecting their classmates. Additionally, she rearranged the seating to put Stevie as far from them as possible. The third time, she discreetly asked Stevie to stay a moment after class.

After a few weeks of school, Alice knew Dr. Kreizler’s assurances of Stevie weren’t just words. She saw how Stevie did the reading with her own eyes, knew the answer when called upon, and showed up prepared for class. True, Stevie kept to himself, but he behaved well and had yet to be spotted in silent lunch or detention. Stevie deserved to be in her class without fear of being ridiculed.

“Who do you have during sixth period?” She kept an eye on her incoming students in the hallway. They knew to wait at the door if she was talking to a student.

Stevie shifted his textbooks and binder from his left side to his right. “Bio with Ms. Sussman, why?”

Perfect! “If you finish your work early with Ms. Sussman,” Alice almost said Bitsy rather than her surname, “Ask her if she can write a pass for you to come to my room. We can talk more then.”

“Alright,” he shrugged, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Don’t worry if you don’t have time today. I’m sure we can work something out by the end of the week.” She bit back a laugh at her good luck. Ms. Sussman. “Now go, before I make you late for your next class.”

“Uh, thanks, Ms. Greene.”

Stevie left, and Alice hoped he didn’t have to go across the school in a minute. She waved the rest of her students who stood awkwardly by the door in, and she rewinded her powerpoint for the day. At lunch, she could ask Bitsy what her students were doing in class to find out if Stevie would have time or not. If she was lecturing, no chance, but if they did individual practice, Stevie would likely finish before the end of class.

Stevie sat in Laszlo’s office at the Institute whenever he needed to focus on his work. More often than not, the good doctor himself was busy moving from student to student, room to room, to sit in his office. He urged Stevie to sit at his desk when he needed to work, but it weirded him out. Too stuffy and heavy.

He liked to sit by the window instead. Whenever he got bored and needed a break, he could look outside. Sometimes, he could see the kids laughing and screaming on the playground. Occasionally, Kreizler would stroll around or sit on a bench, watching how they played and taking notes. Seeing him served as a reminder to study.

Stevie propped his heavy English textbook against the windowsill and sighed. He finished his science work with some time left over, and Ms. Sussman wrote the note surprisingly quickly after he said it was for Ms. Greene. They spoke about the situation, but he didn’t know what else she could do. She spoke to them, she rearranged the seating, and Stevie really didn’t want her to go to the counselor or an administrator or anything.

Stevie didn’t want to cause or be involved in any problems. He knew he was labeled trouble from the beginning, and there was a chance no one but Ms. Greene would believe him. People were dicks, especially Coach Connor’s favorites on the football team. No one would take the word of a teenager with a rap sheet over the star quarterback.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he dog-eared the textbook page and closed it. He found a group to sit with at lunch, and they added him to their group chat. They liked video games, cars, and weirdly enough to Stevie, tabletop and board games. Some horror movie was supposed to come out this weekend, and they wanted to see the midnight premier.

He talked to Kreizler about it in the car. He’d never had friends or midnight plans before, or at least not while he had a guardian who gave a shit about him, and he felt weird asking for permission. But the good doctor encouraged the plans, even offering to drive them to the theater and drop them off. Stevie told him he didn’t have to and there was no reason for him to mess up his plans and be out that late when Mike’s mom already offered to drive.

Of course, Stevie wasn’t going to tell him that it wasn’t Mike’s mom driving but Mike with his brand new driver’s license, with a curfew and limits still imposed. However, Stevie knew Kreizler would be sound asleep and snoring well before he was due back home.

It was an unusual Saturday night; both Laszlo and Stevie had plans. Stevie left the house in a rush to grab dinner before a midnight movie premier, and Laszlo waved him off from the foyer. In his hurry out the door, he promised to text when they were on their way back. Laszlo was pleased Stevie made friends and plans. It sounded like despite a few troubles here and there, Stevie was settling into school.

Laszlo had a standing reservation on the last Saturday of every month for a party of three at Delmonico’s. John, Sara, and himself found if they didn’t put their plans in their calendar, it was difficult to ever see each other. Charlie Delmonico, owner and host, grew accustomed to Laszlo’s peculiarities. He knew to reserve a corner booth on the second floor, with blue walls rather than olive or crimson. Their conversations could take hours as each person discussed their busy lives at the university and the precinct, but they were fantastic tippers. Charlie never rushed them out of their table but instead made them feel welcome.

Laszlo arrived at the table first and took advantage of their absence, ordering his favorite lingonberry schnapps. He perused the menu in peace, mentally deciding which wine to pair with which course and what dessert to save room for until John and Sara arrived. After several tumultuous years, including John’s misguided engagement with Violet, John and Sara finally decided to be together. They moved in together a few months back, enlisting Laszlo and Stevie to help them, and Laszlo awaited the proposal. Privately, he suspected rather than John going down on one knee, it would be Sara taking the lead.

“Laszlo! Good to see you again.” John sat down across from him and grinned. “What a hectic month it’s been, so I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

“How are you and how are Stevie?” Sara left the menu folded in front of her. She never strayed from her standard order and hardly glanced at the menu anymore.

“Good and good, I suppose.” Laszlo refolded his napkin and set it in his lap. “Stevie seems to be settling well. He’s made friends, and he’s actually out with them tonight seeing some horror movie.”

“Exciting! Good of the kid. High school goes by much easier with friends, eh Laszlo?” John playfully nudged him, and Laszlo avoided the touch.

Sara, however, caught everything. “Seems to be, you said seems to be. So, why isn’t he?” She stirred her drink with her straw.

Laszlo sighed and leaned back in the booth. “Stevie’s teacher mentioned he’s being heckled by some boys on the football team. He hasn’t said anything to me about it, but then again, he wouldn’t. I’m hoping she and I can discuss it at the conferences in a few weeks.”

“Good,” Sara commended, “problems such as this should be dealt with quickly before they spiral out of control.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see that sly smile, you old dog.” John could be exceedingly astute when it suited him. “She?”

Perhaps it was the schnapps he drank before they arrived, but Laszlo was glad John pressed the subject. While he typically avoided discussions of feelings or romance since Mary’s passing, he wanted to talk about Alice with his friends. Laszlo was of two minds about her.

“She and I have had a few conversations, mostly over email, but some in person. Obviously, Stevie and school were our main talking points, but the conversation wandered a few times.” Sara noticed a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I may have shown up a time or two in the afternoon with two coffees instead of one and discussed books with her, but I was waiting for Stevie to finish at his locker.”

“How scandalous,” Sara joked wryly.

“Well, it could be.” Laszlo set his fork aside. He adored Delmonico’s, but he could not enjoy his meal when he was at an impasse. “That is why I have not done anything more drastic. She is Stevie’s teacher, and if we were to pursue a romantic relationship it would pose a serious ethical dilemma. Not to mention, I am at least a decade older than her.”

“Oh, Laszlo, you’re thinking with your head again instead of your heart.” Laszlo rolled his eyes. John and his hopeless optimism when it came to love. “You should go for it, and that’s not the wine talking. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in a relationship, unless you’ve been hiding anything else from us?” he teased. “It sounds like this teacher is interested in you, so instead of conveniently bringing coffee to her, ask her if she wants to go get coffee.”

“As for the age difference,” Sara took a sip of her sparkling water, “some women find it appealing. You will never know if you don’t try.” Sara herself was several years younger than John, so she spoke from experience.

“If she says no, then you have your answer and can move on. No more emailing, no more talking, and it’ll only be awkward for the rest of the year.”

***

Laszlo checked the time and decided to call a cab rather than drive. He would still be home well before Stevie, and it was the safe decision given how much he drank at dinner. It would give him time to think, as well, about their advice.

Ms. Greene was young and bubbly. He did not want to misconstrue kindness as flirtation or politeness for eagerness. How embarrassing it would be to make that mistake, red-faced and ashamed. Laszlo would never be able to face her again.

No, Laszlo knew someone as lovely as her could not be interested in him. Not at his age, checking for gray hairs every time he trimmed his beard, or with his harsh reputation for terrifying students and dissecting minds. And, especially not with his baggage. Laszlo was not sure anyone interested in him would stay after learning more.

He rubbed his arm as if it were sore. It did not ache, but holding it brought him comfort. He yearned to be home, in his four-poster bed, with a bottle of Tylenol in hand. Laszlo knew he would be sound asleep before Stevie came home, but he knew he would be safe and smart. Or at least, he hoped. Stevie still vaped despite his best efforts to make him quit, but Laszlo couldn’t chastise him when he craved a cigarette.

Next chapter

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

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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Hello! I'm watching The Alienist- Angel of Darkness, and I keep thinking of a fic where laszlo's wife!reader just gave birth and this case worries the poor man more than usual, because their baby is in danger and he can't get into the assassin's mind. Perhaps the reader could offer to breastfeed laszlo, and they have an in-depth conversation about the workings of the killer's mind and why the reader herself enjoys nurturing her husband. Perhaps it would even become a habit after the case was solved and every time Doctor Kreizler wanted some milk, he would let her know with a touch just below her breast that would go unnoticed in public as a gesture of affection? I think I thought about it too much, what do you think about writing about it?

The Marriage of Happiness [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Wife!Reader]

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: erotic lactation, breastfeeding kink, mention of other kinks and of murder

A/N: What do I think about writing it? I think THANKY YOU because I could write Laszlo having a boobie obsession for the rest of my life. I do think about it daily and it is just THE kink for him (as poor @cazzyimagines knows how obsessed I am). The case of studies mentioned are taken from psychology books of the time. I don''t know what point you're with Angel of Darkness so I am not giving out too much.

The night was dark and tensed, not a soul on the streets of the residential area you lived in with your husband, the only light up the one in your bedroom.

You became mother three months before welcoming the first little Kreizler of her generation. It was hard but worth every second, every moment of the pregnancy and the delivery your husband was with you. You were lucky, you felt lucky to be with a man like Laszlo: open minded, modern, charming and righteous.

You smiled walking around the room as you lulled your baby humming a soft lullaby, the baby observing you with dazzling eyes, you could see she was tired and the melody kept her attentive but also lulled her to a place of comfort.

You swayed slowly in a gentle waltzer, your arms embracing the tiny body wrapped up into the finest white clothing. You yourself wore your white nightdress with a dark green cover up that Laszlo gifted you, it was slightly bigger in size so you’d use it though the whole pregnancy, your hair loosely braided.

The baby opened her mouth making a soft sound, she was calm and relaxed, to see her like this brought you an immense joy.

You heard steps approaching to the door, the house was empty since Stevie was with Laszlo and the cook you hired was in her quarters, you wouldn’t be worried if your husband wasn’t working on a case of abducted babies, but then you followed Laszlo’s common sense and listened instead of letting your mind worry. You listened to the steps coming one after the other, the weight of them, the pace.

You smiled to yourself as you guessed right, your husband appeared on the door frame and the shadow over his face disappeared for a moment meeting your standing figure with the baby. Since the case begun he refused to have any new staff in the house, he brought the bed of the baby in your bedroom, which wasn’t common back then, and every night sent Stevie to roam around the streets before going to bed to see if there was any obscure presence.

“My love” he said with a smile as he walked his way toward you undoing his jacket as you offered him a look of the falling asleep baby. His left hand gently caressing the little chest to feel the breathe of life in it. The baby blinked at him and smiled. Your baby girl was an early smiler, she smiled in her first month which just ripped off her father soul, tucked it in her little pocket and sold him forever. He was already ecstatic to be a father, only the announcement of your pregnancy got him wild, a mix of worry and tenderness always over him. The constant fear to be losing it. To lose what you brought to his life, not only his daughter but that happiness, the home feeling, the meaning to have something to come back to at night.

He loved you like a flower loves the water, he loved you more than metaphors can explain. He closed his eyes pressing his forehead against your temple, you rocked the baby gently in your arms as she relaxed, the sleep over her even if the presence of her father stirred her a bit.

“I am so worried for her” he murmured, he couldn’t cope with it anymore. The pressure to be following that case.

Sara told him to drop it, but he couldn’t. He owed it to Martha Napp, he owed him to his own child. To be in the case put his darling baby into the spotlight, but the best chance to solve it and avoid the menace of losing the apple of his eyes was to fight the crime from the inside.

And yet, he couldn’t. He couldn’t get inside it.

He looked up and noticed your eyes on him, you detected the twist into his mind, the fear, the tremble of his intentions.

You kissed his cheek as his head was bowed slightly before slowly moving away to lean the baby into her cradle.

“Get comfortable” you urged him softly as he nodded to you undoing his jacket and his waist coat shrugging them off his shoulders as you adjusted the baby into her usual sleeping position, you pulled the covers over her caressing her head full of dark blonde hair like her father had as a child. You brushed them gently as she stirred and relaxed again, a soft sound coming from her mouth. She was well dressed, well fed and happy, you knew your child had all the possibilities in life to be the most charming and smartest woman of her times.

You moved the little veils on top of the crib to shield her from the dim lights of the room before pacing your way back to your husband.

Laszlo was sat on your shared bed. His eyes focused in the nothing in front of him. His waistcoat and jacket abandoned as he wore only his candid white shirt and dark pants.

You picked the hooked needle as you slowly bowed to your knees, he blinked surprised for a moment as you begun to undo his boots silently. You knew him, you gave him time to express himself. He was elaborating still, collecting ideas after a day spent talking back and forth with Sara.

“I saw the body” he said as you looked up.

“The body of Martha Napp’s baby” he added and you frowned, the poor woman, you couldn’t imagine yourself in her position. You’d probably be accused of murder too because you’d probably become feral if somebody touched your baby.

“Are you sure it is her baby?”

You knew he was sure, but the hope still fazed you.

“The child was poisoned, the deadly pallor was evident but Martha mentioned her child had an identifying contusion” he took a pause, he licked his lips as you could almost see him relieve the scene in his mind “A benign hemangioma under her left axilla”

He looked at you, to see the corpse of a baby, a baby that could be his, to find out a baby girl was abducted and this time in a well known residential area. The anxiety took over him. He was pestered by dark worries, images that saw you in a state of loss and disruption like the poor Señora Linares.

His eyes rested onto you, your calm firmness made him shake at times. His strong and aggressive demeanour might show him as the rock of the couple, but you are. You’re the one that can overcome things, that can see clearly when his mind is clouded.

“Might that child soul rest now with her mother, if you allow me I will take care of organising the burial along with the mother’s corpse as soon as the Isaacson’s have concluded their inspections on it”

He looked at you, a soft smile crept on him. Your thoughtful self always finding the cure to the pain. He saw the failure and you found the ultimate resolution. You could not join them in life, let it be in death.

You gave him a warm smile before finishing with both his boots and pulling them out, your hands slowly tracing his calves and ankles resting your chin on his knee to interject his eyes.

“Darling”

He blinked, he zoned out again and your voice called him back.

“I apologise” he only said

You stood up, his eyes lingering over your body for a moment. You healed like a true champion after the delivery, in few weeks you were back on your feet like nothing, in a month you were able to attend events. Your energy and vitality made you seem immortal to his eyes, which triggered his fears of loss even more.

Something so special, so strong like you, the idea to see you broken in any shape or form poisoned his soul and tortured his heart.

“Laszlo” once again, you called him back to reality as you sat beside him “you’re not thinking clearly”

He huffed softly, you were right.

“I can’t focus” he admitted finally taking your hand in his “I even upset the señora with my questions, enraged Sara, I feel like an headless chicken rushing around to find answers I can’t deal with. The scientific community protecting a butcher, John doing all he can at the newspaper and yet I am providing nothing to this investigation but background noise” he frowned deeply.

You could tell he was doing it for Martha and for you. He wanted to protect you and he tried to keep you far from all that darkness.

“Come” you said as you moved to your spot on the bed relaxing your legs as you adjusted some pillows behind your back “come on”

You hushed him and he obeyed quietly crawling on the bed, his frown still present. You hated to see him like that. Usually he was able to keep cases of study and worries outside of the bedroom, but this case was too personal.

You smiled at him as you undid the silly bow on your neck that kept the upper part of your night gown up. It was a maternity gown so to undo that little knot exposed the sensual curve of your breasts in a second. His eyes indulged over that little silky cloth twisted around your finger and the stars of little moles on your chest, he knew each of them by memory, he knew the scent of your perfume and the oils you use after bathing.

He looked up at you with a questioning look, he mindlessly run the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip when you exposed your juicy breasts. He always had a thing for them, he was always enchanted by the feminine chest as the highest form of femininity, big or small, that sensual shape was the epitome of life, of the charms of Eve in the Garden of Eden, the Mother Earth personified into the sacred body of his wife.

His eyes darted up back at you, a silent question on him as you didn’t let his confusion overwhelm you, you fought it with calmness and temperance.

“I know only one way to calm a restless Kreizler”

Your words would have made him smile as your open arms weren’t such a charming offer. He run his tongue again over his upper lip this time, using his left arm as support he slowly slipped closer to you.

His face leaned to yours as you didn’t seem to have changed your mind.

Somebody else would have maybe found it repulsive, a man of simple and good heart like John would have felt that kind of attention misplaced.

But not him.

He lowered himself over your chest adjusting into a nice position as you used few extra pillows you had there to ensure him a comfortable stay. His nose gently brushed over the inside of your chest, his hot breath hitting over your skin as he looked up at you once more and once more a welcoming smile followed his gaze.

He leaned down once again, lips parted to gently capture your nipple among them. Your mouth gaping lightly as he sucked a bit too much at the beginning sending shivers down your spine but just like any child his sucking revealed his anxiety to be fed, his fear and his need of protection.

You wrapped one arm around him as with the other you brushed his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp to relax him, fingers combing his always well kept hair.

You watched his eyes flutter closed as you resumed your usual humming. It wasn’t a real lullaby, it was some of a rhythm you got stuck in your head.

“You’re here and I am here, our baby is safe from the world outside and nothing bad can happen” you narrated softly to him “you’re the most amazing man I have ever met, I know that the clarity of your thinking will come back. Just stop the world for a moment, it will all be back when the time comes right”

He hummed softly as you fell silent gently caressing him as you observed him lovingly, the fingers of his weak right hand toying with your braid. His beard hitching a bit in the beginning but you got soon used to it, you didn’t speak up anymore, you felt him relax more and more and you also did. This new kind of bond felt pleasurable and sweet, you felt to have reached a new kind of intimacy which is all you could hope for your marriage.

The time passed in silence, not a sound disturbing you until Laszlo’s relaxed body stretched lightly, the common knowledge telling you that the baby is fed.

He pulled back slowly before resting a kiss over your chest in a silent thank you.

He rested his head over your lap observing you like some Madonna staring at him with you gentle tenderness, not even Michelangelo could have grasped the beauty of your act or the absolute unfiltered love of your gaze.

“Was it pleasurable for you?”

He asked as you smiled gently caressing his cheek and his beard

“It was, you are really gentle” you answered. Another thing that you loved about your marriage was the unfiltered expression of feelings. You both looked for clarity through the eyes of your partner.

“Does it makes me your child?”

You smiled understandingly. This is your Laszlo, inquiring, curious, witty.

“No, no I don’t have a feeling that resemblance to breastfeed a child, it is more deep, more bound into my mind as an act of” you stopped thinking about it.

“Communion?”

He dared and you nodded as that was the right word.

“There’s a 1903 study, a German alienist suggested practicing erotic lactation as a way to deepen the relationship between husband and wife in a book called Die Offenbarung im Weibe, quite of a title I’d say, but he advised it as a good way to family plan, to give both the partners pleasure and he focused most of his studies over the idea of women’s sexual satisfaction being vital to the creation of an happy marriage.”

“It pleases me, I won’t deny it and it is a way that makes me feel you closer to me but in a more primal way, closer to the way sex works but with a different meaning”

He nodded as he toyed still with your brain slowly, a little fetish he just noticed in himself still doomed by the charm of unfiltered pure femininity.

Long hair, breasts, welcoming hips, all details that attracted him and drawn him toward you.

“There’s a study case, a man, a very wealthy one, he was obsessed with female hair. The smell, the composition, the touching” he paused as he toyed with yours among his fingers “He wouldn’t be able to suppress his desire, he confessed me his deepest fantasy was to have an orgasm while kissing the female hair and burying his head through them. It was peculiar but not harmful until he got himself a pocket knife, one of those not even good for a little pickpocketing but just as good to be able to cut some ladies’s hair in a crowd”

You kept caressing his hair yourself, probably moved also by the story, observing it and enjoying the texture.

“Do you think the killer of children needs to posses his fetish then?”

He nodded as you’re so smart.

“The possession is part of the final abdication of a person to their fetish, to be up to crime to own the desired being just proves the final commitment to the satisfaction of one’s desires” he explained to you and he paused now almost asking to himself “why would somebody steal a child then?”

You turned around looking at the crib where your baby girl rested.

“Because my crib is empty” you said and his eyes widened lightly.

“Tell me more, try to imagine it”

You frowned lightly as you moved your hands away from him, making distance, imagining the loneliness of empty arms, the excruciating pain of having a child and then not having it anymore.

“I need to give my love to my child” you said then taking a pause, your eyes staring to some unknown spot of the room “and if my child is not there, I will make sure that there will be”

Laszlo sat up as he stared at you.

“But that child won’t resemble you, your child was special and peculiar in its own way, this child grows up, changes, blabbers words while yours didn’t”

He pushed this image in you as you came to the only reasonable deduction you’d do if you were in such a state

“Then that is not my child” you said only “my child is somewhere else and this one is an impostor”

Laszlo nodded “So you get rid of it as soon as the reality outgrows the fantasy”

He concluded.

You looked at him as he stared back at you, a woman, the killer must be a woman that lost a child or got it taken away from her. She finds surrogates and dismisses them, she probably never saw her baby grow so they can’t grow.

“What would I do without you?”

You smiled at his words “you’d be completely lost, we both know about it” you said kissing his lips having a taste of your own medicine “now get into your night clothing, you’ll see Sara tomorrow to give her this new perspective.”

He smiled, not even a trace of the worried and confused Laszlo that stepped I the room before. He was back to his senses, his mind active, he could see with clarity.

- - - - - - -

The case unveiled itself, proof after proof, run after run, document after document he came to the solution.

He was proud, you and the baby were safe and now he could go back to the everyday.

“I don’t see the point Laszlo, you have proved yourself enough against him” John said as he stared up at his annoyed features s you served him some more tea.

John looked at you like why are you not stopping him but you just smiled it off relaxing in the loveseat beside your husband as John shook his shoulders like an annoyed bird.

“A man like Dr Markoe after all he did holding a public lecture with the anguishing title of Murder, Madness and Motherhood?” Laszlo snapped back at John “please, the least I can do is to humiliate him in front of the whole academic arena”

Laszlo leaned back smiling at his friend like he was just a poor fool.

“He will again fight on you, you know he always picks up on you for treating mostly children and being part of the investigation, you get heated with him and you lose your control”

John seemed only to know reasons to get Laszlo to desist, you understood him from your part, your husband was a fiery character and he hardly forgive people with quick and poor judgements. You also noticed he became way more aggressive toward Markoe since before the case, he always depicted pregnant women as prone to lose control, foolish and behaving like animals that had to be kept on a tight leash, it all in particular when you were expecting.

John’s tsunami of words couldn’t be stopped he had a reason not to do anything but your attention was quickly taken away by the soft touch of Laszlo’s hand on your side, just above the hem of your corset, his thumb tracing the side of your boob giving you a shiver as you already knew perfectly what he was demanding.

You could now tell that John actually made him feel unsure or at least unsettled him, he needed comfort and energies to face his enemy now.

Sara groaned making herself heard for the first time, she noticed his gesture and found it actually cute as she could never wish Laszlo with somebody more perfected than you. Your calmness matched his fiery nature, you talked when he needed to think, you smiled when he couldn’t. You allowed him to be more himself than he had ever been.

“Let’s go John, you’re being so obnoxious, at what time we will see the butchery of the doctor?”

You quickly answered to her giving her a gentle smile as she put John to silence.

She asked as she stood up and John groaned following her “See you there” John said still saying how useless it was to still go after that man.

Laszlo stood up escorting them to the exit and then coming back to the living room. You sat there like he left you, he would close the door behind his back locking it before crossing the room with long steps and close the curtains letting the darkness wrap around you. Your fingers slowly undoing your shirt as his shape takes again form in front of you as he turns on one lamp in the corner of the room before moving closer to you again, eyes shining even in the obscurity as his fingers finally meet with your skin once you undid the first knots on your corset.

“Give me life” he would plead to you before lacing his lips your nipple once more.

You knew from the first suck on your nipple how Markoe held no chance on today’s debate.

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

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler drabble #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr kreizler #laszlo kreizler fic #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #tw: lactation kink

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munsons-maiden · 3 years

Text

𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

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

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

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

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

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Laszlo Kreizler x female reader

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

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | humor, smut, romance

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.8 k

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

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

Laszlo’s POV

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

John looked up from the newspaper. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is exactly my point, my friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John blinked, caught off guard.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Mister –“

“Dr. Kreizler.”

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

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

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

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

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

Laszlo nodded.

“Then you know the right spots.”

“I fear I’ll not be capable enough.”

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

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

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

“My – mouth? To kiss her?”

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

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

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

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

***

Your POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Laszlo, I think I’m close…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagging: @justfangirlthingies @fictionlandslanddreams

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

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