Work Text:
⛧🕯️☾༺♰༻☽🕯️⛧
You feel as though you're dreaming.
How could you not be? It was supposed to be a regular Saturday. You were on a road trip, by yourself, traveling and seeing sights. You've been tired of your life, needing an escape. What better way than to go alone in a country you are unfamiliar with? You don't have much family, nor friends, no one to look out for you. You knew the risks. But you didn't think it would get this bad.
A stunning doe ran into the road. You couldn't hit her. You couldn't end her life. So you dodged. You jerked the wheel 90 degrees too far. Your car fell into a very deep ditch, the front of it was completely squashed in. Your airbag cushioned the impact, though you think your nose is broken. Your lip might be busted too but the shock is cancelling all pain or awareness. The windshield had shattered, glass flying everywhere. It took you a while to realize what had happened. By the time you did, the front of the car (or what was left of it) was already wildly on fire. You know it may only be in the movies, but out of fear of the car blowing up; you rushed out of there as quickly as possible. As you were scrambling, struggling to get the door open, your inner thigh was slashed by a long peice of the windshield right under your tiny denim shorts.
You gasped in pain, your hand instinctively going to the new wound. This motion cut your fingers and the glass seemed to break. You were a groaning, bleeding mess, crawling out of the car and onto the dewy grass. You had half a mind to call 911 but you vaguely remember seeing your destroyed phone on the floor of the passengers side. Again, you didn't think it could be this bad.
You watched as the flames licked up into the dry summer air. You were blinking away the tears, gritting through the pain as you decided what to do. You couldn't very well, stay. And the chances of someone coming to save you were slim to none.
Making up your mind, you struggled for a half minute to stand up. You limped sadly to the backseat of the car, quickly taking your duffle bag. With your hand gripped firmly on the handles, you pondered. There was no way you were going to get anywhere carrying this lug of a bag. You could just barely get anywhere as you are now. You sighed and felt more tears flow as you leaned heavily on your right leg.
The zipper was tugged open and you took a thin long sleeve shift from the bag. You folded the abdominal part of the shirt to equal the sleeves. You used this makeshift bandage and wrapped it firmly around the wound. You let out a cry as you felt the shards of glass shred your flesh. Breathing raggedly, you began to limp away from the burning car, figuring there was nothing more you could do. You may bleed to death if you stay, and you can't take anything with you if you go. What a predicament.
You continued down the backroad for a half hour before you saw a thick cobblestone road coming off the highway. It's piqued your curiosity, but moreover it seemed to promise safety. Perhaps someone lives at the end of the road. Maybe it's a city, or a restaurant, anything.
You began down the cobblestone road, praying silently that you would find safety somewhere along it. Every step with your left foot sent an excruciating pain to your wound. Your determination alone is probably keeping you alive. The sun beats down on you, threatening to kill you faster. Your shirt is completely soaked through, and that makes you deeply worried. You need an ambulance, some serious urgent care. Not to mention all of your belongings, your phone, is gone, left behind you. With the speed you walk down the road, you slowly begin to lose hope. You don't see anything but wood ahead of you. You continue on, out of mere curiosity of how long you can stay alive like this.
By some miracle, you stay alive another half hour. You look at the towering wall in front of you.
"Darkmoor" it reads.
Darkmoor? You've never heard of it, never seen it on google maps or anything. The wall opens up to a humungous doorway. It's an arch, the doors have been opened inwardly.
The utter relief you feel is overwhelming. It rushes through you, taking your breath and you almost feel dizzy. Though that might be the blood loss. The sun has started to set and you hurry to find help.
It dawns on you that this 'town' is unlike anything you've ever seen before. As you're walking, you realize it's like you've gone back in time to the 19th century. The houses are all wooden and old. Chimneys poke out of all of them. There are stairs leading to most front doors and square windows looking out onto the street.
You hear music and a warm glow comes from a tavern looking structure. A hanging sign reads 'the Slaughtered Lamb'. You rush to it.
As you struggle to climb the stairs, a shadow is casted onto you. You look up at the open doorway. An older man with buff arms and a mean looking face looks down at you. A pipe protrudes from his mouth. Boy, you don't see one of those every day, do you?
"Please, sir, I need a doctor, a hospital." Your voice surprises you, it's gravely and shaky.
The man crosses his arms, eyes narrowing at you.
"We don't serve your kind here. Begone with ye." He says in a thick accent that you can't place. He shoos you off, closing the door behind him. The warm glow disappears and you notice how dark it's gotten. Down the street, two boys struggle to light a street lamp.
We are lighting street lamps now? Seriously is this the 1800s? You swallow harshly, beginning to feel lightheaded. You really must be dying. You knew this though. It's just a hard pill to swallow.
You hear a slam. You turn and see a closed window. You narrow your eyes and begin to look around. Two or three woman shut their windows tight. You can't help but feel shut out from everyone. You're surrounded by people yet you feel as alone as before. A groan escapes your lips, needing this pain to end. You almost want to give up. To break into one of these damn old houses and act like a complete loony.
You feel like a complete looney.
You wander on, occasionally calling out for help or a doctor. As you reach a narrower road with much less houses, you hear a grunt.
Your breath hitches, halting in your tracks. A lone gas street lamp illuminates the stone road. You see movement and you get closer, a flicker of hope returning inside you.
You see a person, a man you guess, pushing at a large cart. It's skewed off the road, apparently stuck. You approach cautiously, wanting to observe him a moment before making your presence known.
The man lets out another grunt as he attempts to push the cart. He is unsuccessful and kicks the wheel out of anger. His shoulders heave as his back is turned to you.
"It's rude to stare, you know." A annoyed thick accent says. You flinch as you realize he's talking to you. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. You limp towards him anyway, figuring you should ask for help now. Asap.
"Please, sir, I'm in real need of a doctor, a hospital or something." You plead. It comes out as more a whine than you mean it, but hell, you're slowly dying.
He turns, his mouth open to say something but he pauses.
You get a good look at him.
He's weird looking, like a genuine weirdo. Like what you would think a weird kid from your class would be when they grow up.
He can't be over two inches taller than you, though he is bent over slightly. He's wearing an off white shirt that is rolled up to his elbows. A brown leather apron covers the majority of his front. You can't tell what color his pants are in the lighting, but they're dark. His hair is black and it's spiked up everywhere, messy. It lays on his forehead and even in front of the goggles that he wears. They are very peculiar, reflective and shiny. You cannot see his eyes.
"You need help.." he mutters, almost a question to himself.
"Of course! Yes! Ygor can help!" He says, hands wide in a jazzy way. He takes a few wide, limpy steps toward you, his chin tilts down slowly as if he's examining you.
"Ah." He exclaims softly, spotting the bloody accident on your leg. He drops to his knees, immediately going to remove your makeshift bandage.
"Hey-" you begin to interject, but he cuts you off with a short 'sh.'
The t-shirt is removed and you cringe at the way it wants to stick to your skin. The wound looks worse than you remember, it's bloody and the gash looks deep.
"How terrible." The man mutters, though it's not very convincing. He prods two fingers into the surrounding flesh and immediately stands.
"There's glass in the wound, and you must get stitched up." He says. He got all that from poking it once in this dim lighting?
"I know, could you drive me to the nearest hospital?" You ask him. His goggles gleam momentarily.
"Hospice? Bah. They do nothing." He scoffs.
"Ygor will help you, I will take you to the Manor." He continues, standing before you fidgeting with his fingers. He has an open mouthed smile and you see his freakish teeth. Ew. Rhymes with Grug.
"Is there a doctor there?" You ask.
"Yes! Doctor Victoria of course." This 'Ygor' guy says.
"Right.. okay. I mean, if you wouldn't mind."
"Not a problem! Ygor is glad to help you." You catch a bit of a laugh.. or maybe an amused sound come from him.
"It's not far is it?" You ask. You're definitely going to have to walk. You haven't seen a car the entire time you've been in this town.
"Nonono, do you not see the giant castle behind me?"
"Oh. I assumed the manor was a house.. not a castle." You say, a little embarrassed.
"Hm well. We shall get going, yes?" He turns and begins to walk away. You brace yourself and begin to put weight back onto your right foot, starting to limp in Ygors direction. It's so very painful and you feel the tears begin to pick up again.
Ygor is quite a few feet ahead of you, when he turns slightly and slows to a stop.
"Ygor will help.. worry... can be.." you catch bits and pieces of his muttering.
"Need a hand?" He laughs in a high pitched way.
"Oh yes if you don't mind." You accept. He comes to your side and your arm goes around his surprisingly sturdy and broad shoulders. You await his arm on your side or shoulder but it takes a moment.
You lean some of your weight onto him and it definitely offers a bit of relief. You soon feel his hand on your waist and he sharply inhales. Like.. loudly. Confusion flashes across your face, but you ignore it.
"Where you going to lean on me, or are we just awkwardly side hugging." He asks, he almost sounds annoyed but he's probably not.
You lean a lot more of your weight onto him and your leg feels under less pressure. You let out a sigh of relief that you don't mean to make.
"Better, eh?" He questions, beginning to walk again.
The walk to the manor is a lot more pleasant than any of the walking you had been doing. It still hurts, obviously, but it is better. You and Ygor don't speak, but it's not awkward at all.
Soon you arrive at the castle or manor or whatever, and Ygor pushes open a heavy looking door. The veins pop in his forearm and you stop yourself from laughing. You're genuinely going crazy.
You limp inside, leaning onto the strong weird freak beside you. The inside is just as old timey as the rest of the town. There's candelabras and a candle chandelier. Like what? Maybe this is a set for a movie and all these people are really into the acting. Your eyes widen and you look down quickly.
Ygor left your t shirt back there and you were afraid you were going to bleed on their nice carpet. The wound however has stopped bleeding. Obviously it's still bloody, but there's no active blood flow.
"You won't bleed out anymore, the bandage had stopped that." Ygor says, as if he read your mind.
"Oh I see." Is all you say. You're led to another door and inside is a winding staircase going down and down and down. You hold your breath for the first step.
It's pretty bad. You let out a struggled moan of some sort, the tears returning to your eyes. Ygor looks at you but you try to ignore it and continue on.
You decide maybe you can hop down the stairs, but the impact would still hurt.
Each decline hurts incredibly bad, and you can't stop the groans that come from you.
Your ears are ringing and your vision isn't 100%. This is the worst it's been. You can practically feel the glass shards moving and slicing with every step down. Who even knows where you're going. You can't focus on anything other than the pain.
Though, you notice that Ygors fingers are drumming at your waist. His chest and shoulders are moving too. This sort of acts as a distraction. Is he laughing? No.. no he's stopped.
"How much longer?" You stutter breathlessly.
"We're almost there." He spits out.
For the next twenty or so steps down, you control your breathing and pray you don't pass out. You're not so sure you trust this Ygor guy. However, he's your only hope.
The door at the end of the stairs is the best sight you've ever seen. You basically hear 'Like a Prayer' by Madonna.
Once you're back on flat ground, you lean heavily into Ygor and he takes it well. You limply hop along into the hallway. It's dark. There are very few torches lit, you're squinting to see what's at the end of the hallway. But you don't get the pleasure of finding out. Ygor slips his hand from your waist to the small of your back as he guides you into a door on the left. You noticed a gleam on the door, probably a sign or a plate.
Ygor leaves you momentarily, his fingers slowly slipping from you as you hold your balance. You don't watch him as he moves but there's a loud swatch sound and blue electric lights flick on. So there is electricity? But this is strange, it's runs in neat chords all over the place above your head. The color is kinda pretty.
"Welcome to Ygors Laboratory." He presents, arms stretching out beside him. It's a very organized chaos. There's multiple desks and tables, scattered with papers, books, equipment. You limp to the closest one as Ygor starts to do something near the middle of the room. You glance at some of the notes on a piece of paper. His handwriting is surprisingly good, assuming it's his. Something about vein valves and the backflow of blood. There's a few drawings here as well. They're quite good.
"I like your drawings." You say, looking up at him. He has cleared off an operating table, pulling up a chair and cart next to it. You blink a few times. Ygors.. laboratory..
"Will the Doctor be joining us soon?" You ask. You were so focused on the pain, you haven't been thinking of much else. He lets out a short unimpressed laugh. Kinda like a 'heh'
"Who said she would be joining us?" His head tilts and there's a smile on his face that makes you feel uneasy. Oh hell no.
You take a step backwards.
"Ah ah ah.." he tsks, giving you a disapproving wave of his finger.
"Come here." With that same hand, his fingers beckon you forward. Your breath leaves you a little bit. You really won't get anywhere if you try to run. Not that you can run.
You exhale, raising your chin. You begin to struggle towards the operating table. Ygor bites the front of his tongue, and fails to hold back a laugh. How did you get here. You miss your car. You miss your phone. You miss the Pedro pascal edits you have saved.
You glance down at Ygors hand, quickly blinking and looking away. No. No..
No.
"Heh. Now, be a good little patient and lay down." He offers a hand to help you onto the table. You reluctantly take it, feeling his rough calloused hands gently helping you onto the table.
You lay back, very cautious and aware and very much in pain.
"Now, we shall get started, yes?" He chuckles again. He first puts on gloves and his dirty, veiny hands go away. Bruh. He snaps the gloves on and then wiggles his fingers, adjusting to the tightness. Ygor sits on the chair, wheeling closer to you as he picks at the utensils on the cart. They look frightening. From what you can see lying down, they all look dreadfully sharp and harmful.
He picks up one, twirling it in his hand to face the right direction. He leans over the table, right at your upper thigh. Ygors right hand goes above the wound to move the muscle a bit. 'Above the wound' just so happens to be where your leg meets your hips. His hand is dangerously close to you know.. and you're very aware of it.
You wince as he moves your leg towards him slightly, so he can get a better view of the bloody mess. He gets his tool ready and your eyebrows furrow.
"What's that for?" You ask worriedly.
He pauses and scoffs.
"To get the glass out." Ygor says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He proceeds.
You feel the tool dig in your flesh and it's painful. Wow unmedicated. No anesthesia, no putting you out, no nothing.
As you're holding back your sounds of agony, you realize Ygor is clenching and unclenching his jaw. He looks like he's trying not to laugh. What??
You watch him carefully through a continuous wince. You try to hold your breath, distracting yourself. It works somewhat. You can't make any more sounds, so it's helping a little. The tool pauses. Then it digs deeper in your flesh and you let out an unpleasured moan. At this rate, he might have to tie you up because you're about ready to fight him. You want this pain over.
A small piece of glass clinks onto the cart. Okay one down.
"How many more?"
"Three big ones, and many many teensy tiny ones." His voice goes high pitched for 'teensy tiny'.
You groan in frustration.
"Don't doubt Ygor, I'll make quick work of you." His hand on your thigh adjusts and his pinky gets ever so slightly closer to your core.
"Oh?" You remark at his comment. It's a distraction, that's all. Nothing else.
A few beats. And then:
"Oh' what?" He asks shortly. His goggles move closer to the wound for a moment as he picks out a piece of glass. Without looking away from the wound, he reaches back to drop the glass onto the cart and moves the tool back with ease.
"Nothing, sorry I was just being suggestive." You reply.
Ygor huffs a laugh.
"What were you suggesting." He asks in a soft and focused tone. The hand on your upper thigh flexes momentarily and he returns the light grip. The tool moves precisely and carefully as he focuses.
"Oh. You said you'd make quick work of me. So I just was suggesting you meant something else." You shrug, now feeling a bit silly. Ridiculous. This class is ridiculous.
Ygor holds up an almost microscopic piece of bloodied glass and looks at it closely, muttering: "Like?"
"Nothing Ygor." You give up. He turns away from the glass and looks at you.
His head tilts to the side a little.
"If you say so." He practically mutters. Oh- yeah no he knows what you meant.
He returns back to the wound, quickly getting close. You feel him pick around and he pulls out another piece of glass.
"There." He places the bloody tool onto the cart, wiping his gloves onto his brown apron. You watch as your blood smears onto the leather. Hm.
He swivels to the cart, beginning to set a suture. He's going to stitch you up now. But first, he holds a piece of cloth and wets it in a bowl of.. probably water. His chair spins back to you and he holds the now wet cloth.
"This is going to sting." He says softly and he brings the cloth to your wound.
It's like the clear ointment that would be put on your scrapes and cuts as a kid. The one that stings. Except the deep gorge in your leg is a lot different than a simple scrape of the skin.
You yelp, practically scream at the pain. Like- ITS SO BAD. You're clenching your fists into your tank top. You feel Ygors hand on your thigh tighten and you must be shaking or struggling or something. Your yelp dies down into a sad whimper and the tears roll down your face again. At this point, you genuinely wish you would have died earlier on. The pain is excruciating and you're so embarrassed. And you want Ygor. And no you don't- duh.
You feel the cloth gentle wipe away the blood that has stained around your leg. Aw how sweet he's cleaning you up.
"I bet aftercare from you is really good." Your stupid mouth decides to say.
He continues working, finishing up the cleaning. He leans away from the leg, seemingly finished.
"Hm." He hums in response. You cringe in embarrassment.
Ygor then puts down the cloth and picks up the previously set suture.
He swivels back to you, his hand going right back to your upper thigh. Is it higher up or is that just wishful thinking? Or- not wishful- you know..
Unfortunately the hand doesn't stay long and he begins to lightly pinch at the edge of your wound. You feel the poke of the first stitch and the strange feeling of the thread going through your skin. You inhale deeply, grimacing at the thought of being stitched. He makes quick work of the first stitch, and effortlessly begins the second one.
"You're good at this." You remark.
"Lots of practice." He says to you, still focused on the task at hand. That's so hot.
Not.. ha.
Three stitches down and you feel him begin the fourth. As he moves further along the wound, his hand gets closer and closer to where it was previously resting. It's starting to get to you, and you're a little turned on at this point. You're obviously bashing yourself on the inside, but you can't help it. Something about all of this is so.. exciting.
Ygor leans down, clipping the stitch between his teeth. His mouth gets so close to your skin. You shiver.
"All done?" You ask, figuring you either need to fuck him, or get the hell out of there.
"Not quite. Would you like me to fix this?" He takes your hand and holds it up to look at your finger tips. He's referencing the shallow cuts you got when you attempted to remove the glass from your leg.
"Oh.. yes I guess so." You respond truthfully.
Ygor adjusts the table, turning it into more of a chair, which you prefer.
As you sit and stare at the ugly mess on your thigh, Ygor tends to your cuts.
It's hard to ignore the way his gentle, slender fingers move about your hand; adjusting and prodding. He individually wraps each finger tip with its own bandage. It's kinda cute. He's taking such good care of you, and you don't even know him.
The care ends too soon though, and he puts down the roll of bandage, finishing your hand.
You open your mouth to say something, but he speaks first.
"And how about that nose?" He points at your face.
"Wh-.. what about it?" You ask confused. You reach up to touch it and you wince. Oh right. You genuinely forgot about any other injuries.
"Hm, yes." He makes his chair go up and now he's an inch above as you both sit. He gets close, wetting another cloth. You're sure it's water this time, though.
He lifts the cloth but pauses.
His pointer finger comes up to your jaw and he moves your head to face him.
"Uh-huh. Now look down a bit." He gently grasps your chin, moving it down. Your face probably looks dumbfounded. He laughs, though it's quieter. And.. maybe even more maniacal.
"Good." He praises. You feel butterflies and your eyes widen.
The cloth comes up to your nose and he gently pats around the probably swollen area. You notice the now pink cloth and begin to realize you've had dried blood under your nose for a while. Ew.
It hurts, but not bad. It doesn't even come close to your leg, so, you're fine.
"It's not broken." He remarks, gently tilting your chin up.
"That's good." You speak softly. You watch him as he swipes the cloth around your nose.
"There." He leans away. Oh. You guess that's it then.
"I want to thank-"
"Does this hurt?" His thumb comes up and presses against your bottom lip.
You busted your lip, you remember. Thank you dear airbag.
"Yes actually." You half lie.
He leans forward and cups your jaw, moving the cloth to your lip.
He's really close. Like GYATT he's close. And this is all so intimate. Not that you're complaining, you're definitely enjoying this. But how on earth are you supposed to even attempt to have sex with him? 'Hey, thanks for being inside my bloody flesh, could you be inside my pussy now?'
He smiles. Did- did he just read your thoughts? There's no way. He removes his gloves.
"Okay, now we are finished, yes? Unless there's anything else you'd like Ygor to tend to." Ygor says. HERE GOES NOTHING.
"I could think of a couple things." You say, grasping his bare hand and bringing it to your collarbone. You guide it down to your breast.
"Oh." Is all he says. He seems a little shocked that he's touching you in this way, not exactly sure what to do. So you help him. There's a mental hesitation before this next action, but you decide to do it anyway.
You pull him into a kiss and you half expected it to be bad and unpleasant. Boy, were you wrong.
He makes a little surprised sound as you kiss him, but he quickly goes along with it. His hand begins to move at your breast, palming it. He begins to climb onto the table/chair with you and only breaks from the kiss once. You feel his tongue at your bottom lip and the light pain from your cut urges you on. As your tongues explore each other's mouths, Ygors hands reach down to undo your denim shorts. He's doesn't even bother to take them off, he just shoves his hand beneath your underwear and presses against your clit. You moan out and he begins to kiss at your neck. His hand sneaks further down, sliding against your wet slit. He thrusts two fingers into you and you gasp in pleasure. Ygor moans at your sounds, enjoying your reactions.
His fingers curl inside and you can't help but grind down onto his hand.
"You like that, pet?" He asks, letting out a high pitched maniacal laugh. And it spurs you on even more.
"Yes Ygor." You practically moan. He shudders.
Surprisingly, you feel yourself getting close. You begin making more frequent sounds, and your head is thrown back.
Something, somewhere close, makes a loud sound and it echoes. You both jump, but continue on. You ride his hand and his fingers continue faster. Your eyes flutter closed in ecstasy as you feel yourself almost come.
But Ygor stops. You're thinking for a split second he's edging you but he pulls away completely, wiping his hand onto his apron.
"You can see yourself out." Is all he says before he leaves. The heavy door slams shut and you're left astounded on this table. Your legs are spread, shorts undone, underwear soaked and face flushed.
What the hell. You're immediately shot down from your high as you sit here alone in this laboratory. Is he serious? What just happened? You're trying to comprehend anything, slowly getting off the table and testing your leg out. It feels a lot better now that there isn't glass in your flesh.
But still, what?! No nothing except 'you can see yourself out'? You look at the door, in confusion and anger. Your jaw clenches a few times as you think of what to do. There's no way you could stay here, you're embarrassed. But you don't want to leave..
There's really no other option.
And so you do leave. It's hard to navigate, but you eventually find the door that leads out into the cool night air. You shiver, the tank top and shorts doing nothing for you.
Fuck. Your car.. your phone..
Maybe it wasn't broken. Maybe the screen was just cracked. You decide to go off of this as you walk away from the castle behind you. You blink, trying to remember where to go.
As you trudge down a path, you angrily think about the bullshit exchange you just went through. How dare he. You visibly cringe as you relive it in your head.
You have a light limp as you walk, passing a building you don't remember seeing. It seems like a tavern of some sort. Maybe you should get a drink.. it.. it wouldn't hurt.
You turn on the spot, beginning to walk to the tavern. However you bump into something and it almost knocks you over.
"Watch where you're going, woman." A man's voice practically spits out. You look to find the owner of the voice and see.. no one.
⛧🕯️☾༺♰༻☽🕯️⛧