#dr laszlo kreizler x reader

[vervainariadne]

They say you become someone whom your younger self would feel safe and accepted.

Karen is a lot like Laszlo, and I guess Laszlo's inner child felt safe around her.

It was so comforting for me to watch them. Felt professional and mentally engaging but at the same time it felt like home and natural for me.

[mlmxreader]

Doctor | Laszlo Kreizler x gn!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

[gaypirate420]

Listen mates,

I like The Alienist but as a trans person the first season of the tv adaptation does make me a bit ummmm uncomfortable.

And I felt this way since first I saw it.

Period drama, lgbt horror, damn sounds good, refreshing even. Criminal Minds gone 19 century and gay(er).

That's what I thought seeing the first minutes of episode one.

But no, unfortunately it does end up being bad representation and just feels wrong. I dare to say that it falls in homophobia and transphobia.

It makes me a bit sick.

I still like the show but I can't shake up that feeling when watching the first season.

But that is my experience, feel free to tell me yours bc I'm really intrigued on the queer perspective on the show but I cannot find shit on the internet.

(I haven't read the books yet so maybe it's only a problem from the adaptation and not the series in general but who knows.)

[hereticpriest]

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.

[fairyysoup]

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.

[bruhlsbees]

BRUHLSBEES OLD WORKS MASTERLISTS

a new and improved masterlist for all of my daniel bruhl, owen wilson, luke wilson, and murray bauman work. lately i've been on the cusp of getting back into a writing kick and a lot of my motivation for some of these pieces have gone right out the window (sorry to all my early followers). as much as i'd like to just delete these fics and move on i know some people do enjoy them so you'll find a lot of my early work either in the 'retired' section or in the 'early works' section. some retired pieces may be worked on in the future, but for now they'll remain in the void. thanks for understanding and hopefully i'll get more stuff out soon! :')

S MEANS SMUT

RETIREMENT HOME

garden of eden (alex kerner x reader) - click here

sweet disposition (alex kerner x reader) - click here

paradox burning (ernst schmidt x reader) - click here

to the end (niki lauda x reader) - click here

second chance (writer!daniel x reader) - click here

FINISHED PIECES

bubbles (helmut zemo x reader) - part one & two (s)

five more minutes (helmut zemo x reader) - click here

it was real enough (helmut zemo x heike zemo) - click here

the haunting of heike zemo (helmut zemo x heike zemo) - click here

behind the mask (helmut zemo x reader) - click here (s)

i'm going in tonight (alex kerner x reader) - click here (s)

opposites attract (alex kerner x reader) - click here

baby paula (alex kerner x reader) - click here

at the cabin (alex kerner x reader - click here

dancing in the rain (alex kerner x reader) - click here

sapphire strings (andrea marowski x reader) - click here

modern!flatmate! andrea x reader headcannons - nsfw version & sfw version

broken wing (dr. laszlo kreizler x reader) - click here

bloodlust (vampire! laszlo kreizler x reader) - click here

kachow (niki lauda x reader) - click here (s)

good luck charm (niki lauda x reader) - click here (s)

jackpot (dark!daniel x reader) - click here (s)

tom foolery (clowniel x reader) - part one & two (s)

the first time (ernst schmidt x reader) - click here (s)

welcome home (chris burnett x reader) - click here

better man (ken hutchinson x reader) - click here (s)

the last night (anthony adams x reader) - click here

knock three times (murray bauman x reader) - click here (s)

murray bauman nsfw alphabet - part one & two (s)

[rumblelibrary]

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

[munsons-maiden]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨 𝐃𝐨 (𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)  - 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝:

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏   -   𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐   -   𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬  (𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)  - 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝:

𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐭𝐡 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)   -   𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 (𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) - 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐧 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞

London, 1813. There is new evidence that Hydra - the secret organization  that murdered your family - has taken root in Sokovia, under the reign  of Baron Helmut Zemo and his court. The ball season has begun, Baron  Zemo is visiting London to strengthen diplomatic relationships and gain  new allies, and Sokovia is still lacking a Baroness. You, warden of Tony  Stark, are the last chance to end Hydra without risking a war and find  out if Baron Zemo is really involved in Hydra’s schemes. So, there’s  only one thing left for you to do: woo the Baron, gain his hand in  marriage, become his Baroness - and bring Hydra and the Sokovian court  to its knees.

𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬:

𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝’𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 (𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

You’re on a mission with Zemo to seek out Dr. Nagel in Madripoor - and something goes horribly wrong, leaving you to make a decision you don’t find as difficult to make as you probably should…  

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 (𝐮𝐧-)𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 (𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

You’re stuck in a boring online lecture via Zoom, and Zemo decides to take matters into his own capable hands to make it a little more exciting for you.

𝐌𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭,  𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

You’re going through a depressive episode, but Zemo is there to catch your fall.

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐙𝐞𝐦𝐨 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 + 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟)

You’re experiencing a panic attack and find solace in the most unexpected places - and people.

[justfangirlthingies]

Late Night Cuddles (Dr. Laszlo Kreizler)

This is my first time writing for our beloved alienist

Summary: After a long and tiring day at the institute Laszlo joins you in bed

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluff, like 2 German words does that need a warning?

Word count: 1041 words

Translation: Gute Nacht = good night

Your fiancé was still in a session when you left to prepare for bed. It was not unusual for you to get ready for bed on your own. However, he would usually be by your side and get himself ready for the embrace of sleep as soon as you slid under the blankets and join you there mere minutes later.

This night seemed to be different though. You'd been lying in bed waiting for him for about an hour already. You were aware this was going to be a long night for him and so was he. That is also why Laszlo told you not to wait up for him, but you just couldn't help yourself. You were desperate to stare into those hazel eyes once more, to feel his soft hair against the skin of your hand and to run your fingertips through his beard before closing your eyes and feeling his lips on your temple as you drift off into the world of dreams.

Slowly you felt sleep begin overtaking your features as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

It was the moment that you finally gave in to your need for sleep, when the door to your shared bedroom creaked open. The sound ripping you from your light slumber. Slightly startled, you forced your eyes open to see the doctor's gaze already on you. His posture told you that he was trying to quietly sneak into the room in order not to wake you, the flinch combined with the frown on his face displayed his distaste for the creaking door, which seemed to have a different plan in mind. You flashed him a drowsy smile as you slowly sat up in bed, extending your arms for him to engulf you in a hug. Your sleepy movements made a chuckle escape his lips as he climbed into bed next to you and wrapped one arm around you while his weaker arm rested on your waist. You were quick to nuzzle your face into his neck, a content sigh simultaneously leaving your lips. Laszlo was quick to lay down on the bed, pulling you along with him. You giggled as you felt the force of gravity and your betrothed pull you downwards. Laszlo joined in on the laughter as he felt you land halfway on him and halfway on the bed.

Sleep still had it's grasp on you as you tried to pull the covers over the two of you. After struggling with the blankets for a minute or two, you finally succeeded in what you were trying to accomplish. A relaxed exhale left your throat as you felt the soft material of the blanket atop of you.

"What took you so long tonight?" You questioned as you shuffled underneath the blankets, attempting to balance your weight on your elbow while your eyes observed his features closely. He seemed tired and exhausted after the long day. "Well, the session went on a little longer than usual and just when I thought I could come to join you in bed, I found one of the children strolling around. A little girl who seemed to struggle with falling asleep." he answered. "Oh? Is she alright now?" you wondered, arching an eyebrow. Laszlo nodded as his eyes met yours "Yes I helped her to calm down and-" "Did you show her the monkey?" An excited grin made it's way onto your features as you stopped him in the middle of his sentence, causing the man next to you to chuckle "Yes" he nodded "Yes I did show her the monkey."

A sleepy smile found it's way onto your lips as you cuddled into Laszlo's chest. Your eyes shot open immediately upon making contact with him. Wide (e/c) eyes stared up at the alienist in wonder and shock. Laszlo grew worried as soon as he saw the look on your face "Are you alri-" "You're ridiculously comfortable!" You cut him off. The worried expression on your fiancé's face was immediately replaced with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow as he shook his head trying to hold back a chuckle. "And you have realized this just now, after 3 years?" Smiling you shook your head "No I knew that of course, I just wasn't aware of the extent of your comfortableness" you muttered, voice still drunk on sleep. This time Laszlo couldn't hold back his laugh, you heard it reverberating in his chest where your head was still placed. You smiled against him while you wrapped your arms around him in order to be in even closer proximity to him, as you muttered "Goodnight love" You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head as you closed your eyes and buried your face further in his chest. When you spoke up once more your voice came out muffled "You're my new pillow from now on Laszlo"

The man in question to just shook his head grinning as he ran his fingers through your hair. "Gute Nacht (Y/n)" he cooed softly.

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

Laszlo stayed awake like that for a while longer, enjoying the sensation of having you so close to him. He felt your hair underneath the skin of his fingertips, felt you hold onto him in your sleep as his thoughts drifted through his head. Thoughts about how he was happy to be able to spend the rest of his life by your side. To know that he always had someone who would be there for him. Someone he wouldn't be able to push away, for even if he tried to do so, you would stubbornly stay with him. He appreciated that and he knew you were aware of it, even if he didn't tell you about it too often.

With the thoughts and dreams of a future with you wandering through his head, Laszlo slowly drifted off to sleep as well, a soft and happy smile on his face after thinking about you as he joined you in the land of dreams.

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

Needless to say, you meant it when you told him about his new purpose as a pillow. From then on you fell asleep on the doctor every single night...

Taglist: @ateez-star @littlemissnoname13 @gwlvr

[mlmxreader]

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.

[gaypirate420]

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.

[hereticpriest]

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.

[bruhlsbees]

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.”