#laszlo kreizler x reader angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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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babybluebex · 3 years

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good doctor kreizler ch.3: o come, all ye faithful

summary ↠ part 3 of good doctor kreizler // on christmas eve, as you and your new husband prepare to host your friends, there's a drastic change in plans, and the sudden need for an extra place setting. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 5.6k warnings ↠ explicit language, smut, oral (f!receiving), sexual content involving a pregnant woman, explicit descriptions of childbirth (and everything that goes along with that), mentions of medical procedures, abduction a/n ↠ finally here it is! masterlist/taglist in bio!

The rustling of the bedsheets was a comfort to hear. Laszlo often woke up earlier than you did in order to prepare for his day at the Institute, and he tried his best not to wake you up. Your doctor had advised that you rest as much as possible, especially in the coming few weeks; as you learned, you seemed to have inherited your mother’s “weak womanly constitution”, as the doctor called it. You had to scale back your help during the investigation because of your weak stomach and over-eager emotions. It broke your heart into pieces when Laszlo finally told you that you were off the case entirely, but you understood his hesitations. At least, you considered, your husband knew better than you.

Not a day went by that you didn’t revel in your new title. The ceremony was a quiet affair, hardly even reported in the society papers, and you had just the most important family there. Sara served as your maid of honor, John as Laszlo’s best man, Marcus and Lucius as the legal witnesses. Laszlo had managed to secure a ring for you, and it glittered on your left hand every single day. The wedding, if you could call it that, had happened on a Saturday morning, and, when you went into work on Monday and had to alert Commissioner Roosevelt to your name change, Teddy had given you a warm smile that secured in you the thought that you would never truly be alone ever again. And you liked it.

You gave a soft moan and threw your arm behind you to capture your husband before he rose from bed. “Las,” you mumbled. In an instant, your hand was filled by his, and Laszlo was pressing his mouth to your cheek. “It’s still dark out.”

“Yes, my beloved, I know,” Laszlo said softly. “But I need to get an early start today.”

“Do you need to?” you groaned. “It’s awfully cold, sweetheart, I’ll freeze up if you leave.”

Laszlo gave a soft coo and kissed your cheek again, and he whispered, “I must get the house ready for dinner tonight.”

“For… What?” you mumbled.

“We’re hosting dinner tonight,” Laszlo explained slowly. The old wife’s tale of pregnancy brain seemed to be a certifiable malady in your case; you were constantly forgetting dates and appointments and misplacing things that you had in your hand. There had been more than one occasion where you had torn apart a room looking for the eyeglasses that you had perched on your nose. Laszlo, in his never-ending loveliness, was patient with you, and he would repeat things as many times as needed for them to stick. “Sara, John, Marcus, and Lucius are joining us.”

“Oh, God,” you huffed. “What’s the occasion?”

“Christmas dinner,” Laszlo said. His hand rested gently on your hip, his thumb making soft circles on your skin, and he nuzzled his beard into your neck. “I suppose, for Marcus and Lucius, it’s just dinner.”

“Oh, damn!” you murmured. “I forgot! How could I forget about Christmas?”

“You’ve had quite a lot on your mind lately,” Laszlo chuckled. “Please, my love, go back to sleep. You can’t help me with this anyway.”

“Why not?” you asked. You struggled to sit up, and Laszlo put his hand on your back and aided you upright. By you and your husband’s calculations, you were about eight months along, and you could feel every moment of it. Your back was constantly aching, and you had headaches that were so awful that you could feel your brain pulsing inside your skull (migraines, Laszlo called them, but you didn’t give a damn what they were called). All of the aches and pains meant nothing, though, when you felt your son kick up into you. Yes, Baby Kreizler was an active one, and, more often than not, you found yourself being woken up in the morning by his movements and kicks.

Laszlo placed his hand gently on your swollen belly, and his palm was met with a nudge. “It involves your Christmas present,” Laszlo told you. “And I can’t very well have you spoil your own present.”

“You—!” you began. “I thought we said we weren’t doing presents! Oh, Las, I have nothing to give you!”

“You must be joking,” Laszlo said. The room was dim, only the dull flame of a gas lamp lighting the bedroom, but you could see your husband’s glittering dark eyes as easily as if it were in the daytime. “You are giving me the best present that I could ever ask for. I could never ask you for anything more.”

You pouted, but drew Laszlo into a kiss. You often forget about your husband’s stubbornness, and, while it had made him the successful man he was, it was rather difficult to try to surprise him with anything. You had told a little fib when you said that you hadn’t gotten him a Christmas gift. The small leather-bound book was stashed in a drawer under your stockings, a neat ribbon around it, the front page reading a personal inscription from the author itself. Laszlo had a habit of reading literature that made you sick to even think about, and he had grown fond of an author that was published in a Boston newspaper, a man named Poe. You had acquired a collection of Poe’s stories and sent him a letter, explaining your situation, and he had sent it back with haste. You had peeked at the inscription, and you smiled just a bit at the words “you and your work are an inspiration, Doctor Kreizler”. Laszlo would like that, you were sure of it.

Laszlo moved his hand from your belly to your cheek, and he held your face as he deepened the kiss. You gave a soft laugh at his boldness (you supposed, though, that a husband’s need for his wife was hardly bold), and you lifted your arms to wrap around his neck. In an instant, Laszlo abandoned his need for being early, and he pressed a line of fluttering kisses down your jaw and neck. You let your fingers run through his hair, still mussed from sleep, and Laszlo pressed a sweet, open-mouthed kiss to your breast. That was another surprise of pregnancy; not that your breasts would grow as your milk came in, but that Laszlo would form an odd attachment to them. If it were anybody else, Laszlo would have looked at the behavior as codependent and perhaps leaning towards neglect from one’s mother, but, since it was him, you knew that he didn’t think about it. The moment your beautiful and eloquent doctor had one of your breasts in his mouth, he turned simple-minded.

So simple-minded, in fact, that he hardly seemed to notice the way his hand slid and crept up your thigh. Or perhaps he was aware of it, and was being coy for your sake. Either way, you keened up into his hand, whimpering just a bit, silently pleading for him. You two had become experts at reading each other, and Laszlo knew what you wanted without you having to utter a word. You didn’t want his hand, he knew that. He gave one last kiss to your hard nipple, then continued to trail feather-light kisses down your body. His hand tangled in your nightgown and rucked it up past your hips, and he gave an open-mouthed kiss to your hip. Your hands clawed at your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head to free your body completely, and Laszlo took a departure from your hip to lavish your belly in kisses. The skin had been permeated with light marks where your skin had stretched to accommodate the baby, and, while you didn’t quite care for the look of them and worried if they would persist, Laszlo never stopped for one second to consider them anything but beautiful.

“Laszlo,” you whimpered out. “Please, my love.”

Laszlo kissed down your hips to your thighs, and he pressed your legs open and pulled them over his shoulders. Then, finally, mercifully, he pressed his mouth to your cunt. He wasted no time, placing open-mouth kisses all over your sensitive skin, and your fingers closed in his hair. You tugged a bit, telling him to go further, and Laszlo licked a stripe up your waiting cunt. You gave him a satisfied little moan and your hips jerked a bit when he gave a harsh suck to your clit. “Las!” you squealed, and you felt him smile against you. “Fuck, more.”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Laszlo mumbled, looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pressed his mouth against you again. The sight of it had you whimpering, and you felt your release close at hand. That was how it seemed to go, as of late; Laszlo hardly had to stimulate you, and you were a wet, spent mess within minutes. He said it was the baby, and you didn’t know enough to dispute him. Laszlo detached his mouth from your cunt and lifted his hand to stroke your throbbing clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Taste so good… How could I ever have lived before you?”

You hardly had the brain to wax lyrical at the moment, but, if you did, you would have said that perhaps he wasn’t truly living before you, just as you hadn’t before him. The world had changed with him, and you could never want anything else except him for the rest of time. “Las,” you gasped, the pleasure he gave you making your legs shake. While his hand worked, his mouth went to your thigh, and he placed wet kisses all over the skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you writhed under him, and you moaned and keened at him. “Las—” you gasped. “I-I’m gonna—”

The wonderful and heady relief washed over you before you could even finish your sentence, and you basked in it for a long while. Your chest heaved as you smoothed down Laszlo’s hair, and he stood up with a soft grunt. “Gosh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you mumbled, sitting up on your elbows; you hadn't meant for him to kneel down on the hard floor, but he didn't seem to mind it much. His robe had come undone during the act to show his chest and stomach, and you worked yourself fully upright so that you could wrap your arms around him. Your head landed on his chest and you kissed over his heart, and Laszlo gave a quiet little sigh. “You grow lovelier every day,” he whispered, and he landed a kiss in your hair.

You smiled into his chest. But you felt as if something was off. Yes, your muscles and fibers had relaxed with the orgasm, but there was still an odd tightness in your core. It felt almost like the cramps you had to endure monthly, or, at least, the onset of one. “Oh, no,” you mumbled. You knew what that feeling was.

“What is it?” Laszlo asked.

The contraction finally landed and settled fully in your core, and it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God!” you yelped, drawing your husband closer to you. “Las— I’m in labor.”

Laszlo didn’t seem to fully process your words, because he looked down at you with a sort of bleary-eyed confusion. “Labor?” he repeated. “As in…?”

“As in labor, Laszlo!” you cried. “As in I will give birth sometime in the next few days and it’ll be your head on a pike if you don’t get the doctor here now.”

Laszlo stepped away from you and looked around the bedroom, a little frantic. Finally, he clenched his jaw and tied up his robe, and he went to the door of the bedroom and threw it open. “Cyrus!” he yelled. “Cyrus! Ring the doctor! Y/N’s gone into labor!”

You heard Cyrus respond to Laszlo, and suddenly his hands were on you again. The pain, while not awful, was certainly unpleasant, and you moved slowly as Laszlo helped you back into your nightgown. His hand was shaking almost as badly as yours were, and you grabbed his hand and drew it to your mouth for a firm kiss. “I love you,” you whispered. Your eyes watered, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t see Laszlo’s eyes wetting as well.

“I love you too, my beloved,” Laszlo said softly, laying you back amongst the pillows. “The doctor will be here soon. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

You bit your lip at an onslaught of pain that rocketed down your spine. “Get me Sara,” you said.

“S-Sara Howard?” Laszlo asked.

“She’s practically my sister,” you said. “Please, Las, I need her.”

“Of course, of course,” Laszlo said quickly. “Can I get you anything else?”

You gave a shuddering sigh as the pain died down, and you mumbled, “A glass of water?”

John took the steps into the house two at a time. He had just been sitting down for breakfast with his grandmother when their telephone had sounded. While his grandmother raged at the thing, he answered it and had the briefest of conversations with Laszlo that went something like this: “She’s in labor. Come quick.” “... Now?” “Childbirth waits for no man, John, and I intend for my child to meet his uncle as soon as possible.”

The energy inside the house was an odd one. The place was done up with garlands of holly, obviously having been prepared by the little motley family of Laszlo, Y/N, Cyrus, and Stevie, to stand as a lovely locale for Christmas dinner. It should have been so cheerful— chattering and laughing— but there was just silence. “Laszlo?” John called, looking upwards from the base of the stairs.

“Top floor!” He heard Laszlo call back after a moment. Usually, the doctor would have greeted him at the door, and now he wasn’t even coming down to debrief the situation. John steeled himself and prepared for the worst.

Thankfully, the top floor wasn’t a tragedy zone. Laszlo stood in the hallway, pacing restlessly, mumbling to himself in every language he spoke. “John, Mein Gott,” he sighed. “Thank you for coming quickly.”

“Is she really in labor?” John asked.

“Yes,” Laszlo replied. “We woke up only a few hours ago and… Her water broke. The contractions have been ebbing and flowing ever since, but she is insistent that a doctor get here.” After a moment, and noticing John’s trepidation, added, “A real doctor, she said. Someone who has experience with delivering children.”

“That’s probably a good call,” John said. “Is she in there?” He gestured at the closed door that he could only assume was Laszlo and Y/N’s bedroom, and Laszlo nodded.

“Sara’s in there as well,” Laszlo said. “Comforting her.”

“Why are you not in there?” John asked quickly. “I mean, my God, Laszlo, this is your wife and son!”

“I know,” Laszlo snapped. “I wish I could be, but… I can’t bring myself to. The numbers of women who die in childbirth… And most of the time, there’s nothing to be done to stop it… I-I would only blame myself. If I were in that room, with my knowledge, and she died, and I couldn’t help, I would blame myself.”

There was a sharp yelp from inside the room, like a hurt animal, followed by muffled shushing; the mother and Sara, John supposed. “Where’s the doctor?” John asked.

“The one we chose to schedule when we would go to wellness checks was booked until this afternoon,” Laszlo said. “He’ll get here when he can. Until then, we… Wait. I will allow myself to go in every so often and check dilation, but it’s getting to the point where… The sight of it makes me ill.”

John didn’t know much about childbirth, but the word dilation helped him figure up enough of an image to make him a little ill as well. “Can I get her anything?” John asked. “Something from the shop on the corner?”

“She says no,” Laszlo said. “She’s only asked for water. A kiss, every so often, but I feel that’s less vital and more encouragement.”

John nodded in agreement, and he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “How long do we wait?” he asked.

“However long it takes,” Laszlo said with a shrug. “For some women, it’s mere hours; others, days.”

John sighed and took up a place leaning against the wall, and he mumbled, “I guess dinner’s off, isn’t it?”

Laszlo finally cracked a gentle smile, and he leaned next to John. He wore the beginnings of an acceptable outfit, pants and a buttoned shirt with his suspenders, but no vest, no cravat, no jacket. This was a worried man, an expectant father, a ready doctor. “I’m sure we can find a way to have dinner,” he said. “Perhaps, if the timing’s right, we’ll have to put out an extra place-setting.”

John still could hardly believe that, out of their entire group, Laszlo was the first to have a baby. Just meters away, behind the door, Laszlo’s wife was in the beginning stages of bringing new life. On Christmas Eve, no less. “Did you ever think you’d have this?” John whispered.

“No,” Laszlo replied after a moment. He looked down at his boots and wrapped his arm around himself, and he chewed on his thoughts for a moment. “Even just last night, as we were going to bed… I watched her enter the room, and the lamp lit her up… Her body was silhouetted against the lamp through her nightgown. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’ll never forget the sight. If I had any artistic inclination, I would have captured it. The memory might be greater than any piece of art, though.” He took a moment to savor the image, and he gave a short sigh. “But I have done my share of worrying. Every day, every moment, I was terrified. I have never known greater fear, truly. When she was at work and the Institute would get a phone call, I felt physically ill until I could answer it. Every day, I woke up and asked myself… ‘Is this the day where we lose him?’. It’s not a good way to live, John. But every night, after another successful day, when I would get her in my arms, it was the most perfect thing. It is unbelievable. Me, a father?” He scoffed. “I just hope he looks like her.”

“Why?” John asked.

“I don’t want him to be plagued with my visage,” Laszlo said. “If he resembles me, people will know he’s mine, and he won’t ever escape my reputation. I know the name Kreizler is an unusual one, but he can deny relation. If he has my name and face… There’s no denying it.”

“And you’re ashamed of that?” John asked. “Laszlo, there is nothing but pride to be had in your name. Kreizler is… You’re a man of science, a world-renowned alienist. You are intelligent, smart as a whip! You are dedicated to your work and your family, and you treat people with the utmost respect… Well, you treat your patients with the utmost respect.” John paused to dig his elbow playfully into Laszlo’s ribs, and Laszlo gave a little huffing laugh that held no true humor in it. “And you’re kind. You’d give your life for the people you love. A man can only ask for a friend as loyal as you. And you’re quite handsome, Laszlo. A child with any resemblance to you is a blessed one.”

“Alright—” Laszlo started plaintively.

“No, truly,” John said. He cast a glance at the door, then added, “May I confess something?”

Laszlo gave John a sideways glance, then nodded, and John took a deep breath. “I promised the good Mrs. Kreizler to keep this secret, but I feel it’s past time to tell you. The day you two met, when Sara brought her from the police station to the Institute, I heard her and Sara speaking as they left. I heard her say ‘That Kreizler fellow is quite handsome’. I confronted her on the basis of light teasing a few days later, and she implored me to not tell you. Got quite emotional about it, in fact. She said that she… She wanted to prove her place in the job. She said she didn’t want to be one of those women who joined a man’s work and fell in love and become some subservient housewife. She wanted to be a detective. But, before your wedding, she admitted to me that she was glad that what had happened had happened. She told me she couldn’t see any other life that didn’t have you in it. She told me that she had even considered naming your son after you, but she knew that you would fight her tooth and nail about that. She loves you, Laszlo, and she’ll make sure that your son does too. Hell, he’ll be proud to carry the name Kreizler. All the more so if he looks like you. Don’t be ashamed of who you are or your past. The future has yet to come and, from what I can tell, it’ll be a good future. Don’t waste it by worrying about if your son is proud of you or himself, because, frankly, that’s a fucking ridiculous thing to worry abut. He’s your son, Laszlo; the part you should worry about is how to shrink that ego that he’ll have.”

Laszlo smiled once more, and he drew John into a tight hug. The men were quiet, and John gave Laszlo a few firm pats on his back. “Thank you, John,” Laszlo said softly. “Those are kind words.”

John shrugged. “It’s the least I can do,” he said. “I suspect that you’ll wear divots on the floor if you keep pacing, though.”

“Can you blame me?” Laszlo asked. “Just beyond that door… It kills me.”

Just then, there was another cry of pain, and John heard you cry out: “Laszlo! I need you!”

Laszlo couldn’t have moved faster if he were shocked by electricity. He flew from his place on the wall and opened the door, and he was instantly by your side. John hesitated for a moment, seeing your nakedness and open legs, but Laslzo beckoned him in. John entered slowly, taking in the smell of sweat and blood, and then he really examined you. The bedsheets around you were dark with birthing fluid, your nightgown discarded on the floor. Sara sat next to you, undressed down to her underskirt, with her sleeves rolled to her elbow, holding your hand and giving you soft encouragement. Your skin was shining with strained perspiration, your hair matted to your forehead. Your bottom lip was nearly bitten raw, and your hand clambered out for Laszlo’s. Your chest heaved as you tried to breathe slowly, and Laszlo pushed your damp hair from your face. “You’re doing great,” he whispered and planted a kiss on your temple. “John, come here. Hold her hand while I check her dilation.”

The two men switched places, and you gave John Schuyler Moore a smile. “Glad you could make it, John,” you said, reaching for his face and drawing him in to put a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Christ, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” John said gently. “But you’re being so strong. I’m proud of you.”

John looked expectantly down to Laszlo, examining you, and, when he looked at you, his eyes were tearing up. “It’s time, my beloved,” he said, and you gasped. “You need to push.”

“What? No!” you cried. Fear radiated through your body, and you sobbed. “No, it’s too early! The doctor isn’t here yet!”

“There’s no choice,” Laszlo said. He was firm, his jaw set, but you could see the emotions welling behind his eyes. He was scared too. He was as unprepared as you were. Sure, he was a doctor, but he hardly knew how to deliver a baby. “He’s coming now. Sara, run to the kitchen and get water, a clean rag, a large empty bowl, and a pair of scissors; a sharp knife would be sufficient.”

Sara nodded and, before she left, she gave you a quick kiss on your forehead. “You can do this,” she said. “I believe in you.”

You could hardly focus on your husband’s words, telling you to relax as much as possible and push when he said. The sensation of pushing was an odd one, your middle cramping with the force of it, and a whimper fell from you. You held John’s hand tightly, so tightly that your brief moments of levity from pushing had you apologizing for it, but the contraction would return, and you had to push again. Sara returned after the second bout of pushing, bearing all the tools required, and Laszlo quickly dipped his hands in the water to cleanse them. For the moment, he was bearing the dual responsibility of father and doctor, and he wore both roles on opposite sides of his face. His eyes were steadied and focused, using his Harvard-granted education, but his mouth was screwed up in concern. His forehead shined with sweat, and he paused in-between the fifth and sixth round to roll up his sleeves. Sara and John picked up the familial slack, encouraging you and helping you where they could.

Your vision grew spotty after ten rounds of intense and strenuous pushing, and you gasped out, “Las, I-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t—”

You wished that you hadn’t looked down. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have seen Laszlo’s white shirt spotted with blood, the stuff caked under his fingernails. The sight of it made you sniffle and hold back a gag. The wrinkles in your husband’s forehead were deep, but they dissipated when he looked at you. “Yes, you can,” Laszlo said firmly. “You’re too far along, there’s no stopping now, my love.”

“Laszlo, I can’t,” you croaked. “I can’t, I— I can hardly breathe or see, I-I cannot do it anymore!”

Laszlo paused, studying your face for a moment, and he stood up from the floor in front of bed and leaned forward to capture your chin in his hand. “You have to,” he said firmly, pressing his forehead against yours. “He’s nearly halfway out, coming feet-first. You need to finish what you’ve started, my dear. Goddamn it, finish this, for me, for you, and for him. Do you hear me? Fucking finish this.”

You nodded, gritting your teeth. Under any other circumstances, you would have slapped him outright for being so harsh with you, but you needed to hear it. You had no idea that you were that far along, and the thought that perhaps you were a few minutes away from holding your son gave you the strength you needed. You took a deep breath and readjusted your grips on Sara and John’s hands, and you waited for Laszlo to tell you to push. And you did. You felt a popping in your ears and a fierce snap in your hips, and the culmination of what felt like eons of work made you give one, hoarse, exhausted, gut-wrenching scream.

And then… There was another. But not your screams. They weren’t coming from your mouth, tearing up your throat what felt like beyond repair. No, no, they were coming from—

The soft snip of scissors interrupted the air of high shrieks, and then the weight of an even six pounds was settled on your chest. You looked down through spotted and tearful eyes, and you found a small being laying on your chest, wailing his little lungs out. All pink and wrinkled, still covered in little flecks of blood and other such stuff. He had a small swirl of dark hair atop his little head, and his mouth was like a rosebud. He had a tiny nose and, when you looked at Laszlo, you saw the same one. “Oh my God,” you gasped, instantly putting your hands on your baby’s back. “Oh my God! Hello there, baby. Oh my God, Laszlo—”

Laszlo took up John’s place at your head, and you looked to see his shirt splotched with your blood, tear tracks shining bright on his face. You had never seen him smile so big. He placed a gentle hand on his son’s back, touching him as if he would disappear the moment contact was made, and he swallowed thickly. “Welcome to the world,” he said softly, and he leaned down and settled a kiss on his son’s head. Almost instantly, he stopped his crying, devolving into quiet coos and whimpers, and you laughed.

“God, of course he loves you more,” you laughed. “Oh, Las… Oh, he’s here.”

“What’s his name?” Laszlo asked.

You didn’t have to think. You had been pondering ever since you found out you were pregnant, and you had come up with the perfect name. “Friedrich Wolfgang Kreizler,” you said.

“Nietzche, Mozart…” Laszlo mumbled, stroking his beard in wonderment. “Yes, that’ll do quite nicely, I think.”

Laszlo settled down on the bed next to you, and you carefully passed Friedrich to him. He held him in the crook of his left arm, and his heart nearly stopped when his son looked at him. Dark brown eyes, with a small dark birthmark just at the top of his left cheek. Just like Papa. “A spitting image, eh?” Laszlo chuckled lightly.

“Chip off the old block,” John chuckled. Sara moved to pull the blankets up over your body, and you captured her and pulled her into a tight hug. You whispered a “Thank you” to her, and she smiled. Sara was always so supportive in her own way, and the smile meant the world to you. “Congratulations are in order, Kreizlers.”

Kreizlers. Plural. There were three of you now, a full family. Mama, Papa, and baby. “Thank you for your help,” you told John. “I truly couldn’t have managed it without you.”

You let your head fall back on your pillow, and you glanced at the window. The sky outside was painted with ink, the smallest pinpricks of silver coming through; it had taken all day and into the night. “Is it past midnight?” you asked, and John quickly looked at his watch.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s Christmas Day.”

You laughed, and looked at Laszlo. “You did say he was the best present you’d ever gotten,” you told him.

“I did say that,” Laszlo agreed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Friedrich since you had given him to him. You could hardly place the emotion he had in his eyes, but you knew that it was some form of love. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“I love you,” you told him.

Laszlo finally looked at you, and he saw an entirely new woman. He thought that the whole spiel about a “mother’s glow” was a myth, a way to make women feel beautiful after the strain of giving birth, but he saw it more clearly than anything. You were radiant. Your skin was sparkling and your eyes were bright, and your smile could have lit up a thousand street lamps. Motherhood suited you. “I love you too,” he said. He leaned over to kiss you, and even that felt new.

Finally, Laszlo broke the kiss, and he said, “Let me take him to get clean. You rest up, my beloved; I’ll have Cyrus bring you something to eat.”

You nodded. You had no qualms about Laszlo taking Friedrich. He was his father, after all, and you knew that Laszlo would sooner burn his library than hurt his son. “Can I have a moment alone?” you asked.

“Of course,” Sara offered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You should go hold your nephew,” you said. “That is, if Papa Bear will release him for long enough.”

The four of you laughed, and Laszlo stood up from the bed. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Laszlo could only gaze down at Friedrich as he carried him into his nursery. The place was decorated with images of animals, per your request, and John had managed to paint a collection of birds that lined the top of the walls. He took special care to wipe Friedrich clean, tilting his head as he listened to his little man’s curious vocalizations, and he chose a blanket that Lucius Isaacson had knitted to swaddle him in. Laszlo had done the stereotypical practice, tormenting the small bags of flour that sat in the kitchen, and he had gotten quite good at doing it with his one arm. He slowed to a stop, though, and he looked at his right arm for a moment. He looked back at Friedrich, seemingly asleep in his warm wool swaddle, and he took his arm by the wrist and guided it to his son. Carefully, he pressed his cheek into his palm, and his heart swooned at the feeling of his warm, soft skin against his fingers. He nearly felt like he would pass out. He loved you, yes, but he could never love anything more than the boy in front of him.

The moment was shattered, though, when, down the hall, Laszlo heard you give a clipped shout of his name. “Las—!”

“John!” Laszlo called, and John took his place with Friedrich as he raced to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he expected the worst. He expected pools of blood, perhaps a corpse, his wife and the mother of his son to have succumbed to an unknown complication in the time it took him to clean Friedrich.

He didn’t expect an empty bed and an open window, the thin curtain rustling with the breeze. He didn’t expect a small slip of paper amongst the stained sheets. He didn’t expect to read the page and grow so angry that he let out a howl of anguish: Mother Mary has delivered. She must repent. Happy Christmas, Doctor.

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latenightartist-author · 3 years

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I really wish zemo or dr krizler were real and in a relationship with me because i need cuddle and its annoying that all i can cuddle is a pillow. 😔

#baron zemo #tfatws #marvel #the avengers #disney #helmut zemo #hydra #zemo #laszlo kreizler x reader angst #laszlo #laszlo kreizler #the alienist

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ you and Laszlo are different in many ways, some harder to ignore than others, but you share one latent predicament: affection.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.1k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ angst, kinda smut? (just male masturbation), alpha/omega social dynamics (including sexism against omegas), laszlo being a huge asshole, brief violence, mutual pining, really just so much pining

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

Cardamom. Fresh-cut grass. Something sweet, like honey or fresh wine; something he couldn’t quite make out.

He recognized it instantly as the smell of you, and it made him grimace as he stood up from his couch. When you’d been over yesterday to discuss a case of his, he had honestly contemplated not letting you sit on or touch anything, anticipating this exact issue. But he had been too considerate to say anything and now your horridly wonderful stench was all over the place.

“Mary!” he called out into the house, and she thankfully appeared quickly. “Would you take these cushions from the sofa and… clean them, somehow?”

She nodded, stepping past him to start gathering them in her arms, and he watched her with narrowed eyes.

Truth was, he would rather never have to spend time near omegas when avoidable. It was a distaste he preferred not to voice since many people, alphas and betas alike, discriminated against omegas. Laszlo’s issue was not with some foolish notion that omegas were less worthy of respect, or too emotional or whatever offensive stereotype one might conjure. Rather, his concern lied less in any prejudice against the omegas themselves and instead in his own fears about being an alpha.

He wasn’t blind to the way being an alpha gave him a certain advantage in society, but if he’d had it his way he would’ve been able to avoid presentation entirely and be a beta. Betas were, for their potential blandness, much more… predictable. And Laszlo had never taken issue with the idea of being boring and predictable.

Alphas, on the other hand, had a habit for being a bit primitive. Especially when they were around other alphas… and especially when they were around omegas. It was no wonder that he barely had any idea how to act around you; it was like the composed, educated, respected man disappeared, leaving the mind and body to fend for themselves as he tried simply not to make a fool of himself.

Some omegas might like an alpha acting that way, but you weren’t as frivolous as those sort; and even if you were, he certainly wouldn’t debase himself to impress you.

Would I? he was forced to wonder.

He scoffed to himself, realizing this was exactly the internal monologue he had been hoping to avoid in the first place. This was why he couldn’t be running around with an omega, even if ‘running around’ was more like sitting and discussing neuropsychiatric disorders.

It was a shame that he liked you so much, that you always had such insightful things to say, or he could just do away with you for good. Maybe it had gotten so bad now that he would do it anyways, but you were an invaluable partner now in his investigation, and he was seeing more and more of you, hearing more of your gentle voice which seemed to stir his soul effortlessly.

And smelling more of you… that damn scent that he couldn’t seem to shake. The only thing he feared more than catching a whiff of it in his home unexpectedly, was to never breathe the scent of you again.

When Mary had all the cushions in a haphazard pile and turned to step away, he found himself reaching out and opening his mouth to speak. “Wait,” he blurted out before he could stop it, and Mary turned with her brow raised expectantly. “I’ll just… take this one,” he mumbled awkwardly, plucking a small cushion from the top of her pile. “For safekeeping.”

She nodded, but he caught her smirking a little as she turned and walked away with the rest. Of course she knew, and he cursed himself for being so obvious with his fickle emotions; but then again, a woman as perceptive as Mary was bound to find out sooner or later… she said nothing, but saw everything.

Or, almost everything. He made sure to lock his bedroom door and wait until the entire house was asleep before holding the stolen cushion tight to his chest in bed that night, to make sure no one would see his humiliating predicament, his juvenile obsession.

When he closed his eyes and ran his hands over the cushion’s embroidered fabric, he could almost pretend it was your dress, he could almost imagine holding you like this.

But he’d hold you even tighter. He’d never let you go.

It was honestly a bit ridiculous that he already had an erection from only this, but his imagination was running wild and his body wasn’t so far behind. He knew if he opened his eyes, it would remind him how pathetic this all was and he would likely stop himself. So, instead, he forced his eyes to squint shut even harder as he slipped his left hand down the front of his pyjama trousers.

A strict regimen of rut suppressants meant that he almost never had to resort to this, opting to ignore any tension rather than relieve it. But this time, when his hand wrapped around the throbbing base of his cock, it felt better than he remembered; though still nothing compared to what he was imagining.

He wanted to be buried inside you, so deep your eyes would roll back a bit. He wanted to kiss your neck until you were breathing those pretty little sighs of yours that he'd heard from time to time.

Though he'd never bedded an omega in his somewhat sparse sexual experience, he knew from his studies that omegas were uniquely sensitive, especially to an alpha. He could hardly dare to imagine how it would feel if he made you come; surely it would be too perfect to do anything but knot you right away, and just the thought of that made his cock flex against his grip.

“Omega,” he mumbled to himself, wondering how it would feel if you called him Alpha in the same way; that might be enough to almost make him like being an alpha, for once.

Because really, he hated it so desperately, with such a passion. He hated being ruled by instinct, even if he managed to overcome it the overwhelming majority of the time (this moment notwithstanding). He hated craving something that he didn’t know how to get and that no one wanted to give to him. He hated that being an alpha meant being expected to be strong and dominating and aggressive when he was nothing like that. Even if he had moments of weakness that brought out his more instinctual side, he could never be strong with only one good arm; he could never protect you like you deserved. He could never hold you as tight as he dreamed to.

He could never be your alpha. But maybe he could indulge in his fantasy for just a few moments longer...

Perhaps you shouldn’t have put so much time into selecting your outfit, or you wouldn’t have been a quarter hour late past when Dr. Kreizler asked you to arrive at the Institute. As you scurried down the hall, trying not to walk too loudly since your heels echoed through the corridor, you just hoped he wouldn’t notice or say anything about it.

When you stepped through his office door, everyone— Sara, John, the Isaacsons, and Laszlo himself— looked up to stare at you.

“Ah, I was wondering if you intended to arrive at all,” Laszlo frowned.

“Well, I—” you began.

“It’s no matter, just shut the door behind you and try to keep up with the discussion,” he interrupted, turning around to write on the chalkboard again.

You nodded awkwardly, catching a sympathetic smile from John, before listening to the Doctor pick up where he left off.

Laszlo continued to be uncharacteristically curt with you— well, it wasn’t so uncharacteristic, but it was even worse than normal— throughout the entire meeting, regularly undermining your suggestions if not directly interrupting them, dismissing your ideas as fantastical or preposterous.

The others seemed to notice, in fact it seemed to make them similarly uncomfortable, but nobody thought to say anything and you spent the better part of an hour biting your lip to keep from either crying or cursing him.

You were relieved when Laszlo finally dismissed the team; you were the first to turn for the door, in fact, more than ready to get out of this nightmare of an office, but Laszlo addressed you specifically by name as the others filed out of the room.

“Yes?” you answered, noticing John nonchalantly hanging behind as well.

“Next time, try presenting some reasonable ideas, why don’t you?” Laszlo suggested to you sharply.

“Leave off,” John warned Laszlo, who didn’t even turn his attention away from you for a moment, though he did seem to heed the warning regardless as he cooled off slightly.

“It’s no matter,” Laszlo decided flippantly, “I shouldn’t have expected much else— it’s in your nature.”

You swallowed thickly, hearing John scoff at your side. “C’mon, let’s go,” he encouraged you quietly yet firmly. You gave Laszlo one shy glance, but he’d already turned to examine some papers on his desk, ignoring you completely.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” you mumbled sheepishly, turning and following John out the door and out of the Institute.

When you reached the street, you were prepared to start walking on but John held your arm gently. “Your apartment isn’t far from my grandmother’s house, why don’t we share a cab?” he offered.

You considered turning him down simply because you had been looking forward to a chance to wallow alone, but as he looked down at you, you realized you were better off with the company of a friend. “All right,” you nodded, “that would be lovely, thank you.”

John was able to flag a buggy down and was kind enough to help you in before following behind you, sitting across from you as you looked out the small window.

“Pay no mind to the Doctor,” John decided to offer as he interrupted the silence. You thought maybe he would just distract you with small talk, so you were surprised when he got right to it. “He’s always this irritable.”

“I just can’t imagine why he’s so irritated by me,” you sighed, hoping to regulate your tone to just somber and not heartbroken.

“I can,” John chuckled, and you shot him a glare.

“You’re agreeing that I’m irritating?” you confirmed, incensed, and he looked back at you with a slightly condescending smile.

“Not at all. It’s just that there are things about alphas that omegas can never properly understand.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because our minds are too simple, right?” you pressed sarcastically.

“No, no, not that,” he defended, getting a bit more serious. “You know I’m not the type to think those things about omegas; Doctor Kreizler certainly isn’t. I just mean, it can be difficult to explain.”

“Well, use that big alpha brain of yours and give it a shot, why don’t you?” you encouraged, crossing your arms incredulously.

“All right, don’t get upset with me,” he soothed. “Nobody who really understood alphas would ever accuse them of being logical, that’s the thing. Alphas certainly want you to think that, but… we’re really not so rational at all.”

You raised your eyebrow, confused, and he sighed.

“I mean, I suppose we can be, I know I try my best… but I think we both know that I have a few of my own vices.”

John did certainly seem to have a reputation with prostitutes, mostly betas but some omegas as well. Some mornings you could smell them on him still; and it made you appreciate that maybe a man like Laszlo wasn’t only putting on the appearance of solitude.

“Betas are really the only ones who have their heads on straight, the way I see it,” John decided. “I mean, think of Sara. Do you think before she does something, she wonders what omegas will think when she does it? Or what alphas will think?”

You chewed your lip. “No, I suppose not.”

“No matter what alphas try to tell you about how they’re the better sex, ultimately all we can ever really do is worry about omegas. And, I won’t speak for you, but I think the reverse may be true as well.”

“So… that behavior there, in his office, that was him… worrying about me?” you concluded.

“I think it worries him that he worries for you,” John specified, smiling like he’d said something profound.

But you were unimpressed, and you made that plenty clear by sighing and leaning back against the seat of the buggy. It was a long ride home, your mind racing with reimaginings of how Laszlo had spoken to you and what a more outspoken version of yourself might have done, but you had to admit that even in silence it was better with John nearby.

Perhaps even preferably in silence.

You waited a few days, hoping to find your mood improving, but it only seemed to get worse. Each day you thought about Laszlo— everything about Laszlo, annoyingly enough, but especially the inconvenient fact that he couldn’t stand you.

John apparently had his own theory about it. He seemed to imply that Laszlo had some underlying attraction to you, something he could help as an alpha dealing with an omega— and while that idea made your heart skip a beat, it seemed too good to be true. He would’ve said the same thing if Laszlo was kind to you, wouldn’t he? So what difference does it make?

No matter the cause, you didn’t want to leave it unaddressed any longer. That was what compelled you to drop in at Dr. Kreizler’s home one foggy and grey evening— the kind where one could smell the incoming rain in the air even without an omega’s keen senses— knowing he wasn’t at the Institute this time of day.

Mary let you in, showing you to the living room to wait for him; you would’ve sat on the couch, but you noticed all the cushions were missing with a befuddled expression. Mary seemed a little amused by your confusion before she left to return to some task in the back garden, and so you just let your eyes wander over the room to pass the time. Laszlo’s collection of books was impressive, of course, as were the bottles of medications and salves stored in shelves. You noticed rut and heat suppressants among them, and you were pleasantly surprised since heat suppressants were often considered to be controversial— a form of birth control, in the eyes of many, and therefore often thought of as sinful. But of course a man like Laszlo wouldn’t think of things that way; you admired his progressiveness.

You turned from the shelf when you heard him enter the room; he seemed surprised to see you, understandably. “I apologize that I didn’t call first, but I wanted to discuss something with you,” you explained.

“Something you couldn’t call to discuss?” he presumed, making you frown.

“Well, yes, or I would’ve called. You know, Laszlo, this may surprise you but I actually don’t try to irritate you,” you explained, already losing a bit of your patience.

You didn’t often call him by his first name, not to his face at least. Apparently, he didn’t care much for it. “It must come to you naturally then,” he nodded.

“Then why do you keep me on the case? If I’m so frustrating and fundamentally unhelpful?” you interrogated. You expected an immediate response, but he stammered over his words for a moment.

“Well—” he began, stopping to sigh and glance at the window. “Is it especially hot out today?”

“Um, no,” you answered, confused. “It’s rather temperate.”

When he looked at you again, something had changed in his expression. “Oh,” he sighed, “you— you should go.”

“Doctor, you haven’t answered my question,” you reminded him firmly.

“Yes, I’ll tell you another time, but I have matters to attend to,” he rushed, starting to look a bit unwell as he coughed and started fuss with his tie.

“Are you all right?” you asked, stepping closer and seeing him step back in turn— but he tripped, trying to catch himself with his weak arm and failing completely. He hit the floor with a hiss, dark brown hair falling out of its style and into his face as he grunted in pain.

“Doctor!” you gasped, running to him as your heart pounded. “What’s wrong?”

But in your heart, you knew. In fact, it wasn’t just your heart but your whole body that told you it was his rut. He looked to be in such pain, panting and tugging at his stiff collar, face already turning a bit red.

“Laszlo,” you sighed, reaching down and starting to kneel with him, but he slapped your hands away.

“Get out,” he breathed, ragged and dark.

“No, you need help,” you asserted, reaching for him again and nearly screaming with shock when he jumped up and roughly shoved you back.

“How dare you say no to me, in my own home, like I am your inferior?” he snarled. “Get out!”

“I… I can help you…” you whispered shakily, trying not to cry, unable now to save your dignity as your caring omega instincts kicked in— as well as your latent desire.

“And what makes you think I want your help? Have I not made what I want abundantly clear?” he bellowed, storming closer to you as you fumbled backwards. “Leave here, and don’t come back.”

Even with tears in your eyes and fear coursing through you until your hands began to shiver, you softly shook your head. “N-no, Laszlo, I won’t… I won’t leave you like this.”

For a moment, you thought he might relent, considering the way his expression softened. But just as quick as it came, it shifted to seething rage again and you didn’t even know what hit you for a moment— it was the back of his hand, striking your cheek so hard you almost fell to the floor, though you just barely managed to keep your balance.

It was only a brief moment that the two of you stood there, you holding your cheek as tears fell straight from your eyes to the hardwood beneath you while he just glared at you, chest heaving; but it felt like an eternity.

You couldn’t find the strength to meet his gaze again before you spun on your heel and scampered away, picking up your skirt with one hand and wiping your tears shakily with the other.

Fighting not to spare a glance back at him, you shoved the front door open and ran out into the sheets of freezing rain, finally taking the time to properly sob as you made a mad dash for the only address you knew for John Moore.

#alpha!laszlo kreizler x omega!reader #alpha!laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler angst #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel brühl x reader

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shmaptainwrites · 3 years

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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.

#laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x y/n #moore!reader #laszlo kriezler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler fic #laszlo kreizler angst #laszlo kreizler fluff #the alienist #john moore #daniel bruhl #luke evans #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x you #laszlo kreizler one shot #laszlo kreizler imagine

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nev3rfound · 3 years

Text

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

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

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

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

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

New York, 1897.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

London, 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasping for breath, Zemo wanders off to recompose himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PART FIVE

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

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povcastiel · 3 years

Text

A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME

[ Request from @purebloodwitch : “Hi! I was thinking about a request (pretty angsty one) where Y/N didn’t know they were pregnant, and then as a result of certain events (up to you to decide), they lose the child. Then they are in the hospital and Zemo is comforting them etc.”

This developed into more than I intended. Thank you so much for choosing me to write this, I hope it was worth the wait. ]

Synopsis | It’s hard to say where it all went wrong. A marriage on the rocks, constantly living in fear. Living La Vida Loca isn’t exactly as romantic as the movies. Unfortunately for Zemo and his wife, an unexpected accident makes them reconsider their priorities.

Tags | Angst, Uncertain feelings, Being on the run, Guilt, Fighting, Minor fluff, Soft!Zemo, Husband!Zemo

Warnings | Fighting, Talk of injuries, Mentions of a miscarriage, Hospital scene, Mentions of blood, Zemo being an asshole (But the end is kinda happy if you squint.)

Word Count | 3.8k

Rating | T

Zemo’s death grip on your wrist nearly cut your circulation. Stumbling along toward the front door, wide open to reveal the awaiting vehicle. The car’s head lights blared at you, blinding you momentarily. Finally, he released you at the threshold.

“I’m not leaving. Not again!” You cried. Your husband’s expression was hard to read, but you were certain of his short fuse.

He tossed the duffle bag in his right hand into the trunk, which contained other suitcases that withheld your belongings and his own. He’d been insistent and unrelenting. It was dire that you leave unless you wanted to watch him be taken away again. Despite the massive risk it was to stay in Prague, you simply could not bear the thought of running once again.

The fighting between you and Helmut had become almost constant. He often didn’t sleep in bed with you anymore. Opting for the couch and even then, he wasn’t managing much rest. Neither were you.

This had been your fear for the last several years. Well aware you couldn’t keep the demons at bay forever. Knowing well enough, that Zemo’s deeds would circle back to you in the cruelest of ways. Despite this, you and him both went on. Using each other, your vessel, as a means to forget the road ahead.

At first it was easy.

Helmut, given he was a Baron, had the means to keep you both comfortable. You traveled light and for a while, it seemed like constant honeymoon bliss. Your destinations were beautiful, hidden in plain sight, and most importantly… you were with him.

But that was before. When the entire world wasn’t scouring the earth for your husband and when your faces were untraceable, unnoticeable. These days you barely left the house. Only for basic necessities and there was always a plan B, C, and D. As anyone could imagine, running had become exhausting. Especially now that you felt more far away from Helmut than you ever had.

“Y/N, I don’t find it necessary for me to put you in this car, but if I must…” Helmut‘s voice was tired.

His implications infuriated you. To your dismay, you knew arguing with him was futile. He was never one to raise his voice, to use his force in situations. Although, his ability to constantly control his emotions had driven you mad at times.

You reluctantly succumbed to your fate of, yet again, leaving another place in which you’d come to call home. It hurt. You had made wonderful memories here. If it hadn’t been for the last two weeks, you would have been certain you and Zemo were on the right path. That had all come to a screeching halt.

His knuckles were white, holding the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. You were relatively close to the nearest airport. Oeznik being alerted of the situation. The jet prepared and ready to go.

The sleeping city passed by you. Its colorful homes, cobble stone streets, and charming avenues disappearing—swallowed by the night.

You had grown tired of the silence. Your temper flaring again. This was unlike you. Your emotions felt uncontrollable. More so in the last few days. Helmut had noticed but assumed your nerves had given you reason to act out.

“If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t even be in this mess! I suppose you wish to evade normalcy for as long as we both shall live.” Tears were brimming your eyes now.

“Darling, if you wish to discuss blame, then let’s-“

“Don’t patronize me. I am your wife.” You spat, giving him little room to compromise.

Helmut sighed heavily through his nostrils.

“It is my duty to protect you. That is what I’m doing. Or at least attempting to, but you’re making that rather difficult.” He finally defended himself.

“You say that, but we never face the fire. We run! City to city. Home after home. I want a life. To be seen with you…” You were breaking at the seams and Helmut could tell.

He knew you better than anyone, but the fire brewing between the two of you had erupted.

“They would kill me!” He practically hissed. “Surrendering at this point wouldn’t benefit either of us. My crimes have erased any hope of a fairytale. Something you were well aware of.”

He shot you a glance then. That godforsaken head tilt.

“I hate you!” You cried then.

Three words you did not mean. Though you had to release something, anything.

“Don’t be ridiculous…”

“It’s true! I hate you! And I hate this life with you!” It was just to hurt him.

Just to make him feel the immense pain you felt, in that moment. The crashing waves of reality were already drowning you.

“After everything…” Still eerily calm, your husband’s hands clenched around the wheel of the car. “You fucking hate me?”

Finally, Helmut had broke too.

The fire roared. Awakening something deep within both of you. Like caged animals. Your screaming match filled the small confines of the car. Both of you entirely distracted by your heated argument. Useless and empty threats. Hurtful truths that would be hard to undo later.

When you tore away from his face. Long enough to catch sight of the road, headlights stared back at you. No time to warn Helmut. He had discovered the error too late, himself.

The cars collided. An airbag leaving you dead to the world, Helmut barely hanging on to his own consciousness. The sound of a car horn blared in his ears. He felt the rush of blood, tasting it on his tongue. His head turned over, a miracle he hadn’t broken his neck. Lifeless you laid, pinned to your seat, your legs and abdomen crushed.

Desperation seized him entirely. He couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever. His strength was gone. He reached for you in his final attempt before the darkness took him.

When Helmut had come to again, his surroundings were much different. A dull ache penetrated his skull, his eyes weak and throbbing by the white light above his bed. A monitor was beeping softly nearby, keeping track of his vitals and heartbeat. He groaned, deeply in his chest and began to sit up.

He was lucky to be intact. No broken bones, possibly fractured ribs, and a bloody nose. Aside from a few scrapes, Zemo was nearly unscathed from the accident.

He wasn’t worried with himself though, as he began pulling himself loose from tubes and cords. A nurse came in then, alerted by the other patient in the shared space. He was on his feet then, pulling back the curtain drawn beside him. The bed was empty.

“Where is my wife?” Was his first question to the brunette, who was busy attempting to usher him back into bed.

“Sir, I need you to lay back down. You should rest.” She insisted.

She intended to go on into further detail, to explain his injuries and what had happened. Helmut was not going to listen.

“I asked you a question. Are you simply incompetent or do you truly have no idea?” She looked up to him then.

She scoffed a moment. His heavy gaze nearly making her uncomfortable. A husband distraught and fearing the worst, not her first time experiencing this type of behavior. Unfortunately, Zemo was a patient she wouldn’t be able to handle.

“She got out of surgery about an hour ago. You’ve been sedated a while. I don’t believe she’s awake.”

“I wish to see her. Now.” He demanded.

The nurse sighed heavily. Another glance over his expression and she had been defeated in convincing him to rest. When it came to you, Helmut wouldn’t rest. He couldn’t lay peacefully , in a hospital of all places, knowing you were alone and isolated. Helpless and injured. You needed him and he would be there.

You were not far from him and that settled his nerves slightly. The nurse stopped at the door.

“The doctor should be in soon.” She informed him.

He did not acknowledge her statement, which was enough to bid her farewell. She left him then. The door soon shutting behind him. It was darker in this room. Neatly tucked beneath your sheets, you laid soundly. Machines surrounding you, a nasal cannula giving you oxygen. Cuts and abrasions covered your skin and that was only from what he could see. Truly, it nearly caused him to collapse.

Helmut approached the bed slowly. A silver band left on your ring finger. He looked to his own and then did he begin to feel the cool whips of anguish. The last few weeks, months even, flooding back with a vengeance. He had taken it all for granted. Most of all, he neglected you and your marriage. He’d come so close to losing you, the possibility still lingering, that it brought Helmut to tears.

“I’d like to think of it as our second honeymoon.” He raised a glass of champagne to his lips, snug in a bath robe and relaxed on the massive bed.

You turned away from the cool breeze of the night’s air. Retreating to the bedroom to find your husband. A smug smile on his lips.

“I wouldn’t exactly call this a honeymoon. We are running for our lives after all.” You quipped but couldn’t help the smile stretching across your face.

You were happy.

“And yet, here you are… all mine.” He grinned, taking another sip from his glass flute.

You proceeded to crawl onto the bed. The soft comforter touching your bare legs. His t-shirt hanging loosely on your body. You plopped beside Helmut. His hair was wet, cologne still musky against his damp skin. A gold necklace dangled at his chest. You moved in, laying your head where his shoulder met his chest. Your fingers toyed with the chain.

“Schatz…” That endearing nickname falling off his tongue like refreshing water. Which you were so willing to drink. To quench your thirst.

“Mm?” You hummed softly, still preoccupied by his jewelry.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice husked; his nose buried into your hair.

“That I never want this to end…” You confessed.

Your heart was aching then. Longing for the simpler days, but these quiet moments would have to subdue your yearning. After all, Helmut wasn’t hauled up in a prison. He wasn’t halfway around the world. He was here, with you. For now, that would please your heart. In the depths of all your history, you were certain Zemo to be the one and only. Even given your differences. His stubbornness and unforgiving nature at times seemed nearly unbearable, at least to someone on the outside. To you… He was yours. The world had only known a fraction of the truth, which is often how history writes.

This you feared. For your life with Helmut wouldn’t be remembered for your loving glances, Royal galas spent on his arm, lavish trips spent abroad, and having children somewhere in between.

No, he would be written as a monster. His wife loyal till the end. Leaving the average person to ponder your sanity and what on earth you’d seen in a man as evil as Baron Helmut Zemo.

“I’m surprised. Surely by how spaced out you seemed; I could only conclude you dreamt of me.”

There it was. His ego dripping off every word and still somehow managing a semblance of charm.

Your head lifted and gave him an unamused expression, though teetering on the edge of a smile. It was then that he kissed you, capturing your lips with fervor. You moaned almost instantly, his lips still slick with alcohol. Though you could’ve intoxicated yourself silly with his sober kisses alone.

You broke away for air. The two of you holding each other’s gaze.

“What now?” You asked, though the question had many translations, Helmut knew what you’d meant.

A faint grin touched his features, not enough to brighten them. His gaze faltered, lowering to your lips and back up again several times.

“We live the life we want. Together…”

Opening your eyes was the first difficult task of many to come. A searing pain engulfed you, head pounding, and your body racked with agony. Slowly but surely it started to all piece together. Your mind forming small bits, like a puzzle, fitting together at ends and odds.

Even with your great amount of pain, distress overcame you.

Helmut. Where was Helmut?

You were nearly to yell, beckon for someone, when your eyes landed on a figure out of your peripheral. Slumped in a chair, your husband was asleep. He’d rid himself of the medical blue gown and exchanged it for a pair of sweatpants and a familiar gray sweater, layered overtop a black shirt.

You reached for the railing, attempting to pull yourself up. Your grasp fumbled, as a shot of pain spread through your body. Attempting to muffle your noises failed, you cried out as you fell back against the thin mattress. Which you would have argued was only worsening your injuries.

Helmut had awoken then, almost as if he had been pretending to sleep. On his feet in seconds, you don’t think you’d seen Helmut so attentive—at least not for a long while.

“Don’t move. The Doctor will be coming to see you soon.” It was an order.

You glanced to him. If looks could kill.

You tried to sit up again, this time Zemo was there to help you. He mumbled something under his breath. A smart remark you were sure of it. Unfortunately, you found no recoil left in you.

He grabbed the styrofoam cup from the sliding table. With a steady hand, he held the cup of water up to your lips. You parted your lips, cracked and dry. Anyone would’ve been embarrassed to be seen in such a state. Years of marriage made it less humiliating. Though lying in a hospital may not have been deemed degrading, more so terrifying.

“We can’t stay here.” You finally croaked.

You pushed his hand away, as he returned the water to its original place. He pressed his lips together then.

“We must, you are in no shape to go anywhere.” Helmut reminded and you knew there would be no arguing. That method hadn’t exactly accomplished anything. Hence your new surroundings.

Maybe not entirely what you wanted, but there was gratification in the fact that you weren’t hiding now. You felt seen with Helmut. The nurses and doctors were aware of your status. Husband and wife. In its own fucked up way, this was the normalcy you craved.

A man in white interrupted your fleeting conversation. He held a clip board in his hand and a folder, containing what you could only assume was information of you.

“Mrs. Zemo…” He peered over the rim of his glasses. “Mr. Zemo.” He addressed. Helmut didn’t dare move from his close proximity to you.

The doctor gestured to you then, “May I?”

Helmut was reluctant, but he obliged, and gave the professional permission to look you over. He gave a warm grin, though it did little to ease your increasing anxiety.

“You’ve suffered a great deal of injuries, which I will go over in a moment, but first I’d like to address another matter.” He stated. A grave look replaced his once solemn demeanor.

You waited then. Helmut just as tuned in for what the doctor would have to say.

“I am truly sorry to inform the both of you, that your baby did not survive with the extent of your injuries.” His eyes moved between you and Zemo then.

His statement seemed to come out as if it were obvious. You turned to Helmut and back to the doctor. Your emotions began to cycle wildly. Should you cry? Should you be relieved? Is that even possible?

“I’m sorry. I think you’re mistaken.” You spoke up then. As Helmut couldn’t find any words.

If matters weren’t already bad enough, your heart sunk and along it went with Helmut as he exited out of the door. Your eyes weld with tears.

“I understand how difficult this must be. I’m truly sorry.” The doctor extended his condolences once more.

“How far?” You asked through tears.

The older gentleman’s brows furrowed with slight confusion. Only then had he realized by your own bewilderment, that you were not aware of the pregnancy.

‘Eight weeks,’ was his next statement. A truth that crushed you entirely. To think it was considered a fetus. Growing in your belly with purpose and you simply hadn’t a clue yet. When you began to cry a second time, the doctor decided to come back later. He did take a few notes before he left, while you remained completely oblivious in your own grief.

Losing a child. It had more weight to it than you ever anticipated. It would explain your mood the last several weeks. Your odd cravings when Helmut had been out of the house. In the midst of all the chaos, your trials with your husband, you failed to realize the significance of your changes. That wasn’t important. Surviving was crucial.

Helmut didn’t stay gone long. The door softly clicking shut and your head shot up, with horrible consequences of pain. He looked to have been crying himself, but you truly couldn’t tell in the blur of your tears. He approached the bed then.

So this is what it took.

Helmut sat at the edge of the bed and drew you in. You had no reason to be angry. Any and all quarrels you had with him vanished. Your priorities changing, as you wept into his chest. He cradled your head, engulfing you in strong arms. If it hadn’t been for his presence, you would’ve surely come undone.

You had been brought to the realization of how drastic things had become. How it all slipped so easily from your grasp. You didn’t recognize each other. Helmut guilty of his own neglect to his wife and you failing to express concern. To express yourself at all, until it had been too late.

Needless to say, you forgave each other without words. You pulled back, to find your husband’s eyes. The same brown eyes that brought you solace in the darkest of times.

“meine Geliebte, Forgive me…” He whispered.

His hands held your cheeks, thumbs stroking the damp skin beneath your eyes. He was wiping your tears.

Gently and with ease, he kissed you.

His forehead came to press against your own. Your hands held his forearms, eyes closed. One thing you were certain… you could never be without him.

Despite all your worries and fears, Helmut and you would always fall back together again. Only this time, Zemo had his own awakening. The possibility to share a different kind of life with you.

“Please…” The words struggled on your tongue, but it was enough for Helmut to understand.

You shifted. Your body close to one edge of the bed, as he turned and laid back himself. His arm draped around you and you effortlessly leaned against his chest, while he crossed his ankles at the end of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Helmut.” His name leaving your lips made his heart swell.

“I know, Y/N. I’m sorry too.”

You were silent then. Not uncomfortably though. You pondered over the last few years, weeks, days, and minutes. There was a sudden perception. The warmth in his arms. A secure safeness in how he embraced you.

All those houses, empty and bare, you filled your memories in what was nothing but walls and rooms. They would’ve meant nothing without him. Your Helmut.

No matter where you went, what life had thrown at you, you would always be home. So long as you had him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His request often, helpless to worry in your deep silence.

“That I wish the world could see you for how I do.” You answered honestly.

Your arm laid over his abdomen. His chest rising and falling with each subtle inhale and exhale of air.

Another moment of pause.

“A pretentious asshole? Or a handsome Baron?”

There it was again. You could never escape that witty banter of his.

“Maybe both. You’re quite the charming asshole.” You teased him then, a genuine smile spreading across your face, which was still flush against him.

Another wave of silence passed. So much to say and so little time. Something more important needed to be brought forward.

“Helmut, I didn’t know about the baby. I hope you don’t think I was keeping that from you.” You pointed out the elephant in the room.

He seemed to have gone stiff then but did not dare move away. He only seemed pained by it. The loss hurting him as much as it did you.

“I wouldn’t blamed you if you had.”

His confession surprised you. As you would have assumed Helmut to be upset over such matters. You sat up then. Situated to look up at him. By the look in his eyes, he was absolutely sincere.

You looked at each other for a long while. “Helmut…” You grabbed his face then.

He didn’t answer, merely gave you his attention. Eyes forward and looking into your own. So easily he seemed to reach inside and see every part of you. Even now you were in amazement by him.

“Where you go. I go.” You began. “This hasn’t been easy, for either of us, but I still would never keep anything from you.”

He listened still and even in the fluorescent glow above his head, he was damningly beautiful. Exhausted, dark circles rimming his eyes. Salt and pepper stubble covering his face.

“Do you remember the hotel in Berlin?” He asked softly.

You nodded, “Of course I remember the hotel in Berlin.” You gave a small smile. Cherishing those moments, you could recall so dearly.

“What did I tell you?” He tilted his head then, examining you with adornment, his eyes still troubling.

Your eyes flickered and you shook your head, at a loss for answers. Many things had been said, many things had been done.

“You asked me what was to happen next. ‘What now?’ more specifically.” He spoke clearly, each word with calculated reason. “I told you that we would live the life we wanted.” He finished, this time taking your hand.

His thumb turned the silver band around your finger. Helmut concentrated for a moment, before he lifted his eyes to yours again.

“Well, today, I’m making that my mission.” He nodded; lips pressed together.

You hugged him then. His arms carefully enveloping you, as he was sure not to hurt you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“We can’t stay here long.” You reminded him.

“I know, Schatz, just let me hold you a while longer…”

#baron zemo #zemo #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #baron zemo x y/n #baron zemo x reader #daniel brühl #laszlo kreizler #daniel bruhl x you #daniel bruhl x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #angst with comfort #we love pain

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januaryembrs · 3 years

Text

CLIPPED WINGS MASTERLIST

LASZLO KREIZLER X READER SERIES

Laszlo needs to walk the dark path of the sick person murdering all the young boys. In order to catch their killer he must enlist the help of one.

Please be sure to read the trigger warning at the beginning of each chapter. This is 'The Alienist' so there will be dark, mature themes throughout!

STARS' MAIN MASTERLIST

CHPT 1 | CAGED BIRD

CHPT 2 | WOLF IN DOVE'S CLOTHING

CHPT 3 | FLEE THE NEST

CHPT 4 | TAKE FLIGHT

CHPT 5 | DANCE OF THE SWANS

CHPT 6 |

CHPT 7 |

CHPT 8 |

more to be added...

NOTE: IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST, PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK, MESSAGE OR DROP A COMMENT AND I’LL ADD YOU 💜

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cazimagines · 2 years

Text

Two Birds on a wire

Synopsis: You had a longing for freedom, feeling trapped and caught within the city of New York, desperate to be free, but does your love Laszlo feel the same way?

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairing: Laszlo x f!reader

A/N: Does this make a lot of sense? Not really! But after hearing this song all over tiktok I needed to write a little angst piece to it and why not will our lovely Alienist Laszlo, because he definitely hasn't been through enough yet? Right?

Warnings: Angst

Navigation

(Please check out navigation to see what I will be writing next, add yourself to my taglist and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

You and Laszlo were relaxing on your sofa as the evening ticked on. His right arm rested on your leg, the pads of his fingertips gently tapping on your skin as you draped your head on his shoulder, your palm rested on his chest as you felt it slowly rise and fall as he breathed. You could feel the hair of his beard graze your forehead as he glanced down at you and placed a gentle, warm kiss on it. You let out a slight sigh and snuggle in further to Laszlo, wanting to be surrounded by his scent and warmth. It enveloped you like the warmth of a fireplace on a winter night and made you incredibly comfortable being wrapped in his presence. You don’t know what you would do without this comforting presence, and yet there was an aching longing for more lodged within your chest like a swallowed pip.

Slowly, you moved your hand from his chest and down to where his deformed hand hung by the side of his body, forgotten about till now. He flinched at the icy touch of your hand but then relaxed as you entwined your hand in his and squeezed it in reassurance.

The thought stuck in your throat was plaguing you, though, and you knew that the only way you might resolve it was by asking Laszlo, though you didn’t want to disrupt this silence. Unprompted, you raised your head to glance at the man, and his gentle eyes looked down at yours and with a soft voice asked you,

“Is something wrong, my dear?”

As you looked into his welcoming eyes, you felt your chest tighten and a pain in the back of your throat as you tried to speak. To ease the pain, you turn your head to the side, not looking him in the eyes as you talk.

“Laszlo… have you- have you ever thought about leaving New York?”

His calming smile slowly cast down into a frown as his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes glanced around your face, trying to read your facial expressions, to no avail.

“I see no need to,”

“It’s just, well, I want to explore the world, Laszlo. I want to travel, explore, be free. I feel stuck here, like I am trapped with no escape. Don’t you feel the same way?”

There was a pause before Laszlo spoke again. He licked his lips and straightened his back, tensing as he tried to gain his composure. He moved his hand that was entwined with yours to grasp your chin with delicacies instead, cradling it and slowly moving it to so you look at him again.

“... Yes, but it’s not - it’s not the time, love,”

You nod your head and place it down on his chest, snuggling closer to him as your eyes slowly fall shut. Laszlo watches you, swallowing as he feels his body grow colder and his chest tighten.

It was three months later when you brought up the question again, this time over dinner. You had been waiting for Laszlo to approach the subject again, but he never did. As if you two had never discussed it in the first place, though you were still feeling suffocated in this city. You two sat next to each other, holding your forks as your other hands were entwined together. Not speaking, just enjoying each other's company in silence.

“Laszlo love,” you start, watching how he perks up at your address, placing his fork down and politely dapping his napkin over his lips.

“Have… you thought about my question?”

His eyebrows flicker as he looks at you questioningly.

“Your question?”

"About leaving New York,"

"Ah… yes, that. Well, you know y/n-"

"I feel so constricted here like I need to leave. This place, Laszlo, it’s so dangerous; with everything you do, I worry about you. I worry for us. We still have so much of our lives left. Why not explore,"

Laszlo lamented, placing his other hand on yours, squeezing it tightly.

"I'm tired love, let's discuss this another time,"

You sighed dejectedly but left the subject alone as Laszlo picked up his fork again to continue eating while you looked down at your plate, not feeling as hungry.

It was another few months before you got the gall to approach the subject again, this time as you laid in bed next to Laszlo, both on your respected sides looking up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep.

"Are you scared of leaving?" You mutter, so quiet it was likely he didn't hear you. But he did.

He barely let out a sigh as his eyes focused on a point on the ceiling, intensely glaring at it as he sorted through his words, trying to figure out what he should say.

"Don’t you feel a sense of comfort here, love? There is so much unknown out there, so much uncertainty. Here I have my job, our friends, our life,"

"So you are,"

"I never said that,"

"But that's what you are implying,"

"If you want to leave, then we will… just not now,"

Yet still, the day never came, your lives continued on at the same boring pace, day after day, night after night, slowly suffocating you from the inside out till one fateful day when Laszlo came home after a challenging day at work, to find the house vacant and cold with one singular letter addressed to him lying on the table.

Dear love,

I'm sorry to do things this way, but I find it easier for me to leave a letter instead of telling you in person. I'm aware this makes me cowardly, but I am beyond the point of caring. I'm leaving New York Laszlo, and subsequently you. I wish things weren't so, but it has become evident to me you will never leave New York, while I cannot stand to stay confined here another moment. I hope that maybe one day you will find the courage to leave the place you grew up, but I believe it will not be for some while and for me, I must move on.

I wish you nothing but the best,

Yours truly,

y/l

The link on the paper ran as a teardrop landed on it, ruining the carefully written words. Laszlo crumpled the letter within his hand, and with little else of thought, threw it away. Without much will, Laszlo’s legs buckled out from within him, and he collapsed on the floor, letting out a puff of shock from the pain in his knees. What was worse were the tears that were still falling. With shaking hands, he brought them up to his face and wept freely, mourning your loss and his insecurities.

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#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreisler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler angst #laszlo x reader #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl

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bruhlsbees · 3 years

Text

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

summary: laszlo catches reader attempting to play the piano

pairing: dr. laszlo kreizler x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

Playing the piano.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Laszlo I-”

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

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

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

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

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 13

WC: 1200

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: angst, anxiety, truth hurts, jealousy, hints at infidelity, mildly suggestive dialogue?, laszlo still doesn’t understand women

🧠

He wasn't sure where to go after he left you in his parlor. Laszlo never had a history of the best coping mechanisms, which is how he found himself meeting Karen, the last person he should've been seeing given the situation, at a bar downtown. But he would admit that he felt much calmer than earlier.

Laszlo was grateful that Karen had agreed to meet him on short notice. Not much was said in the first fifteen minutes or so. Eventually Laszlo broke the silence. “Karen,” his head cocks to the left, “might I ask you a question? Regarding my aide, since you appear to know her well.” He took a sip of the burning whisky.

Karen looks up at him where he sits next to her, “yes.” She hides her displeasure well.

“Recently, she has been acting strange. More melancholic and aggressive than is usual. She-” he searches for a way to mask the truth enough but still convey his question “-mentioned having relationship troubles. She expressed that she believed her significant other to be unfaithful. I was hoping that, as a woman yourself, you might have insight to this that I could offer her.” A beat passes. “To assuage her anxieties and improve her work ethic back to its full potential, of course,” he adds to appear pragmatic. He was hesitant to admit that he was really asking for himself.

“Oh I’m sure she will be fine, Laszlo,” she curls her fingers around his upper arm as a caring gesture. “Young women often deal with these things as they attempt to figure out what they want in life. At her age they are always so emotionally back-and-forth. She is likely trying to make decisions between her love life and her future as a career woman. To really find and establish her identity. In all honesty I have always seen her as too independent to settle down seriously with a partner. I would not find it a shock if she was considering breaking the relationship off. Time will tell.” Her answer is easy, almost practiced.

He gives a small grunt at her advice. He sincerely hoped that you weren’t reconsidering your relationship with him. Laszlo knew that he shouldn’t be asking Karen about you, but who else could he trust? She had always given him sound professional advice in the past. Seeing that Karen was waiting for a response he diplomatically states “I’m not sure that will be sufficient advice to offer her, let alone coming from me. Perhaps you are right in that time will be what is required.” He works to keep his fear from showing in his features.

“Since we are on the topic,” Karen turns to face him. “Laszlo, I must admit I haven’t been entirely truthful with you the last few weeks.”

He looked up to meet her eyes across the bar. “How so?” Had you confided in Karen about something? It wouldn’t make sense, seeing as you held an unfounded grudge currently.

“When you left Munich I had told you that I agreed that a long-distance relationship of that sort wouldn’t be fruitful for either of us. At the time I believed it.”

Laszlo shifted back in his chair. His brow furrowed as his thoughts raced to make sense of what Karen was telling him. Had her beliefs changed? Had she regretted agreeing to end the relationship? At the time it had been a very civil, and frankly easy, conversation. Not wanting to misinterpret his own conclusions, he asks “and now?” He doesn’t notice her fingers still on his bicep.

Her head cocks to the side. “When you first left I had hoped you would ask me to join you. I also understood that it wasn’t of your nature to do so, and I couldn’t hold that against you. So when I was given the chance to bring my research back to the city I realized that it would bring me close to you. I thought that perhaps we could try again; pick up where we left off before you moved. Maybe I even stay.”

His expression remains unchanged as he mulls over her confession. She had regretted the mutual split. Laszlo can feel the annoyance bubble in him instantly. He feels regret at shutting you down earlier when you had been correct all along. He knows his first words should be to defend you, to defend your relationship. What instead leaves him is “why did you not bring this to my attention sooner? Had I known then things might have been different. And yet you waited years to tell me.”

“I wasn’t sure it was a commitment you were prepared for. With time it became harder to admit.”

“Says you, the woman who knows no boundary to what is or is not appropriate to confess. You’ve made your life’s work on asking about and admitting the taboos of our human existence. I hardly think that your desire to remain coupled would be that difficult to explain to me.” His raising voice attracts the attention of some patrons nearby. He pays no mind to their curious glances.

Karen sighs. “Laszlo, please. We both know how fickle you were with these things back then. We only ever saw each other on weekends because of the distance to start with. I once suggested that you come to work at the institute so that we could be closer and you dismissed the idea. I'm sure even you can imagine that in hindsight as enough to deter me.”

His jaw clenches; he knows that she has a valid point. He was not the most pleasant or sociable at times. In truth he isn’t sure what he would have said if she had been honest from the start. “I suppose,” he breathes in deeply to calm himself, “that you had good reason to be cautious regarding this. But it has been years, Karen. You must be made aware that I have met someone; I am engaged in a serious relationship. I am happy.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that new development.” She looks away for a second, a flash of bitter in her eyes before it quickly vanishes. Laszlo is confused as to how she would know, as he had never disclosed having a significant other explicitly in her presence. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Her hand moves down to cover his own on the bar’s surface. “But my dear, we have such a history together. Think of how good things were between us. She is too young for you. A student no less! I know you, surely, better than she ever could. I know the things you need. I can give that to you and more.” Her whispered words are impassioned. He jerks back at the feel of her palm meeting his cheek.

Laszlo carefully and quickly retreats his hand from under her grasp. “I can assure you that I only view our relationship now as one between colleagues. Nothing more. I apologize if I gave you the impression otherwise. Have a good evening, Dr. Stratton.” With that he steps out of the bar and into the cold night air. He needed to find you.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s

#psychopathia sexualis #the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #tw anxiety #tw angst #tw infidelity #tw cheating #laszlo doesnt understand women #laszlo my love #scuttle-buttle

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mehphoobia · 3 years

Text

Coming Over

Pairing - Laszlo x Reader

Warning - none

Summary- laurentrvn [REQUEST]

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

___________________________🤍___________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________________🤍_____________________________

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

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

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST | OTHER FANFICTIONS

Love yourself...you are worth it ❣❣

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babybluebex · 3 years

Text

good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

#laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x reader angst #the alienist fanfiction #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader angst #daniel brühl x reader angst #laszlo kreizler angst #daniel brühl angst #tfatws #zemo

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latenightartist-author · 3 years

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I'm starting to wonder if the costume designers keep putting fur on daniel brühl or if he does because it's on doctor kreizler and zemo.

Fur collar on coat↕️

#dr laszlo kreizler #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #zemo #marvel #tfatws #laszlo kreizler angst #laszlo kreizler x reader angst #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ seeking closure, you find Laszlo and learn what really made him push you away.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ massive angst but also some fluff, somewhat graphic description of self-inflicted injuries (please please do not read if this would be triggering for you!!), making up after a fight

⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤

The sun warmed your skin on your walk, in a pleasant way— not the type to make you fear a burn tomorrow, if anything it soothed you slightly, and so you didn’t hail a cab even though it wasn’t an insignificant walk.

When you reached the corner of 17th and 4th, you hesitated; if you went left, you could go home. Right, and you’d be headed to the Kreizler residence.

John was right to get frustrated with you for going to Laszlo again. You were even frustrated with yourself as you made a right turn and headed the way you never truly believed you’d falter from. But, you could recall a time when Laszlo had actually been rather pleasant to you; at least, for him. You could recall the sensitivity and gentleness that attracted you to him in the first place. And even if you were well aware that you needed to move on from your affections for him, for his work alone you irrevocably respected him still; and, out of respect, you intended to clear the air before you decided if this was a professional or platonic relationship worth salvaging.

Alphas could get rash leading up to their ruts, after all, though society preferred to focus on the unpredictable moods of an omega approaching their heat; as much as that couldn’t explain every coldness of Laszlo’s, it was just enough to give you some consideration for his outburst a few days ago.

When you approached the house, you gathered yourself before leaving a knock that went unanswered. You furrowed your brow and rapped at the wood again, a bit harder, and though it didn’t garner a response from inside, it was enough to rattle the deadbolt— which made you realize it was unlocked. Nervously, you turned the knob and let yourself in, casting bright sunlight and your own shadow into the quiet foyer.

Memories of the last time you were here threatened to superimpose themselves right over where they’d originally occurred, but you looked away to shake them back into the recesses of your mind. You stepped carefully to prevent your heels from clicking and echoing too loudly, your heart beating a bit more quickly as your mind cycled rapidly between ideas that you might be alone or that you might not— and not being sure entirely which was preferable.

As you peered into the sitting area, you squinted at first, then widened your eyes at what you actually witnessed there: the curtains were drawn, and if it weren’t for the sun being so bright outside, the whole place would’ve been submerged in shadow. Instead it was just rather dim, yet clear enough for you to see the complete and total disarray his office was in.

Books on the floor, some pages torn out. Bottles of medications fallen from their shelves and scattered all over the room. Furniture ripped— nearly shredded, actually— and you had to wonder if it was really Laszlo that did all this, or some wild beast that came in through the front door after you left it open.

Instinctively, you began to attempt to tidy up: first the papers on his table and desk, then the medications and ointments (at least the ones whose bottles weren't shattered). You knelt on the floor to sort through them, occasionally quizzing yourself on what you knew about the drugs by name as you read each label; Laszlo used to lend you medical books to let you study at home, back when he was a bit more amenable to you. He stopped after a while, and you once found all the books you’d borrowed from him stowed away in some forgotten dusty corner of his study— like he couldn’t even bear to put them back on the shelf after you’d touched them. That was the first time you really suspected that he truly and thoroughly hated you.

You heard footsteps approach behind you and stop in the doorway, and when Laszlo called your name, you delicately stood up and turned to face him.

He looked easily more haggard than you had ever seen him before: his hair was unruly and unstyled (not to mention a bit greasy, like it had been sweaty and dried again without washing), his clothes were simply a pyjama set which appeared wrinkled and disheveled with a tear down the side, and most of all there was a darkness to his eyes… like he hadn't slept at all since the last time you saw him.

"It seems you're out of your rut by now," you observed coldly. "You look unwell. It must have taken a lot out of you."

"It took everything from me," he agreed, voice rough and exhausted. It tugged at a sympathy you hoped to ignore.

"What happened here?" you asked, wondering if it was insensitive but hoping there was some cause to his madness.

"I haven't had a rut in years, only a few since I first presented," he explained. "Some alphas are more practiced and as such can withstand their urges more easily. But I… well, I did this."

You weren’t sure what to say, so you didn’t say anything.

“And I did something else rather brutish, didn’t I? I struck you,” he recalled.

“Yes, you did,” you agreed. “Was that another symptom of your delirium?”

“No,” he stated firmly. “No, that was the last properly lucid thing I did.”

You exhaled through your nose, almost a laugh— because it was almost funny. Even now, he couldn’t give you any mercy. Not that you’d come here expecting any; you were in love, and hopelessly naive, but you weren’t stupid.

“You’re in the same clothes from before,” he noticed, “have you gone home since then? I wondered where you would go in that rain…”

The idea that he thought at all about what you might do after you were out of his sight took you aback. "Well, I've been staying with John and his grandmother for the past few days. I suppose I just didn't want to be alone after what happened."

"Is that why I can smell him all over you?" he asked, a hint of a sneer on his face; like he wanted to be angry at the same time that he knew he had no energy or right to.

You sighed and blinked down at the floor. "It's not just that," you admitted. "He and I… well, I suppose it's fine to tell you that we shared a kiss.”

“Only that?”

You wrinkled your brow a bit, looking up at him again but finding him looking at your skirt instead of your face. “Yes, just one kiss,” you answered, humouring him just this once but letting your impatience make itself known in your tone.

He sighed, a heavy exhale through his nose as he looked away from you. "It's a good thing I didn't find out any time in the past three days. I would've probably tried to kill him… and he would've easily bested me, in turn. But I suppose that's why you kissed him,” he shrugged slightly. “He's strong."

All this talk of John and Laszlo trying to kill each other was starting to wear on you; for once, you wondered if those things people said about how all alphas are at their core just hormone-ruled beasts of instinct were really true, which you’d never believed before because of gentle men like John and Laszlo. "Doctor, what are you talking about?" you asked with a frown.

"Well, that's traditional when alphas are competing for a mate,” he shrugged, like it was obvious.

"Laszlo, I— he's not my mate. He's not my alpha. We kissed but we ended the night as we began it: dearest friends, but nothing more."

"Don't pity me, it's all right. He's a fine man and you'd make a handsome couple."

You tightened your fists at your sides, daring to raise your voice. "Stop saying that! I don't want him, Laszlo!"

“Then what do you want?” he snapped. “Why are you here?”

You felt a little targeted by those questions, but decided to half-answer them. “I want to understand why you struck me a few days ago,” you replied.

"I was already becoming something I didn't want you to see, and I needed to make you leave.”

“But you didn’t need to make me leave! I wanted to stay.”

With a sigh, he reached up and began to unbutton his shirt— he seemed well-practiced at doing it with one hand, which made sense, and your breath caught when his chest was exposed. It was covered in dark red cuts, long and deep, clearly from his own hand. It was concentrated to the right side, since he did it all with his left, and your hand shook as it reached out to run over the marks.

“Oh, Doctor…” you breathed, “you must have been in so much pain, and all alone…”

“This is what I would’ve done to you, if I let you stay,” he explained. “And if it had to be one of us, then I’d rather it be me.”

There were so many things you wanted to say and yet none of them seemed to come to mind as your eyes began to water, fingers tracing over his newly-formed scars while he watched their path.

“I suppose I figured a slap was a little hurt to save you from much more. Though I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely capable of rational thought at the time. I think if you stayed even a moment longer I would’ve forced myself on you and that… I could never forgive myself for that.”

“Laszlo,” you sighed, “it wouldn’t have been forced, I would have given in to you.”

“Why? Because you’re an omega and your instincts guide you to submit to me?” he hissed, as if that were the worst thing he could imagine.

“Because I have feelings for you!” you shot back, surprised so much by his look of confusion that it knocked you right out of your state of frustrated outburst and into a moment of awareness of your own vulnerability. “Didn’t you know?”

“N-no, I… no,” he shook his head, speaking in a hoarse whisper.

“I figured it was obvious,” you chuckled sadly, softly.

He paused for a moment— one of those little infinite moments as you waited for his reaction. “I’ve been so awful to you,” he finally mumbled to himself.

You reached up to hold his face, watching his gaze run away from yours as your thumb stroked his cheek gently. “Yes,” you agreed.

He almost smiled— one of those sad, empty smiles that a man like Laszlo had mastered to perfection— and nodded slightly in the palm of your hand.

“And all this time, I loved you all the same anyway,” you added, making him look from the floor to your own eyes again, searching them for something carefully.

“What do I… smell like, to you?” he asked quietly, though he second-guessed himself instantly as he looked away. “Forgive me if that’s an odd question—”

“Jasmine tea,” you interjected suddenly, making him turn to you again. “A leather-bound book, freshly printed, opened for the first time. And bitters. There’s a pub on 82nd that serves an old-fashioned with bitters that almost smell right…”

“You go to pubs on 82nd street?” he asked, a little concerned.

“I go to that one,” you clarified, “nearly every night.”

He collected his breath for a second, and you became very aware of his chest being exposed by his unbuttoned shirt with the way it filled and sank for every breath. It was instinct that guided you to reach up and brush your fingers over his chest— over the scattering of soft brown hairs, over the freckles and moles and scars. Over a fresh wound that made his breath catch for a second.

Your gaze followed your fingertips at first, but then jumped up to meet his own; dark yet anything but threatening. There was something new in his eyes as they examined you… something you rather liked seeing, a softness he hadn’t allowed before. You glanced at his lips, wondering if you might impulsively kiss him, but you were pulled back to reality when they moved as he spoke. "Twice now, at least, you've seen me for the monster I really am. Why in god’s name are you still here?"

You wondered if you’d ever heard take anything in god’s name, and you wondered if it meant much if it was in reference to a god he didn’t believe in; you smiled slightly as you answered him. "I don't think you're a monster, Laszlo. I think you're so afraid of what you are that you wanted me to be afraid, too."

“And what I am— you mean an alpha, yes?”

You nodded.

“What I am is in love with you,” he corrected you softly. “That scares me much more.”

A lump formed in your throat, your eyes turning down to the floor again. You wanted to believe him, god you wanted to believe him more than anything, but you couldn’t give in to his moment of love after months of disdain. “I thought you hated me,” you mumbled.

“I imagine everyone thinks that. I certainly wanted to, it would’ve made things much easier…”

“For you,” you finished. “For you, but not for me. Because you never really thought of me.”

“No,” he disagreed with a sigh, stepping closer. “No, I thought of you constantly, that was what drove me to such lengths. I thought it would ease your plague on my mind if I pushed you away. It only made it worse, I’m afraid… and it cost me the only love I ever had.”

The way you bit your lip and looked away must have made it obvious that that wasn’t necessarily true; he perked up instantly, reaching up to hold your face, addressing you by name which was somewhat rare and made you look back up at him in surprise.

“You could forgive me?” he wondered aloud. “Tell me there’s a chance you won’t hate me forever.”

“I never hated you, Laszlo, not even for a moment,” you promised, “not even when I should have.”

He almost smiled at you, yet he still looked incredibly serious; it’s hard to describe his expression, but it made your heart sing. “If only I wasn’t unwashed and exhausted and a bit dehydrated, I’d consider giving you a kiss,” he admitted.

“If I wasn’t in old clothes after spending the weekend in John Moore’s spare bedroom, I’d consider letting you kiss me,” you replied coyly.

“The both of us need some time to recover, I think,” he suggested. “Go home, spend a night or two in your own bed. Maybe soon I’ll be presentable enough to come by and ask you on a date.”

Just the prospect of that made your stomach aflutter with butterflies. “All right,” you agreed with a shy nod, looking away in hopes of hiding your blush.

Realising there was little else to say, for now, you stepped back to leave— but he followed you with another step. “Wait,” he requested quickly.

“Yes?” you responded, turning slightly to look back at him.

“If I came by to ask you on a date, would you agree to it?” he asked.

“When you come by,” you corrected, “you’ll find out my answer for yourself.”

Your first order of business upon arriving home was a long, steamy bath; the kind so hot you only indulged yourself in it occasionally. An array of soaps, oils, and salts filled the damp air with fragrance— beeswax, bergamot, cinnamon, even cardamom from the East which had been a gift from your well-traveled great aunt— and it gave your mind and senses a chance to renew themselves.

After you’d soaked just a bit too long, you toweled off and were just about to slip into nightclothes (even though it was still just the late afternoon) when the phone rang.

You cursed yourself as you realized you’d forgotten to call John; if it wasn’t him, which it almost certainly was, you decided that you’d call him as soon as you were done speaking to whomever it was. But, just as you suspected, it was John’s low voice on the other end as soon as you answered.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly, and you hated to realise that he’d been worrying about you all this time.

“I’m perfectly fine, John— I’m even well, dare I say,” you grinned. “I’ve just had a bath and you know that always makes everything better—”

“You know surely that I didn’t call to hear about your bath,” he interjected, his frown clearly audible: you hoped your eyeroll was just the same.

“Well, it was really nice so you’re missing out,” you scoffed, “but I did visit the Kreizler estate. Laszlo managed to explain himself well enough, and I think it’s all water under the bridge now.”

“Really?” John pressed. “I’m curious what explanation could justify an assault so quickly.”

“Well, it doesn’t quite justify it, just helps me to understand why,” you clarified. “He was beginning his rut—”

“Wait, wait," John interrupted already. "Did you know? I mean, when he hit you, did you know he was going into his rut?"

You felt a little uncomfortable talking about such a subject with John, but then again, you talked with him about a large manner of private things. "I-I mean, I sensed it…"

His laugh was probably at your expense and yet it still eased your spirits. "You're more naïve than I thought!"

"What? Why?" you frowned.

"If you had told me…" he began, starting again. "Of course he would've kicked you out when he started to go into it: he thought he would hurt you. I could've told you that, if you'd thought to mention it when you came by."

"Oh," you sighed. "I didn't realise it was so obvious."

"Look, it isn't to say that he should've been violent with you," John clarified, "but I imagine he was trying to save you from worse. It's hard to think of a man as… stoic as Laszlo in such an animalistic state as a rut, but honestly it seems all the more proof that he goes really ballistic in them, don't you think?"

"Why would that be?" you wondered.

"I just mean that someone so rigid probably has so much locked away," John pondered.

"That sounds like something Laszlo would say," you scoffed, "if a little less eloquent."

"Significantly less eloquent, but you flatter me," John chuckled.

Before you could assure that you had no intention to flatter him, a ring of your doorbell pulled your attention away. "Oh, there's someone at the door," you spoke, to both yourself and to John.

"Hang up for now and answer it," John recommended, in that way that meant 'I won't be offended if you do.'

"I will, but I need to get dressed first," you realised.

"Oh," John sighed awkwardly, "you really did just get out of the bath…"

"I'll call you later, alright?" you promised.

But if ‘later’ was meant to be ‘later tonight,’ then you broke that promise... because once you’d dressed enough to answer the door and find the delivery on the other side, suddenly your night was fully booked with only longing.

It was a bouquet in a vase— a mix so vibrant and exotic that you could only identify about half the flowers in it— and though the sender remained anonymous, you knew they were from Laszlo.

You excitedly brought them inside to find the perfect sunny place for them, only then noticing that a small envelope was tied to the ribbon around the vase; but when you opened it (with perhaps a bit too ferociousness, due to your excitement), in lieu of a note you found a page from a book, torn out and folded up into a small square.

When you managed to get it unfolded, you saw it was an excerpt from a poetry book, faded and wrinkled but still plenty legible:

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.”

You read it over and over for the rest of the night, committed each word to memory, and imagined Laszlo saying them to you himself. He must've sent the poem because he knew he couldn't say the words himself. You didn't mind that, really; just to think of him seeing this poem and thinking of you and ripping it out of whatever book it came from to send you truly made your head spin and your heart soar.

You could only wait in ecstatic anticipation for when Laszlo would come by to ask you on a date. Even though it made you slightly antsy and threatened to overwhelm you, you were beginning to like the way that hope felt.

#laszlo kreizler angst #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler a/b/o #alpha!laszlo kreizler x reader

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