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hereticpriest · 1 month

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Chew

Rating: Mature?

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

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

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

Note: Szerelmem means 'my love' in Hungarian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was only recently that things had begun to change.

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

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

“Are you okay, Miss L/N?”

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

“Of course, Doctor.”

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

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

Another crack.

“Let me help you, Miss L/N.”

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

Dr. Kreizler sighs.

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

“My parents want me to marry.”

“So you’ve said.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find yourself engaged no more than two months later.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler

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profeyandere · 11 months

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𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊. ─── ☾ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃

Masterlist || Daniel Brühl Masterlist || Wattpad

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader

Warning: Angst, panic attack, murders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In short: Laszlo confirmed your biggest fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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noforkingclue · 9 months

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No Questions Asked (Laszlo Kreizler x reader) Chapter 15

No Questions Asked tag list: @fandom-lover-4, @ajeff855, @booksarekindaneat, @greeneyedblondie44

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“I have,” you said as you entered Sara’s agency, “a name.”

If there had been more people in it would’ve been an effective and dramatic entrance. However, only Sara was in and she looked over her shoulder when you spoke. She frowned and said,

“A name?”

“Of a possible suspect.”

This caught Sara’s attention. She put down the chalk she was using as you marched towards her.

“Who?” she asked

“A man called John Smith.”

“John Smith,” Sara raised her eyebrows in disbelief, “You think a man named John Smith killed those girls?”

“Look, I know,” you hopped onto your usual position on the table, “it’s the fakest name for someone to use as well as lots of people actually genuinely being called it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a John Smith.”

“Oh I’ve met plenty,” you said, “but then again they probably fall into the first category of using a fake name.”

“Is this going anywhere?”

“It’s a lead!” you said excitedly, “It’s something for us to go on!”

“Do you have a description?”

“Tall, dark haired, handsome.”

“That really narrows it down.”

“Popular with the girls.”

“The girls?”

“Yep,” you kicked your legs out, “the girls.”

“And by that you mean…”

“The prostitutes,” you said slowly, raising your eyebrows at her, “The girls. You’d be surprised what people tell them.”

“And you trust them?”

“’course! Why wouldn’t I? You think that they’re untrustworthy?”

“You pay them?”

“If they find anything useful.”

“So it didn’t cross your mind that they might give you a false lead for a quick payday?”

Sara shook her head and turned her back to you. You got off the table and walked slowly towards her.

“Oh and because people don’t give information freely it’s a reason to distrust it? Or is it where it came from?”

“I prefer to look at multiple avenues rather than just focus on one.”

“Which is what you have on this board.”

“Correct.”

“What have you found out?”

“They knew each other.”

“Huh?”

“The families,” Sara looked at you and smirked, “They each knew each other.”

“Well then,” you said, “they did keep that quiet. How do you know that they know each other?”

“John told me.”

“And John found out…”

“He’s a reporter,” Sara said bitterly, “wouldn’t tell me his source.”

“Bet he used the same as me.”

Sara glared at you but you just raised an eyebrow at her as you walked over to the board. You picked up the chalk and slowly wrote the name ‘John Smith’ on the board.

“You’d be surprised what people say in the presence of those they deem lesser,” you said with a sarcastic smile, “or how much people talk in their sleep.”

“Is that what you do? Blackmail?”

“An ugly word but yes,” you said, “How do you think I’ve survived for so long? People’s good nature?”

You underlined John Smith several times and after a moment’s pause you putting quotation marks around it. You tossed the chalk in the air before looking at Sara out of the corner of your eye and grinning.

“Multiple avenues,” you said, “Now, why don’t we show Moore and Kreizler that we’re just as competent as they are?”

For a moment you had thought you lost her. Then you saw the corner of Sara’s lip twitch and you realised that it was the exact opposite. Maybe you really had underestimated Sara.

#fanfiction #the alienist #reader insert #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader

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cazimagines · 3 years

Note

Can you please do a one-shot with Laszlo & reader or Laszlo & John Moore fluff? I love your writing and Laszlo is one of my favourite characters petrayed by Daniel Bruhl.

I've never really shipped Laszlo & John, but I haven't writtern a character x character before, only character x reader or character x oc, so I wanted to give it a try 😊

Laszlo held the newspaper open with one hand, sighing as he read the latest news within it. More deaths were reported, new serial killers on the loose. It wasn't like the case he dealt with in the past, but it still made him feel remorseful for all the life that was snatched away on the dark streets of New York.

The soup in front of him started to grow cold, the steam fading. In noticing this he placed his newspaper down and pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. He grumbled seeing how it was at least fifteen minutes past the time they usually meet for brunch. He frowned looking over at the entrance, hoping the fact he currently dinned alone didn't capture the eyes of curious citizens.

He didn't have to wait much longer however when he saw a tall figure of John appear, stumbling as though he had already been at the drink early in the morning.

Laszlo watched with his pleasure as John walked over to him and pulled out the chair opposite, but he didn't want to say anything and make himself seem needy or rude.

"I'm sorry I'm late Laszlo. All the handsomes were being used so I had to walk here myself, and you know what the streets are like at these times of the day"

Laszlo's indifferent expression bore into John, making John feel hot under the collar, feeling like Laszlo was scrutinizing every little detail about him.

Laszlo pursed his lips and picked up his newspaper again, opening it to a random page and pretending to read to fain indifference while he remarked,

"So it wouldn't be to do with the distinct smell of brandy upon your breath"

John's eyebrows cast down as he opened his mouth defensively, "Hey now! Laszlo I am not a drunkard"

Laszlo's own eyebrows shot up as he looked to John, his hand clutching the paper just a little bit tighter, "Currently in your own suit pocket you have a flask of whiskey which you will pull out and take a swig from at any moment, when the waiter arrives to take your order, and need I say mine as well now that it has grown cold from how long I have been waiting, you will request some champagne and my wine collection, which I had been saving up for a good few years now for a rainy day, has become almost completely empty from when you have stayed over, so tell me John, are you really not a drunkard?"

John was frozen in shock, but then some recognition dawned within him, which started to make him chuckle and then full-on laughing at Laszlo's expense. Laszlo, observing this frown, not expecting this reaction, and vastly unimpressed at how John was behaving.

"You're upset I was late" John finally managed to say as he dulled down his laughter to slight giggles, but it almost ignited again from the way he saw Laszlo's cheeks blush.

"I never was the sort," Laszlo quickly replied, his eyes fixing back down upon the newspaper.

"You are!"

"I am not John, and the fact that you believe me to be so is frankly preposterous" Laszlo argued back, but the blush on his cheek was enough for the both of them to know Laszlo was lying through his teeth.

Laszlo's eyes glared back onto the newspaper, though he didn't read it as John ordered soup for himself and new soup for Laszlo. Once John had finished talking he glanced back over at Laszlo, smiling at the intense way Laszlo was looking at the newspaper. He leaned over and smirked seeing what news article Laszlo was pretending to read,

"What do you think of my latest work then?"

"Hmm?"

Laszlo glanced up at the paper again, confused at John's remark, John however raised an eyebrow and nodded at the newspaper in Laslzo's hand.

"The article you are reading, it is one of mine, so, what do you think?"

Laszlo's eyes widened and looked back down to find he had indeed been looking at an article made by John.

"Well-I" Laszlo starts to say but John just reaches forward and takes the article out of Laszlo's hand to put it aside.

"You don't need to pretend Laszlo, I know you never read what I've written"

A pang of regret strikes Laszlo's heart, but he pushes it off just as quickly, "Well you never read any of my published works either"

John smiles as his and Laszlo's glass of champagne arrives, handing Laszlo's glass over to him, he then raises his own glass.

"Then I guess we are even dear"

More redness comes to Laszlo's cheeks from John's endearment, nevertheless, he raises his own glass and clinks it with John's.

"Perhaps next time you are late you shall pay for brunch" he jokes, his heart fluttering from seeing John laugh at it.

"Not on your nelly Laszlo"

#laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler #john moore x laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x john moore #the alienist #dr laszlo kreizler #john moore #daniel bruhel #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #luke evans #laszlo kreizler fluff

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melypeira · 3 years

Photo

Why is nobody talking about this part? Anyway, I gotta help illustrate my rarepairs :3 (forget the rest of the season, this part mattered most)

#The Alienist #the alienist season 2 #laszlo kreizler #john schuyler moore #John Moore #john moore x laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x john moore #s2e3 #netflix #sketch #mine #lilacmel

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marvelmusing · 2 years

Text

Playing Chess

Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

The Alienist Mafia AU

My Masterlist

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

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

Dealing with Laszlo Kreizler is a lot like playing chess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°•. ✿ .•°

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

#laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreisler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x reader #modern laszlo kreizler #modern!laszlo kreizler #modern!laszlo kreizler x reader #modern laszlo kreizler x reader #modern au #mafia au #the alienist #the alienist x reader #the alienist laszlo #sara howard #john schuyler moore #john moore #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl

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shmaptainwrites · 3 years

Text

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 [𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐋𝐄𝐑]

PAIRINGS — Laszlo Kreizler x fem!Moore!Reader

SUMMARY — When you got your hard-earned degree in medicine you never thought you would put it to use helping your older brother, a close childhood friend, a former prospective husband, and an alienist solve a murder

WARNINGS — depictions of the effects of being drugged, injury, fighting, mentions of death, descriptions of crime scenes and murders, angst (some season 1 spoilers: minimal)

NOTE — Wow okay so this is my very first Laszlo Kreizler fic and I am super excited to share it here with all of you! Honestly writing this really hit the spot so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did! [Reader can also be interpreted as adopted, I didn't put a big emphasis on race so even given the times let's just pretend they were more accepting]

Frustratedly picking up your skirt as you exited the carriage, you hopped on up to the home you assumed your brother was at, knocking loudly on the door.

When there was no answer you knocked again, louder.

“Hello?!” you called past the glass. “Christ almighty John I know you’re in there,”

You continued knocking until the door slid open right under your fist and you stopped pounding it in mid-air, letting it drop at your side.

“Finally,” you sighed.

“Who might you be?” the man frowned on the other end. You assumed him to be Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, a friend of your brother’s from Harvard. You had never met him and you didn’t even know if he knew you existed. But that mattered less right now, you needed a word with your brother.

“(Y/N),” you huffed. “I need to speak with John, immediately,”

“As his friend, I feel I must ask whether you wish him harm, you seem quite beside yourself,”

“And why would that matter, whatever my business with him is none of your concern,”

“Well if you are a woman he’s currently trying to court then-,”

“Oh no! Never in a million years!” you exclaimed, shaking your head.

He looked at you curiously and you filled in the blanks.

“I’m (Y/N) Moore,” you said. “His sister,”

“His sister,” Kreizler repeated thoughtfully, a hint of a smile coming across his face. “Of course then by all means come in. I’m sure if you’re angry with him it is well deserved,”

“Damn right it is, now where is he?” you asked.

“In the living room right off to the side,” he pointed and you thanked him quickly before picking up your dress and running over to where John was.

“John Schuyler Moore if murder wasn’t a sin you’d be a dead man!”

“(Y/N) what are you doing here?” he asked as soon as he heard you. “Who let you in?”

“He did,” you pointed to Kreizler. “I’m assuming he’s your friend, the alienist, the one I haven’t met,”

“Good deduction,” Kreizler nodded and John sent him an annoyed look.

“Alright then, what is it this time?” he asked with a sigh.

“You promised you would be home for lunch,”

“Oh come on (Y/N) that can’t possibly be such a big-,”

You gave him a stern look and it seemed to click.

“Oh good lord (N/N), I’m so sorry, it must have slipped my mind,”

“Well it’s passed now,” you sighed, straightening out your clothes and gently massaging your temples.

“Laszlo, can we get her some tea?” John asked. “Or perhaps something stronger,”

“Of course,” he nodded, making his way to the cabinet and pouring you a glass of whiskey while John sat you down. “As I am to understand it normal lunches aren’t this stressful,” he handed you the drink and you nodded.

“They aren’t, but my grandmother is trying to marry me off,” you explained. “And she has terrible taste in men,”

“Very terrible,” John added as confirmation. “I promised (Y/N) I would be there to make her more comfortable, but it seems I’ve come a little too late for that,”

“It’s alright this glass of whiskey somewhat makes up for it, grandmother only allows me to drink wine,” you explained to Kreizler.

He had taken a seat across from you and John, staring at you both curiously.

“Is there something on my face?” you asked in a hushed whisper, turning over to John but not breaking your eye contact with the alienist.

“No, he’s just thinking,” John assured you.

“How come we’ve never met?” he finally asked and now it was your turn to look at John with the same look.

“Yes John, why haven’t we met?” you repeated.

John looked nervous, you couldn’t tell if it was because he had a legitimate reason to keep you apart or he was just afraid of upsetting you again. He cared for you deeply, after all, as an older brother should.

“I suppose, normally when Laszlo and I meet we don’t tend to discuss… delicate topics,”

“John I’m a woman who has managed to get into medical school, if I couldn’t handle disgusting things I wouldn’t have become a doctor,” you said flatly.

“A doctor?” Kreizler inquired and you nodded proudly.

“I wanted to be one ever since I was small, I’m lucky it was something we managed to make happen,”

“I believe your sister is right John,” Kreizler pursed his lips, only now did you really notice the hint of a German accent that was there, having not been paying close enough attention before. “Was there another reason you didn’t wish for us to meet?”

“No,” John said quietly. “None at all,”

“In that case, Dr. Moore, your brother and I were planning on enjoying dinner tonight in a restaurant. Would you care to join us?”

“I’d love to,” you smiled with a nod, slightly surprised he used your title automatically, with most men it was something you had to ask of them. You placed both your hands in your lap and held your glass. “I could go back and change into evening wear if this dress isn’t appropriate-,”

“No need,” the man waved his hand. “In the meantime, I wonder if your medical knowledge might actually do us some good,”

John gave the alienist a look and he responded with,

“If she is not comfortable she can simply say so herself,”

“Thank you Dr. Kreizler,” you said while nudging your brother. “And I’d love to be of assistance in any way I can. Is this related to the murders of the children happening in the lower east side?” you asked and leaned forward, your curiosity having been piqued.

“Yes it is,” he nodded, pushing himself up and moving to the table where he picked up a file and came back to you handing it with all its contents.

“We have two coroners working with us already-,”

“The Isaacson brothers?” you asked.

“Yes,” Kreizler nodded. “But they are also police officers, so it would be well on our part to have someone else in case their work no longer allows for them to assist us,”

“How do you know the Isaacsons?” John asked.

“Lucius tutored me in my first year,” you explained and he nodded,

“Small world,”

“Now is there something specific about this you’d wish for some insight on?”

“The wounds,” he pointed with his left hand, the right almost stiffly plastered to his side. “Tell me what you can deduce from them,”

“Well as it is with most things it would be much better if I could see the body in person, not that it would make this any easier, poor little one,” you murmured quietly. “But from what I can see on the wrist and torso it seems that the cuts that were made are clean,” you said.

“Meaning?’ John pressed.

“He didn’t hesitate when inflicting the wound, it’s possible you’re either dealing with a very deeply disturbed individual, but I also wouldn’t discount someone with possible medical knowledge, but that’s more in your wheelhouse isn’t it doctor,”

“That it would be,” he nodded.

“Tell me, do you psychoanalyze John?” you asked, a cheeky grin plastered on your face.

“Often,” John grimaced and Kreizler shrugged.

“Yes, I must say I am guilty of that,”

“And don’t think you’ll be excused,” John looked over at you. “He does it to everyone,”

“Especially when I wish to annoy them,” he joked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

John took one look at the doctor then you and it didn’t take him long to determine that this new friendship would most definitely be the death of him.

—

Walking up the steps to Dr. Kreizler’s facility, you pushed open the gate and peeked your head inside.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” a matron asked and you came in and nodded.

“I’m looking for Dr. Kreizler and John Moore, I was told they were here and looking for me,”

“Yes, of course, they’re right up over the staircase,”

You nodded, thanking her and climbing up the steps until you reached the large library.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Moore, thank you so much for joining us,” Kreizler came out from behind one of the shelves.

“You called (Y/N)?” John asked standing from the couch.

“Nice to see you too John,” you rolled your eyes, coming up to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sara? Is that you?” you asked curiously, seeing the familiar face sitting on the couch. “Has John roped you into this too?”

“Yes, it seems that way,”

“Alright, Dr. Kreizler, what might I help you with?” you asked, walking over to the alienist, and peering over his shoulder seeing the photos with new crime scene details.

“Yes, I just wanted a second opinion on a few things,” he explained handing you the images and walking you through certain wounds and the proposed murder weapon.

“I’d have to say I concur with the Isaacsons,” you nodded. “They seem to have done their work very thoroughly. You can trust them,”

“Yes I’m afraid it’s not them I do not trust but more so a hesitancy to their superior officer,”

“Teddy?” you asked quizzically and Kreizler frowned but nodded.

“You refer to him very informally, do you know each other well?”

“I would say so,” John chuckled lightly to himself and you rolled your eyes at your older brother.

“We courted for a very short time while he was in college. Our plans didn’t fit but he supported me through my schooling and we’re still good friends,” you clarified. “John just enjoys sharing personal details of my life to embarrass me,”

“Oh come on (Y/N), if George isn’t here to do it who will?”

“Don't you dare John Schuyler, that’s awfully thin ice you’re treading on,”

“I love you too,” he mouthed and you shook your head, turning to face the large board with neat cursive writing, showing everything they knew about the killer so far and what Dr. Kreizler had managed to extract from his psyche using some sort of psychoanalysis.

You tilted your head curiously, looking at the board, your neurons were firing, attempting to make connections and solve some pieces of the puzzle.

“Have you noticed anything of particular interest?” Sarah asked and you pursed your lips.

“Do you have a record of the time gaps between each murder? I remember reading somewhere that most serial murderers aren’t able to suppress their urge to kill past a certain interval,”

“We don’t but it would be easy to get them,” Kreizler nodded.

You smiled to yourself, going to take a seat on the couch next to Sara,

“Don’t suppose you plan on sticking around,” she said to you. “We could use another trained eye,”

“I suppose you could, but be honest, you just want a friend,” you chuckled and she rolled her eyes.

“Is that a crime (Y/N)?”

“I suppose not,” you shrugged.

“Good then,” she straightened herself out and you watched carefully as the group continued to interact, the Isaacsons joining you soon after. Kreizler seemed to take the lead on things, deputizing the other to do certain tasks that their jobs permitted them to do. It was quite interesting and you supposed if you were yourself an alienist you might study their dynamic. Each person had such unique personalities and it was clear that at one moment or another they were bound to clash, but the desire to find out the truth was so strong you were almost certain they could overcome any menial differences they may have had.

This wasn’t the last time Dr. Kreizler had called you in to come and consult on a certain aspect of the case, you sometimes found yourself wondering what Marcus and Lucius were even doing for him to constantly call you back and ask for your opinion.

But your relationship with everyone besides John and Sara didn’t extend past the investigation. It was purely professional, devoid of any personal details, though you noticed Dr. Kreizler seemed to be sparing with those even among his close friends.

One day the doctor found himself needing your assistance once again so he made a call to the office where you were employed and when they said that you weren’t working that day he instead decided to go and meet you himself at your grandmother’s house where both you and John were currently living.

Cyrus pulled up the carriage right outside the home and he exited it, walking up the steps two at a time until he reached the door, giving it a firm knock.

He could hear a small rustle inside until he could see John walking towards the door from the crystal-like glass.

“Laszlo, has there been a development?’ he asked, stepping out of the house and pulling the door into his back.

“No, I just thought your sister might be able to shed some light on the old evidence. She has an interesting mind. Is she home?” he asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

John sighed and pressed his lips together in a thin line. His hand reached in past the door and grabbed a jacket off the coat hanger and came back out, closing the door fully this time.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for the doctor to follow him. Kreizler did so as they walked down the street in silence until they came across a small fenced grassy area, lined with headstones, and there you were, straight in the center, laying down on your back, your hands resting on your stomach and eyes fixed on the clouds above. There was a moment of silence where Kreizler just observed you before he turned to John and asked,

“Does she do this often?”

“Only when she’s upset or unsure of something. She lost a patient today so I’m sure that might have something to do with it,”

Kreizler nodded and bit the inside of his cheek before deciding to push open the gate and walk up towards you.

Hearing the footsteps nearing you, you became worried that it was your grandmother coming to scold you on how unladylike your behaviour was, but instead, when you pushed yourself up slightly you saw Dr. Kreizler looking down at you, insisting you lay back down.

Carefully, you lowered yourself back down to the ground, but turned your head to the side, watching him take a seat next to you and slowly doing the same.

You looked back up at the sky and quietly said, “You’re going to try and pick my mind now aren’t you,”

“I’ll try not to,” he responded, his eyes firmly fixed on you. “But this is your brother’s resting place, correct?”

You nodded, moving your hand from your stomach to the headstone, tracing the engraved letters with your fingers.

“George Charles Moore,” you sighed and there was silence again for a minute or two before you decided to speak up again, “I know you want to know more. Ask me, it’s okay,” you assured.

“Y-You were close with him?”

“Very,” you smiled softly to yourself. “He was my best friend, confidant. He believed in me no matter what,”

Kreizler could sense the respect you had for him, someone who looked after you when your parents couldn't.

“I think after he passed away I realized I had to become a doctor. I had always wanted to do it, but it made me realize why,”

“Because you were able to halt death, even if only temporarily,”

You nodded, confirming his statement.

“You always wonder if there was something else you could have done. If you could have helped them more and maybe they or their loved ones wouldn’t have to suffer the same way I did. Completely helpless,”

“Is that why you’re always wanting to help people? Why you want to find out who’s committing these crimes?” he asked.

“I suppose so, I mean if we find who did it that puts defenceless boys out of harm's way and maybe we can see what happened to whatever tortured soul is committing these crimes and make sure it never happens again,”

A more comfortable silence settled across the two of you and you thought Kreizler might even stand up and leave, but instead, you heard his slightly accented voice speaking just barely above a whisper.

“When my mother passed away I felt like I lost whatever it was that was guiding me,”

Your head turned to look at him, noticing how his face softened when he spoke of her.

“I had the potential to become a monster, a bitter, spiteful monster, but she… she always loved me and no matter who I felt had wronged me, it didn’t matter anymore. So when she was gone I had to learn to do that for myself,”

“I’d say you’re doing a decent job,” you placed a hand on his, laying by his side and giving it a light squeeze. You could see him visibly tense so you let go and retracted your hand.

“Only decent?” he teased and you shook your head.

“You know what I mean Laszlo,”

Laszlo, the sound of his first name from your lips was like sweet heaven and made his heart pound a little louder and faster than he would have liked to admit.

“Am I to assume we’re at a point in our friendship where we can do away with formalities?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes, I’d like to think so,”

“Alright then, (Y/N), I’ll leave you be a while longer,” he pushed himself up off his back and used his cane to help him back up.

“Laszlo, why did you come to see me?” you asked quietly before he left.

He paused,

“I can’t seem to remember now. If it comes to me you’ll be the first to know,”

You nodded and allowed him to walk away toward your brother, still waiting at the gate and listening closely you could hear their soft voices.

“So is she crazy?” John asked sarcastically, knowing very well he was guilty of doing the exact same thing as you every once in a while, though he would never admit to it.

Laszlo shook his head, and his voice dripped with pure sincerity when he gave John a small smile and said,

“Not in the slightest,”

—

“He asked you to dinner?” John cocked his head to the side. “To discuss case files,”

“Yes, we’re looking over some new evidence Teddy sent over about that rich boy, Laszlo’s not convinced it’s him,”

“So he’s said,” John nodded. “Isn’t that dress a little, I don’t know, formal for just a work outing?”

“It’s not a crime to want to look nice, John,” you said flatly, adjusting the pins in your hair. “And if we’re not eating at the home it’s always nice to dress up,”

John sighed and nodded while you grabbed your purse, and walked towards your older brother.

He wrapped his arms around your and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, while you hugged him back.

“You don’t have to worry about me John you know that?” you said softly.

“I know, I’m not worried about you going with Laszlo, it’s just…” he shook his head.

“No it’s okay,” you nodded, squeezing him a little tighter.

Ever since George had passed away it didn’t just leave a mark on you. John hid it rather well from others, but he couldn’t deny that each time you stepped out of the house, especially while there was a psychopathic murderer on the loose, he became increasingly worried for your safety. He wasn’t about to let another younger sibling slip through his fingers, not again.

“Find a telephone and call me when you get to the restaurant okay?”

“Should I call here or the brothel?” you raised a brow and that was his cue to shrug you off him, allowing you to make your way to the cab. “But seriously John, where do I call?” you repeated.

“Here,” he muttered and you smiled.

“I love you,”

“Love you too,”

Leaving your grandmother’s home, you hailed a cab and instructed him to bring you to the restaurant you were supposed to meet Kreizler at.

When you came to your destination you made a quick call home before making your way to the table where the alienist was already seated, sipping his wine.

“(Y/N), you look lovely,” he gave you a small friendly smile that you reciprocated.

“Thank you, you’re not looking too bad yourself,” you nodded, taking a seat across from him. “So what are these developments you wished to speak about?”

“The dates,” he said, “After visiting the bishop at the church I realized the significance of the days,”

He pulled out a small day planner, motioning to the highlighted days.

“Do you see what they have in common?” he asked.

Flipping through the pages, you saw Kreizler was right. Each day had one thing in common. It landed on a holy day.

“There certainly couldn’t be a religious motive, no?” you said, looking up from the book.

“I highly doubt it,” he shook his head. “But something more likely is that perhaps religion, or church more specifically has some sort of special meaning to him,”

“Fascinating,” you murmured, glancing again at the dates in the planner. You smiled fondly when you saw your name written under the date for that day, his handwriting moving in one smooth motion, letters curling neatly.

“I thought so too,” he nodded.

Through dinner, you discussed other details pertaining to the case and you made a few small comments on the doctor’s health, hoping he was still taking care of himself while investigating.

“What about water, did you drink any today?”

“Of course I did (Y/N), I’m fine,” he assured.

“And you’re not skipping meals,”

“On occasion, but that’s no different from my normal habits,”

“Then they need to change,” you said simply. “Look at yourself,” you said, reaching a hand to gently touch his cheek with the back of your fingers. “You could put on a bit more weight, and if you add some fish to your diet it’s been found to help with brain functions and various different pains,”

Kreizler stared back down at his food, a small nervous chuckle escaping his lips,

“I guess the steak wasn’t the best choice then,”

“Next time,” you laughed with him, your arm laying on the table, fingers gently tapping in a haphazard rhythm.

Dr. Kreizler raised his hand to come and meet yours halfway on the table, a simple act, but it spoke volumes.

As the night drew to a close he offered you a ride home which you gratefully accepted, continuing your conversation through the carriage ride until you stopped outside your home.

“I suppose this is where we part for tonight,”

“Yes, I suppose so,” you nodded.

He carefully reached to take your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a light kiss to it.

“Sleep well, (Y/N),”

You smiled, grateful the dark could hide the flustered look on your face. You walked up to the door and looked back, one last time before disappearing back into the cover of darkness.

—

The investigation started to take a turn, and it wasn’t becoming uncommon for you to spend late nights either at the institution or Dr. Kreizler’s home. It was a non-stop search. And after the close run-in Stevie had after the trap had been set everyone was on edge.

So when it was well past one o’clock in the morning and you were the last person there, you weren’t sure you could say what came over you when you sat down on the piano bench, reading the sheet music that was placed on the stand.

Your fingers gazed over the keys before finding the right notes, playing the chords in whatever tune they were arranged in. You made a few mistakes here and there, but that was expected, you were rusty. What you didn’t expect was hearing the soft voice asking you to stop.

Your hands froze and you turned around, looking at Dr. Kreizler, standing in the doorway, and he looked, upset.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“No, I’d just like you to stop,” he said simply.

“Why?” you asked.

His irritation became more evident, the way his jaw was locked and twisted.

“Because I said so isn’t that enough?”

You shook your head, the exhaustion getting the best of you when you stood up and looked at him, disappointment in your eyes.

“You can’t expect me to be the type of person to just bow down to your every whim and pleasure Laszlo. I’m already sacrificing a lot helping you,” you said firmly. “It’s just a piano like you said, normally such things don’t cause stress or irritation,”

“Yes well, it’s none of your concern.”

“Actually,” you looked at him, gaze piercing. “It is my concern. Because whether you like it or not Laszlo people care about you,” you said through gritted teeth. “And yet all you can seem to do is push us away! Don’t think I don’t know you lied about your arm, that you struck Sara over it. As an alienist, I’d expect you to know better that there’s a need to talk about such things,”

“You have no right to bring that up,” he seethed.

“Well if you think that then I suppose I’ll take my leave. It seems I’m not wanted here. You be careful doctor, keep on this path and there will be no one left to take care of you,”

You marched out of the door, surprised to still see a few cabs running this late into the night, you called one over and quickly climbed inside a few tears stinging your eyes, but without so much as a look back, you closed the door.

—

The next morning Kreizler awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. He quickly climbed out of bed and made his way downstairs, taking it off the receiver and placing it to his ear.

“Laszlo is that you?” he could hear John’s voice, it sounded worried.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Did (Y/N) stay over last night?”

“John I don’t know what you’re insinuating-,”

“She didn’t show up at home Laszlo,” he interrupted. “Please tell me she’s with you,”

Kreizler could feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. If you hadn't fought Cyrus would have prepared the cab to take you home. You could have stayed the night in the guest bedroom, anything, but what he thought had happened.

“John…”

“Dammit! I knew I shouldn't have let her be a part of this!”

“John I’m going to the police immediately,” he said firmly. “Grab your jacket and meet me there, we’re going to need whatever help we can get,”

John took a deep breath, “My little sister better not be hurt, I swear to God-,”

“John, I assure you, whatever you're thinking I’ve already thought ten times worse, let’s just find her first,”

“Hurry up,” he muttered quietly, hanging up the phone and leaving the doctor with a disconnected line.

John was already meeting with the commissioner, and he considered himself lucky to have attended Harvard with him.

“Do you know where she last was, or what happened?”

“Laszlo knows better than me, he was with her last,” John said quietly, looking up at his friend.

“Alright then,” Theodore turned to the alienist. “What happened?”

“We were working late on the case and decided to take a break, I went to get tea and she… it doesn’t matter, we were tried and had an argument. She left the house before I could say anything and the last time I saw her was when she climbed into a cab,”

“Around what time was this?”

“Quarter past one in the morning,” he said, trying to keep his expression stoic, but the guilt that crept up in his eyes was more than obvious.

“What can we do to help?” John asked.

“Stay together and let the police department take the lead on this,” Theodore said firmly. “Maybe try to come up with names of people that you think might be looking to harm her and then get in touch with me directly,”

“But-,”

“John you’re a cartoonist, don’t even try to fight me on this,” Theodore insisted and John conceded.

“Come on John,” Kreizler placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let’s go,”

John followed him, however unwillingly and before they knew it they were both sitting in the living room of the doctor's home, glasses filled with the strongest alcohol in the household.

Not a word was spoken between the two, Kreizler’s eyes, drifting back constantly to the piano and the undisturbed sheet music that laid there.

“What did you argue about,” John asked quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said what did you argue about,” his voice was louder, showing a bit of an edge it had. “I’m trying to decide whether I should deal with you now or after we find her,”

Kreizler swallowed thickly.

“Perhaps it would be best to put me out of my misery if anything were to have happened to her… I wouldn’t forgive myself. The argument was trivial, unnecessary, had I just taken a moment to listen,” his hand was gripping the glass so tight high chuckles went white and the fragile glass shattered in his hand, spilling the drink onto the floor, mixed with his bright red blood.

He barely even flinched and John saw something, something he’d never seen in the doctor, always so sure of himself. He saw regret.

So, for the time being, he decided to put aside his feelings, placing his drink on the table next to the couch and standing up to grab a cloth and clean up the shards of glass on the floor along with the spilled drink.

Dr. Kreizler stood up and took out a small box from the shelf, opening it and grabbing the tweezers and bandage wrap from it, picking out the pieces of glass from his hand then proceeding to wrap it tightly.

“Who would want to take you (Y/N),” he whispered to himself. “Come on tell me,”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but nothing came.

“John I’m going to go out for a bit,” he said simply. “If you need anything ask Cyrus and he would be more than happy to help you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere to help me get into your sister’s mind,”

—

At least two hours had passed while Dr. Laszlo Kreizler laid down next to the resting place of George Moore. Something was off, what would be the reason to take you? What would they need from you? What were they going to do to you?

His head was spinning while the clouds passed by overhead, a dark grey colour, fitting for the mood of that day.

The doctor didn’t move even when it started to rain, staying completely still while the water washed over him. He focused his mind on the drops, feeling the way each one hit his body until there were too many to count and with a jolt he shot up.

Quickly standing on his feet he ran down the streets like a madman until he made it back home, breathing heavily and soaked to the bone. His finely pressed suit dirtied with mud and grass.

“Good God Laszlo where have you been?!” John exclaimed, urging his friend to come more inside.

“It’s doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. “I think I know who took her,”

“What? How?”

“Think about it, the only thing she’s doing that puts her in danger is helping us with this case,”

“Yes, I knew that, but-,”

“And the case keeps pointing us in what direction? A direction that a few high society men and public servants would rather we not pursue,”

“What are you saying?”

“I think former Captain Connor and the former chief have orchestrated her kidnapping to set us back in our investigation,”

“So you think this is all...a distraction?”

“Yes and I sincerely hope it means she’s not in grave danger, but… Connor is a ruthless man, we have to find her, soon,”

“I’ll call Theodore, he can keep it within a trusted few, but we’re going to need his help,”

“I know,” he nodded, using his hand to brush back his dripping hair. “I just pray we find her before it’s too late,”

—

It was maybe just past three o’clock in the morning when both John and Laszlo were startled awake by the ring of the phone.

Despite his grogginess John snapped up and grabbed it, placing it to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, eyes frantic in hopes of any news. “You did? Is she-,”

John nodded,

“Okay, thank you, we’ll be there right away,”

John hung up the phone and looked at Kreizler who rubbed his face to wake himself up.

“They found her, she’s hurt, but alive,” John said. “Theodore’s asked if you can try and find some concrete evidence against Connor, do you-,”

“I’ll stay,” Kreizler nodded. “You go be with your sister, I’ll come around after breakfast,”

“Thank you,” he said, patting him on the shoulder and grabbing his jacket. You were fine and that was probably the biggest relief of all.

—

You awoke to a throbbing pain in your head and the dim light of a candle that was lit next to you. You groaned, trying to push yourself up but crying out in pain just before you felt a soft hand pushing you back down on the bed.

“W-What’s going on,” you whimpered. “Who-,”

“It’s Teddy (Y/N), John’s on his way you’re safe now,”

You looked down at your arms, littered with bruises, there was a huge gap in your memory. The last thing you could remember was leaving the doctor’s house. How long had you been out?

“Drugs,” you mumbled. “Was I drugged?”

“We’re not sure, but it’s a big possibility,”

You moaned from the soreness when you raised your hand to your face, but Theodore stopped you.

“You’ve got a few cuts and bruises on your face (N/N), just keep your hands by your side for now okay?”

You blinked heavily, wanting to sit up, but not having any sort of strength to do so.

“Laudanum,” you mumbled. “Teddy I need laudanum,”

“I’ll get a doctor, okay, we’ll see what we can do,”

You nodded your head, although rather stiffly while Theodore got up to grab a doctor, bringing him back to you so he could assess your needs.

“She’s right, we can give her some laudanum for the pain and it might help make her more lucid,” the doctor nodded. “How did she-,”

“She’s a doctor,” Theodore said simply. The man’s eyes only widened slightly before nodding and going off to get you an injection of the medication, but before he came back the door flew open and John ran in, his expression frantic and worried as it usually was when you were in any sort of compromising situation.

“(N/N) thank God,” he whispered, practically falling to his knees next to your bed, gently taking your hands in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He didn’t even make any sort of effort to hide the tears in his eyes when he saw you laying right there in front of him.

“Told you…” your voice drifted slightly before you took a deep inhale and looked up at him again. “Told you I can take care of myself,”

“If you call this taking care of yourself I think we need to have a little chat,” John sniffed, watching you untangle your hand from his and reach it up to his face, wiping away a few stray tears that had found their way down his cheeks.

When the doctor returned John stepped aside for a moment while you received your injection and took a seat from the corset of the room, pulling it up next to the bed.

“Where did you find her?” John asked.

“A cargo box down by the docks,”

“How-,”

“Anonymous tip,” Theodore crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know who sent it, but whoever did, they very well saved her life,”

John nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation,

“Thank you, Theodore, really for everything,” John said. “You know she’s going to say she owes you one when she’s awake and lucid,”

“I know, just tell her as long as she helps catch this sick bastard, she can consider the favour repaid,”

Theodore patted John’s back and bent down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before exiting the room and leaving you be with your brother.

John didn’t sleep a wink that night, refusing to shut his eyes and let you slip away again.

The sun rose steadily at around seven o’clock in the morning and your eyes fluttered back open along with it, your breathing less laboured and vision clearer, you must have slept off the effects of some of the drugs. The doctor came back in to give you another injection to manage the pain and John insisted you close your eyes and rest once again and you didn’t have the will to fight him.

Quarter past nine the door to the private room carefully creaked open and John could see Kreizler poking his head through the small opening.

“Is she-,”

“Just resting,” John whispered.

He walked in, revealing he was holding a bouquet of flowers and John finally stood up, walking over to his college friend.

“Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m afraid the only way you will get him is with a confession,”

John nodded, lips pursed, thinking about what next steps to take.

“John… I know this is a lot, but… may I ask for a moment alone with her?”

John’s eyes trailed over to your sleeping figure and back to the alienist before giving him a slight nod and placing enough trust in him to leave the room.

Kreizler placed the flowers on the table near the entrance to the room and sat down in the chair that John was occupying.

He hesitated when he reached out a hand to hold yours, but when you began to stir awake he let go.

You blinked a few times before noticing the doctor by your side. Your expression softened and you opened your mouth to say something although unable to, your throat dry from disuse.

He quickly handed you a glass and helped you sip from it, soothing your throat and allowing you to speak.

“You came,” you said simply.

“Of course,” he nodded.

“I-And you brought flowers?”

“Yes, your favourites,” he nodded.

A silence fell between you two and you weren’t sure if you should be the one to break it. It seemed as though Dr. Kreizler had the same thoughts, but acted on them instead.

“It’s my fault you’re like this,” he said softly. “It’s my fault your hurt, I should have taken better care of you… I should have been honest with you. Maybe I’m not as good as I thought, holding back whatever monster is inside of me,”

“I don’t blame you,” you said immediately. “Not one bit Laszlo,”

“You should,”

“But I won’t,” you shook your head, turning it slightly to the side to face him better, reaching out a hand to gently cradle his face, the hair of his beard gently tickling your fingers while he held your hand there. “You’re not a monster Laszlo, you’re a good man, a good man who has struggles just like any other human,” you took a deep breath before continuing. “Plus if you were a monster why would you come here and bring me those beautiful flowers?”

That made him smile, your hand still holding his face until he removed it himself, holding it in his lap instead.

“I asked you to stop playing that piece because I have very painful memories associated with it,” he said softly. “The piano was something I took great pride in as a child. My whole life was set for me with it and now…” he glanced down at his arm, tears glistening in his eyes. “He took that away from me,”

“Who did Laszlo?” you asked, your voice just above a soft whisper.

“My father,” he told you. Carefully explaining the truth behind his arm. Not a congenital malformation like he had put it before, but the misdeed of a cruel father.

After his voice faded into silence from explaining, you reached over carefully and took his hand, the one that he normally tensed when you touched, only this time he allowed you to take it in yours and bring it to your lips, pressing a delicate kiss to it.

“(Y/N)-,”

“Not a word Laszlo,” you whispered. “Every part of you is worthy,”

He swallowed his words and nodded, allowing your lips to burn the skin to his hand and wrists, while he cherished the feeling, the feeling of you so close to him, so intimately connected. Loving the parts of himself he hated the most.

It was no question how special of a person you were, he just wished he could have seen that sooner, sparing you the hurt and anguish. But you were strong and resilient, much more than he had ever seen in a person and paired with your care and empathy for others, it just amazed him how good of a person you were, despite all the hardship life had decided to throw in your way. It was clear everyone might be able to learn a thing or two from you.

—

Around a week later you had recovered from most of your injuries, mainly dealing with the chronic pains that came with them and a few cuts and bruises here and there, but you were determined to continue investigating the case.

The clinic where you worked had asked if you wanted some extra time off to recover and you took it but rest and relaxation were far from what you were doing.

“(Y/N), you have a headache it’s quite obvious,” you could hear Sara’s soft voice ring through your ears.

“Why don’t you just lay down on the couch?” Kreizler suggested knowing there was no use in trying to fight with you.

“Just close your eyes,” John added. “If you want to help your mind has to be clear right?”

You nodded slowly, making your way to the couch and carefully lifting your feet so you were outstretched across its length.

Dr. Kreizler came back with a warm wet towel and you placed it over your eyes only to feel him squeeze your hand and say,

“No peeking, we need you in top shape,”

“Shh Laszlo you’re half the reason I have this headache,” you quipped and that seemed to make him laugh, even if only slightly and if that sound was medicine all your ailments would have been cured at that moment.

You weren’t sure when you drifted off to sleep but when your eyes peeled back open the cloth was no longer on your face and the room was practically dark, only lit by a few candles here and there.

You pushed yourself back up on the couch looking around and only seeing the doctor sitting on the armchair tossing another bout of files to the side.

“Where is everyone?” you asked groggily.

“Home. John didn’t want to wake you so he asked if I could have a room prepared for you here,”

“Oh, thank you,”

It was good of John to have asked because you probably wouldn’t be making any late-night trips alone. Or at least you didn’t want to.

The memories of that night were still incredibly fuzzy and all you seemed to be able to remember was the feeling, maybe it was feet or someone’s fists but they were having a go at you and suddenly it made the lump in your throat grow making it difficult to swallow.

“Are you alright?” the doctor inquired gently.

“Fine,” you nodded. “Just trying to get out of my head,”

Kreizler motioned for you to come closer to him and you did, standing up and moving to the armchair before sitting yourself down at his feet, your hands placed in his own.

“What is it meine liebe?” he whispered, the back of his index finger stroking your cheek gently.

Your breath hitched while you looked up at him, his hazel eyes sparkling with green until the dim candlelight.

“You’re tense even when you’re safe,”

The pain was hard to forget, even when there was a compassionate touch from your brother or a gentle squeeze of your hand from the doctor or a friendly hug from Sara, it still hurt. The wounds were still there causing pain, associating that pain with the way your loved ones would hold you.

Loved ones.

They had really become that close, in such a short amount of time.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked again, pulling you from your daze.

You nodded, somewhat meekly not wanting to admit the pain you were feeling.

“Where doesn't it hurt?”

You detached your hands from his, showing him your hands,

“Here,” you said faintly.

He took your hands in his again, gently bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, each finger, sparks flying through you with every touch he gave.

“Where else,”

Your fingers moved to your neck, one of the only places where you weren’t bruised to begin with.

Your face was in his hands and he held you so delicately while you sat at his feet. His eyes scammed yours, asking for permission because dammit if he wasn’t a gentleman. You gave it to him with a simple nod of your head and one of his hands retracted while the other tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck and allowing his lips to trail feather-light kisses along it, your heart pounding through your chest and you prayed he couldn’t feel your pulse through your arteries.

When his lips detached from your neck your breath was shaky, wavering, waiting for him to ask the question once more.

“Where else meine liebe?” he whispered, close to your ear, his warm breath fanning over the side of your head and causing you to almost freeze in your spot.

You swallowed thickly, lifting your hand to your lips, fingers brushing delicately against them, almost begging him to just kiss you proper.

“Las,” you breathed, cutting his name short in an endearing way.

He didn’t need to hear you ask again, tilting your chin up and resting his lips on yours. You quavered slightly under his warm touch but he held you steady. Your bottom lip became tucked between his, like puzzle pieces.

It felt quick, not long enough, you wanted it to last an eternity and when he heard your quiet whimper when you pulled apart he didn’t waste a second to press his lips back on yours, pulling you in closer and letting his beard scratch against the soft skin of your cheek.

When you pulled apart for a second time you were prepared for it. Allowing your forehead to rest against his, your hands holding him close.

“Your brother may have a very good reason to be mad with me now,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“John doesn’t matter right now,” you shook your head.

“But he does, because I must ask something of him,”

“What could you possibly need from my overprotective older brother?”

“His blessing and permission to court you. Along with your own,”

Your lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. “Now that will get Gran off my back,”

“My thoughts exactly, and maybe, I hope it might bring you some joy meine liebe or respite,”

“As long as you can promise me that you won’t hide away Las,” you murmured, your fingers delicately brushing away some hair from his eyes.

“Anything,” he nodded. “I’d promise you anything,”

“Okay then while I’m at it, please don’t get yourself killed,” you said, placing a small peck to his lips.

“You have my word,” he smiled. “But you should sleep, I know you’ve barely been getting rest and you look tired,”

“You know it’s not polite to tell a lady she looks tired,” you quipped with a raised brow and he gave you a gentle smile. “And I think… I think I might rest better if I was lying next to you,”

Kreizler seemed to think this over, everything that was proper, especially in New York’s higher society, told him to say maybe it was best they spent the night apart, but his heart ached to be close to you, to hold you tight and feel your body against his.

“(Y/N), I-I’m not altogether sure that’s best especially for a proper woman such as yourself I wouldn’t want to-,”

“Las,” you stopped him. “I think over the time you’ve known me we both know that I am anything but proper. And you and I, we’re not normal people, what harm is there in sharing a bed,”

Absolutely none. You were right. There was no harm.

“First door on the left,” he said softly. “I’ll join you in a moment,”

You nodded, pushing yourself up to stand on your feet, a hand going to affectionately caress his face, tucking a very small piece of hair behind his ear.

He leaned into you, resting his head against your stomach and you held him there, despite the soreness it brought you because you knew how much of a comfort it was to him after working such late nights and long days.

Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, just for a few moments before pressing one last kiss to his head and pulling away, his hazel eyes forever lingering on you while you slowly walked up the stairs.

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