Content Warnings: Slight NSFW, perceived threats, medical malpractice (but hey, what’s new?)
omg hiii!!! sorry this took so long, i wrote this during recovery from a wisdom tooth extraction, so the brain fog was fogging. besides that, i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so i hope it’s enjoyable enough for everyone! i’m trying to get back into the flow, so feel free to send requests!!! the lore of the MC is heavily based on my OC sybil, but i left out anything too specific so you can project as much as you want >:3 hope u like it! also yes the title is a CCR song, im from the south, sue me
The rumble of thunder sent a rickety tremor through the wooden frame of Dr. Jekyll’s apothecary, rattling jar upon jar perilously stacked among drooping, creaking shelves.
The pittering of rain was something you’d become very accustomed to since you had arrived at Darkmoor. You couldn’t remember a time when the pavement wasn’t a slick, winding river soaking up and reflecting all that rain and moonlight right back at you.
Since beginning your apprenticeship under the “illustrious” Dr Jekyll, most nights were spent like this one. Sorting, identifying, cataloging, processing. And especially since your boss had mysteriously taken ill, doing it all by yourself. Night after night of finding hastily scrawled letters and half baked excuses from your employer on why you’d be alone this shift almost gave you half a mind to carve your own name onto the sign swinging out front.
But a temperamental boss wasn’t all that bad. You enjoyed the time to yourself, surrounded by your own little world of curiosities.
Lilac, clover, thyme, mint…. Wolfsbane. Hm. It’s always the Wolfsbane.”
The musings of an apothecary with too much time on their hands. The thin glass jar marked for various species of Aconitum danced between your fingertips, completely empty. Setting it down, you ran your hand through your hair in quiet frustration, allowing yourself a second to breathe. Perfect timing. Wolfsbane was on high priority, with the full moon set to arrive the following night. The Hounds, Darkmoor’s most prolific monster hunters (and most valued customers) were surely going to be needing more than a few sprigs of the stuff.
You quickly bundled yourself in your cloak, eager to get your excursion over and done with. Looking on the bright side, it was nice to wander the empty streets of Darkmoor so late. It almost felt like you had the whole town to yourself. Almost.
After all, there was a reason no soul dared to leave their homes past sundown.
Following the winding paths through the orange glow of lantern light, you finally reached the outskirts of the town, a place where great twisting olive trees swallowed up the horizon and all good souls went to rest. The cemetery was always a comforting place for you. Quiet, still, and budding with rare blooms. A gentle reminder that if anything, at least you’d eventually become some pretty good nutrients in the soil.
With your basket resting on your hip, you got to work. Your mind always tended to wander when working though a menial task. Out of the many professions in Darkmoor, doctors, blacksmiths, cobblers, musicians.. Here you were picking flowers. Your time spent with the Guild Of Mystics had taught you enough about the subtle differences in the plants of the region, at least enough to land the position with Dr. Jekyll. The Guild had filled your adolescence with fond memories: sorting leaves with your sisters in the moonlight, braiding petals into one another’s hair, sleeping by day and running wild by night, guided by tea leaves and tarot cards. Bittersweet memories you were content to indulge in as long as it made the time pass.
But tonight, you found it particularly hard to drift into a daydream. As eager as you were for a momentary escape, you couldn’t help but notice the hairs on the back of your neck tingled a little. Intuition told you to be on watch. A common feeling for anyone who’d lived more than a day in this town. Sitting up a bit more, you scanned your surroundings.
Your eyes stuck on what was surely the source of your subconscious anxiety. There was a dilapidated wooden cart, sitting lopsided in the mud ahead. Attached were various tools, bone saws, conopic jars, and a shovel. Tools of the trade for one of the shadier professions in Darkmoor. Being wary of the grave robbers was lesson one, but from a distance the cart seemed reasonably abandoned. Maybe you could score some herbs.. what would a body snatcher care if a few of their plants went missing? Poetic justice, you told yourself.
You piped up as you started towards the cart. Your voice came out a little shakier than you hoped. You gave it another shot.
“Is there anybody there..?”
There was no response. God, you felt like you were going crazy. Talking to yourself in the middle of a cemetery. Maybe this job was finally getting to you-
As you rounded the cart, your train of thought was interrupted by a sudden flash of reflective light, and a sharp giggle.
Your spine shot upwards, spilling your basket of flowers at your feet. The reflection moved closer, revealing itself to be a pair of thick lensed goggles, draped in a tangle of dark hair.
“Woah woah woah! No need to get yourself worked up all willy-nilly! Ygor won’t hurt you.. Well.. Not yet at least!”
His inflection jumped up and down when he spoke, highlighting his thick untraceable accent. His features appeared from out of the darkness almost all at once, his crooked smile hanging off of his pale face, hooked nose framed by his unkept hair and slight stubble. His head cocked back and forth as he stepped closer, adding an erratic air to his words.
“I don’t want any trouble- I’m here for business, that’s all.”
You immediately spat out, raising your hands in defense, heart ready to jump out of your throat. Your body instinctively stepped backwards as you felt his eyes move up and down your frame, almost like he was dissecting you from the outside.
“Business, yes? Ygor is here for business too.”
He took another step, closing the gap you’d put between the two of you.
“But! Unfortunately for you, by entering this graveyard you have become my business.”
His tone shifted quickly from airy to serious, but that smile never left.
It was clear he was enjoying this power he had over you, this stranger who had been watching you in the dark for god knows how long. Faster than you could pull away, he grabbed your arm with an adept, gloved hand.
“Now let’s take a look, yes..?”
He slid your sleeve up to just above your elbow, exposing your wrist and forearm to the moonlight. You went to squirm, but for some reason, your body wouldn’t let you. Some kind of strange fear had gripped you. A fear that, for the first time, your body felt as though it didn’t have to fight.
“Oh yes.. The uses the Doctor would have for flesh like this. You have no idea.”
He added a wild giggle to the end of this sentiment, before dropping your arm, causing your breath to release with it.
The bizarre little man was around your height, probably a little taller if he stood up straight. Your mind raced to think of what he could be taking about. The Doctor? He couldn’t mean THE Doctor. The one in the Manor?
“Now, the last thing the Doctor needs are more rumors regarding her line of work. I’m sure you understand.”
He nodded quickly, answering for you.
“So… If Ygor hears any of your little lab rat friends talking about what you saw here tonight, Ygor may have to come down to the apothecary himself to finish any business on behalf of the Doctor. Right?”
He smirked as he pulled on the pendant bearing your employer’s name that hung haphazardly from your sleeve.
Goddamnit, you always hated this stupid uniform. You nodded your head curtly, unable to form any words.
“And what a waste of perfectly good pearly white bones that would be, hm?”
His face was inches from yours, and for the first time you could see his sharp blue eyes piercing your skull through his goggles. You could barely breathe. For a second, his darting eyes took a break from scanning your features, and met yours. There was a moment of stillness, it was almost as if you could almost detect some kind of..
“Very good listener! Okay- Off you go! Toodles~!”
His voice jumped an octave, and with that he spun you around in the direction of the town. Eager to escape with all your body parts still attached, you swiftly collected your basket, and scrambled through the tangle of brush towards the exit without looking back.
Your lungs burned by the time your feet were reunited with the wet cobbled path of Darkmoor. You took a minute to catch your breath, huffing and puffing with your hands on your knees.
“What.. The fuck… was that..”
You asked yourself, almost letting out an exasperated chuckle.
The rain continued to trickle down the rooftops surrounding you, running down your face as you weighed your options.
“Well. One day off work never got anyone fired.”
By the time you opened your eyes the next day, the sun had begun its steady descent into the horizon, trading its place with the moon up above. As much as you dreaded going into the apothecary after the events of last night, you knew that the night of a full moon was always the most productive night in town. As much as waking up as the sun sets just screams productive.
You gave yourself a minute to feel the wooden panels beneath your feet as you slipped on your uniform. You anticipated a few deliveries on backlog while you’d been closed.
Your bed creaked under the weight of your body as you sat to fasten your boots.
Maybe I’d be better off back with the Mystics.
The thought stung in your throat a little. In some ways, you knew it would be true. You couldn’t remember a time with the Guild where you’d felt a helplessness like this. There was a comfort in numbers, and a sense of duty to your pack. No matter what, your sisters were there for you.
Your lips curled into a tight frown.
Would they still be there for you?
Your body shot itself upwards off the bed as you banished the thought from your mind. You had made your choice. You couldn’t let the life you’d built for yourself crumble at the first sign of doubt. You’d left the Guild for a reason.
The streets hummed with anxious life as it always did the night of a full moon-rise. The sound of a nearby violin eased your howling nerves a bit as you made your way to the Apothecary, passing by shops that had already begun to close.
You opened the door to Jekyll’s, greeted by the same old smell of wet herbs and aromatic spices dancing among the dust.
Everything seemed in order, perfect monotony.
You produced the order slip from the letterbox attached to the door. Two orders. Not bad at all! Maybe your luck was starting to turn around.
Spinning around to your work desk, you gingerly opened the first order. You were greeted by the familiar wax seal of the Hounds.
“Three ounce yarrow.. Hemlocke.. Wolfsbane. Knew it.”
You swelled with pride, having collected a near perfect amount the night prior, even if it had almost cost your life.
“Y/N. Alchemist supreme.”
“Care of the Burning Blade Tavern.”
You neatly tucked the order back into it’s wrapping, and flipped to the next one.
An unfamiliar wax seal stared up at you.
It was deep red, against a rich, expensive looking parchment. Something about it stirred the bile in your stomach. Steeling your nerves, you opened it up.
“To whom it may concern…”
Your eyes frantically skimmed the slip.
“Six ounces of skullcap, nettle..”
It felt like your pupils fell to the bottom of the page.
“Care of Doctor Victoria Frankenstein.
To be delivered to Frankenstein Manor. Rest assured you will be adequately compensated.”
Your mind reeled as you trudged through the humming streets of Darkmoor with your satchel close to your side. Frankenstein Manor.. The strange man from last night. Surely it was some cruel coincidence. Your unfocused eyes traveled upwards to see the Burning Blade Tavern. If anyone would know, it was the Hounds.
As per usual, the tavern was a blaze with light and sound, a welcome break from the dismal quiet of the streets. The walls were decorated with glassy eyed mounts, trophies of hunts past and present. You always felt a little testy in the Tavern, with all those lifeless eyes watching you, blown open in a permanent death mask.
“Y/N! Speak of the devil! Get over here, let’s see what you’ve got for us!”
The undeniable shout of a Hound snapped you back to attention, as large, powerful hands fell upon your shoulder.
“Good evening Quincy!”You called back, fishing in your satchel for his order. A small group had gathered around you, craning to get a good look of what you might be producing from your bag.
“All this is for tonight, I presume?” You cocked an eyebrow, looking to get a rise out of the rowdy group as you handed over the goods with a limp-wristed toss. The decision came quickly to let your thinly veiled anxiety drain, and allow yourself to enjoy the companionship.
“So it seems. Gregor had this bright idea the other night, get this! Instead of baiting with the poison, we coat the weapons themselves with a mixture of-“
You begun half paying attention. As much as hearing about battle ax strategy for the third time this month interested you, there was something else tugging away at your thoughts.
“Hm.. Well, you’ll definitely have to keep me updated, Quincy. By the way, would you happen to know where Gregor is…? I have a few questions I’d like to run by him.” You pivoted, taking a cursory glance around the crowd gathered in the Tavern.
“Gregor? Afraid he’s occupied. Things went a little south during scouting the other night.”His demeanor fell a bit. Odd. You’d never seen a Hound hesitate to launch into immediate gory detail about something before.
“It’s important. It’s about..”
You gestured broadly in the direction of the Manor. It hung over the minds of Darkmoorians with such weight, that the general direction was more than enough for most to understand. Quincy pursed his lips in response, mirroring your gesture to a table in the far corner, where Gregor sat staring into a tin cup.
Moving your way through the sea of patrons, you alerted Gregor to your presence with a quick pull of a chair up to his table. His eyes met yours in a sort of silent acknowledgment of your company.
“It’s good to see you Gregor.” You took your que to begin the conversation, taking a short sip out of the drink you’d somehow ended up with in transit to the table.
“Aye. Blessing to see another day in this profession.”
Not knowing whether to solemnly agree, or chuckle, you nodded thoughtfully at his response. It seemed there was no avoiding the elephant in the room, even if you had a world of questions of your own.
“Quincy told me something happened last night while you were out. I know it’s not my business, but..” He interrupted you with a quick exhale as he kneaded his brow between his fingers.
“She’s been coming into the village.” His words sent a shudder down your spine.
“She being…?” The question left your mouth carefully, even though you knew the answer.
“The Frankenstein woman. The one in the Manor. She’s been.. outsourcing her lab work so to speak.” Things began to make sense at an alarming rate.
“Where did you all see her?” You prodded.
He chuckled in response, although you didn’t find anything about the topic particularly funny.
“No. Nobody ever sees her. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever left that damned Manor. Hell, Can’t say I blame her. She has a…”
He fumbled with his words, trying to pick the right one.
“Well, I don’t know what to call him.” He gestured wildly at the air, as if painting a picture of the bizarre scenario. You swiftly began your admission.
“An assistant. I know. Gregor- Last night, In the cemetery, I ran into a body snatcher. He said something about working on behalf of the Doctor?” You had worked yourself into a frenzy.
“He said something like.. um.. Rumors! The last thing she needed was rumors! And that she was gonna.. I don’t know, use my bones or something? It was horrible-” Seconds away from breaking into a full impression of the bizarre encounter, Gregor placed a hand on your panicked, overzealous shoulder.
“It seems like someone played a nasty trick on you.” Gregor retorted, stifling a chuckle.
“What makes you say that?” You demanded, taken aback by his reaction.
“Y/N. Let me tell you something. If you had run into Victoria Frankenstein’s assistant in the Cemetery last night, you wouldn’t have lived to tell me.”
It had begun to feel like paying your tab at the Burning Blade was the last thing you’d ever do.
Your mind felt lit ablaze with questions, with only one way to satiate. It was time to make your second, and final delivery of the night. Your feet carried you over the slick pavers that led up to the mouth of the Manor. The closer you got, the harder your pulse seemed to thump in your head. Like it was pulling to you with some heavy, magnetic force.
The massive stone facade bore down upon you, as you slipped through a wrought iron gate. The thought crossed your mind if it was always left slightly ajar, or if your expected presence had been accounted for.
Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to turn around as you approached the large wooden door to the Manor. A sort of bubbling anxiety was coming to a fever pitch in your stomach, spilling out into your limbs, tingling in your fingertips.
The door lay waiting in front of you as you lifted your suddenly heavy hand to knock.
You knocked three times, and stepped back to await for whatever horrors were sure to engulf you.
This time, the door seemed to creak open enough for you to see it was unlocked.
You placed your body against the door, and slowly pushed, causing it so glide open for you.
As soon as enough of a gap had been made in the door for you to see inside, a horrible cacophony of shrieks split your ears, and small, flying sillouthes wizzed past you.
You felt a sudden, sharp pain on your shoulder as one of the beasts made contact with your frame, struggling momentarily before resuming its desperate escape into the night.
Your hand instinctively slapped itself against the source of the pain, clutching your right shoulder, immediately dampening with fresh blood.
Your hand was smeared with a few deep red pearls, but not enough to be worried about. Ick. Who knew what those things were carrying? An animal bourne disease was the last thing you needed. Adjusting your sleeve to properly cover the small bite, you entered the manor. It would be a problem for later.
The grand entrance of the Manor revealed itself to you. It was horrible. Magnificent, and horrible. Paintings of struggling forms danced across the walls, pale and stitched together. Your eyes traced up the grand stairwell that met at a portrait who must undeniably be the of the Woman of the House, Victoria Frankenstein. She was beautiful, her eyes filled with a glinting determination. Above the painting sat a larger, flickering screen which bathed the foyer in an ambient blue glow, highlighted by tubes of electricity surging into its core.
You’d never seen such luxury in all of your days, nor did you think it was capable of existing in a place like this. The manor began to hum to life, as if it recognized your presence.
“There you are! We’ve been waiting for you.”
A deep, mechanical laughter rattled through the screen above you, filling the hall with its garbled reverberations.
“Please, come closer, my little lab rat.”
The screen cracked to life, revealing a human figure wearing a large, hulking metal mask. It bore two blue eyes, swallowing up all the light around them. It was staring straight down at you.
“Are you… Ygor? From last night in the Cemetery?”
You recognized the accent from the previous night, but his voice was so different coming through the modulator.
“Do you possess what the Doctor has requested?” He ignored your question. The mask cocked to the side slightly, as you watched the eyes dilate slightly onto you from the screen.
“Um.. Yes! I do- It’s all right here.” You began to nervously undo your satchel, positioning it in front of you.
“Very good. The Doctor will be pleased. You may enter now~!”
He giggled again, the sound escaping out of the mask as a hoarse, choppy mess. The screen clicked off, and a door up the stairs swung ajar with a mechanical whir.
Against all your best interests, you continued up the stairs. You’d made it this far, may as well get paid for your efforts. After all, there must have been some reason you’d made it out of the cemetery that night. All logical thought failed to make sense of this macabre situation. You let your hand wander through your satchel, coming into brief contact with a hooked hunting blade. The feeling of sheathed metal comforted you during your climb up the cold, marbled stairs.
Upon entering the door, you were greeted with a gust of freezing, sterile air. The tubes of blue, surging electricity raced across the room, seemingly giving power to a handful of bizarre humming machines. It looked like a lab. Various work tables were scattered across the room, littered with empty jars and scrawled notes. In the center of the room, the two glowing blue eyes of the mask that welcomed you into the manor.
“Come! Do not be afraid.”He gestured with both hands for you to come closer, his back arched to support to the weight of the piece of metal attached at his neck. Blue screens and dials flickered behind him, backlighting him in such a way that it was hard to make out his figure.
You obeyed, tightening your grip on the satchel which hung from your shoulder. As you moved closer, you swore you could hear his breathing pick up a bit, made more apparent by the amplification from the mask. He must have noticed this too, since he swiftly pressed the release button on the chest plate, sending a hiss echoing through the lab. Then, you were face to face with the man once again.
Leaving its mechanical shell, you could make out the finer details of his face you’d missed in the cemetery. He looked tired, smeared with dirt and eyes deeply bagged, but despite this, he maintained this sort of electricity in his face. His smile, his wild eyes, something about the way his chest rose up and down heaving with every second you were near, it excited you in a perverse way.
God, what are you thinking? You had to pull yourself together.
“Now, I see it in your face. You are wondering: Ygor~! What could the Doctor possibly need with my precious little plants~!” His voice raised as if mock you, and he cupped his hands over his cheeks, feigning fear.
“Well, the answer is: She doesn’t!” He threw his gloves down with a resounding smack. Your heart began to pound as you mapped out the most effective path to produce the knife.
“Not directly, at least. The doctor is very busy. Not enough time anymore to collect supplies, or specimens, yes? That is why Ygor spends most nights in the cemetery now. Ygor is in charge of collecting.”
There was a distinct air of pride to his words, and for a brief moment he locked eyes with you for approval. You had no idea where this was going.
“Do you know how long Ygor has wanted something to be in charge of?”
His eyes filled with a sort of frenzied exhalation. He crept towards you, opening up his hunched body by tossing his arms wide.
“I see.. Is that what you were doing in the cemetery last night? Collecting?” You tread lightly, paying attention to his evident hunger for validation. You did your best to not let your slight frustration with his vagueness seep through.
“Ygor could ask you the same question. We are not so different, you and I. Resourceful.” He let that word hang in the air for a moment. He was now about a foot in front of you, scanning up and down your body once more, taking advantage of the better lighting. You knew it was a horrible idea, but the sudden urge to argue back with him was rising in your throat. This presumptuous little man, who dared to compare your two lines of work, taking his time eyeing you up while you were helpless to fight back. His eyes caught on your shoulder.
“You are hurt.” His tone shifted unexpectedly. No sense of worry, just an observation.
“Oh-! No, I’m fine. Just a little bite. The bats, and all.” You attempted to half joke, throwing your hand over the wound, which was still dripping a small amount of blood onto your top.
Before you could protest, he pushed your hair off of your shoulder with a medical lack of gentility. However, when he moved to push your sleeve down your arm to expose the bite on your shoulder, you felt his touch slow a bit, as if to feel the details of your skin. This could’ve been your chance to stab the little fucker. But you didn’t.
“You brought medicinals, correct?”
He asked, examining the the two bleeding pinprick holes.
“Actually I did, its in my-“
His hand begun to dig into your bag for you. You couldn’t decide whether or not you liked the feeling of his rough, frantic hands prying around in your stuff. He paused, feeling something unexpected. He silently produced the hunting knife you had brought with you for protection.
Your mouth opened to spill some kind of excuse.
He shrugged one shoulder, and unsheathed the knife. Oh god, you really fucked up.
He rest the blade on your sleeve. You felt the sharp edge flirt with the soft underside of your arm, with only millimeters of fabric protecting it. Looking up at him with uncertain, pleading eyes, he was locked into focus, and sliced a flowing strip of fabric off your shirt with medical precision. Your skin remained perfectly in tact.
He next removed a few vials of herbs from your satchel, taking the yarrow over to a mortar and pestle which lay abandoned on a work desk.
He loosely commanded with a wave of his arm, as he pulled a stool over for you to sit and watch.
God you hated how easy it was for him to tell you what to do.
You sat next to his desk, legs crossed at the ankle while you watched him work. He packed the finely crushed herbs into the strip of makeshift gauze he’d produced from your shirt. From your vantage point on the stool, you found yourself enamored with the way his fingers worked so delicately on the thin gauze, and delicate flowers. You guessed it took a little more than being a complete sociopath to properly operate a lab.
He turned to you with the wrap complete.
“You’re going to sit a little closer than that, yes?” He mused. Your cheeks warmed, intentions suddenly becoming blurred.
“W-What do you mean?” You stammered.
“I mean: You are going to have to sit closer. I cannot reach you.” His tone flattened. Oh. He just actually needed you to move.
“Come on, we do not have all day.”
With one hand, he tapped the desk in front of him, inviting you to sit.
He remained seated, leaving little room for you to scootch past him in order to get yourself sitting on the desk. You hoisted yourself up, and allowed your legs to spread slightly to make room for him in front of you.
“Much better.” His smile returned, as if he had won some kind of game the two of you had been playing. He moved his chair closer, now positioned between your legs, and pulled your arm down. His thumb pressed down on the raised blue veins of your wrist, holding you in place.
Holy fuck you were going to explode.
He cleaned the blood away from the bite first with a few gentle swipes.
“This is going to hurt. Probably a lot.” His words came out very matter of factly. His flair for the dramatics seemed to have diminished with your closeness. Was he too losing the same control you were?
“I’d learn to enjoy it, little lab rat.” He giggled, his power trip seemingly retuning at the opportunity to deliver pain.
The instant he pressed the mixture into the bite, it felt like fire had climbed up through your veins. Your free hand shot up, clutching instinctively at the arm with which he’d applied the gauze. Your fingers dug securely into the flesh of his forearm. Furring your brows, your teeth gritted tightly together with a painful hiss. As your eyes finally opened and met Ygor’s once again, you caught him locked in a state of smug satisfaction watching your face contort. Whether it was triggered by the pride of treating you, or the opportunity to see you so vulnerable, you couldn’t quite tell.
“There you are. Not that bad, see?”
He taunted, his voice wavering at your grip.
“Now, you said it was bats?”
He moved his body away from yours, turning to the tools next to you on his work desk.
Was all you could manage.
“Ygor is going to need to inspect you, then.”
Maybe it was the way he had been looking at you. You noticed it first in the cemetery, then again moments prior, but you were not at all surprised by his words. In fact, in this moment you could feel that it had been coming all along. And you didn’t hate it.
The steady thumping in your chest pushed itself up to your face, burning your cheeks. Did he too feel the bizarre attraction you’d been fighting this whole time? With every second that passed it became easier to convince yourself that he wanted more than just your business.
“You never know how many bites they can get in without you even noticing.”
He added, trying to add some kind of validity to his statement.
You asked quietly, a question you hoped only his hands could answer.
“With your permission, of course.”
He was leaning back over you now, giving you his full attention.
Your head nodded for you, almost like you were in some kind of tension-fueled daze.
He started at the button closest to your neck. You shuddered as his fingers grazed your collarbone, exposing more of your calvicie and shoulder to the cold air as the button came undone.
Your eyes stayed locked on his goggles, trying to interpret some intention from his eyes. If it weren’t for those dark, all encompassing lenses, you might have been able to tell if this was more than just a physical exam. But for now, the lines were beginning to blur in a beautiful, twisted sort of way.
You felt his hands begin to lose their surgical efficacy about halfway down. By that time, every cell in your body was screaming out in anticipation for whatever was to come. You felt a sort of heat pool in your stomach as he shifted to remove the remainder of the draping top from off your shivering frame.
He gently pulled the top off of your arms, exposing your body to the blue, rushing light which surrounded the two of you. Besides a makeshift wrap of cloth around your chest, you sat topless in front of him.
For a second he just stepped back, admiring your frame behind those cloudy goggles. God, you wished you could see his eyes. He hung over you like a hungry shadow. Stepping back, without looking away, he fished for his black gloves off the floor. With a tug, his warm, calloused hands were hidden from you once more.
Wordlessly, your skin was met with with the cold touch of a rubber glove, his hand resting just blow your breast. A shudder shot through your spine, and you let out an audible yelp.
“What? Is that too much for the lab rat?” He taunted.
“Ygor doesn’t work on living specimens enough.”He began to remove the gloves again, pulling them slowly from his hands.
“So much more sensitive.” His voice had hushed into a rough whisper. He let his fingers slip back under your chest, tracing the outline of your ribs.
“Ygor wants to see how alive you are. That will be our little experiment.” With that, he cupped the soft flesh of your chest, and squeezed it between his needy fingers.
A yelp escaped through your lips, and your hand grabbed wildly at him for support. Your fingers found themselves gripping the roots of his bristling raven hair.
Your hands moved so quick, it took a second for you both to process. He looked at you in a way you’d never been looked at before. With one movement, his demeanor had completely changed. Almost as if he was pleading for something, the same way you’d looked at him in the cemetery last night.
You apologized for your brashness, but your hand did not move.
He did not respond. He was stuck staring at you. He began slowly angling his head towards your outstretched arm, still firmly gripping his hair. He moved uncertainly, almost as if he was scared you’d pull your hand away if he went too fast. His eyes stayed on you as each labored breath melted on the underside of your arm. He finally pressed his face into your soft flesh, grinding his cheek against your veins.
You sat there, frozen and wild eyed. Was this really happening? You couldn’t help but watch as he began to trace his lips along your still outstretched arm, his hooded eyes begging for more.
You tested the waters, extending your fingers outward to secure your grip on the side of his head. It was as if every vertebra in his body fluttered all together.
It was now painfully obvious he had never been touched this way before.
The pit of your stomach momentarily filled with a sort of pity for him. It made sense, you supposed. Living in subservience his whole life, when would he have? Conditions didn’t seem particularly friendly here.
“Is that okay?” You asked gently, moving your other hand to his head. Now both hands rested on the roots of his hair, and you began to gently knead. Muscle memory from when your sisters in the Guild would complain of headaches.
The feeling of his prying, hungry fingers at your hips answered your question. Using your body as leverage, he pulled you off the desk and on to his lap.
His lips crashed against yours. Urgent enough to cover their inexperience. Your fingers remained tangled in his hair, while his dug into your waist. You let your body melt into his chest, lips parting beneath his with a stunned, soft sound that only drove him further. A fumbling tangle of lips, breath, and want. A want that nearly caused the two of your teeth to knock together as you pushed your face deeper into his. Total mess.
His stubble scraped against the side of your cheek, nearly rubbing your face raw with the pressure he applied. It was like he was trying to taste every part of you though your mouth alone.
Your body shifted in his lap, and you could now feel his heart thumping against your chest. God, was he more nervous than you were? The thought excited something in you.
You pulled away from him, panting. As your lips lost connection, you drew a whimper from him, again igniting this newfound feeling. Your fingers found the tie of his apron behind his neck, undoing it and sending it quickly to the floor with a thud. Next you moved to the cheap wooden buttons of his shirt. He did nothing to stop you, only mumbling though his lack of breath.
Pulling his shirt to the side revealed a mosaic of curling scars, healed to show what must have been a whole lifetime of stitches and sutures. Poor miserable thing. Any traces of fear you had for him had finally disappeared, replaced with a sort of yearning.
You planted your lips right below his neck, and let your canines press into the pale, exposed flesh. His breath hitched in response, and he threw his head back to grant you easier access. You moved up towards his ear, searching for a spot where he was most sensitive. He let you explore freely, audibly enjoying every trace your lips left on his neck. You had pushed yourself up, so you were hovering inches above his face, taking in his features with nervous eyes.
He sat up a bit to meet your gaze, and gingerly placed his index finger and thumb under your chin. There was that smile again.
“That knife. You were going to cut Ygor with it, weren’t you?”
His words caused you to pause for a second.
“Umm- Not necessarily..!”
You began to try and explain yourself.
“Please, do not be afraid. Ygor is glad you came to your senses. It’s always easier when you don’t try to fight.”
He was back to toying with you. His fingers snaked between your legs, and found rest on the inside of your thigh.
“But, to be honest, Ygor would not have minded.”
As if hit by the sudden need to regain control, you straddled him, pushing your body down onto his lap.
“You feel so good…” He stammered as he moved one hand to wrap around your back, holding you in place on top of him.
“I need you.” You managed to whimper out, compressed against his chest. He seemingly couldn’t control himself anymore, as you felt him buck his hips up into you.
“You will have all of Ygor. Ygor wants you all to himself. The Doctor doesn’t need to know.” He whined, working himself into a heaving mess under you.
The screens crackling to life all around you told you both that he had spoken too soon.
A woman’s voice filled the lab.
“Ygor? Has the delivery been completed?”
His threw his hand immediately to cover your mouth. You watched panic fill his features, eyes darting back and forth to think of what to do. He scrambled to sit up, holding you close to his chest in the chair, with your legs still wrapped around him.
He fumbled with a few buttons on the desk with his free hand.
“Y-Yes Doctor! Ygor has everything you requested.”
His voice barely faltered, maintaining its usual sing-song quality.
“Good. Then we may begin preparations for the next phase of the experiment. Ready the specimens.”
“Yes Doctor. As you wish!”
The screens all hummed back into dormancy. The lab was once again still. He sat frozen for a few seconds, hand still sitting securely over your mouth.
“You’ve got to get out of here before she comes looking.”
He removed his hand from your mouth, now nestled into your hair. You nodded quickly, fear bubbling once again in your stomach, outweighing the disappointment of having to leave him.
“Ygor. Will I get to see you again?”
You asked sheepishly, unsure what all this had meant.
“You are Ygor’s experiment now. Top priority. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He twirled your hair between his fingers, and tapped the tip of your nose. That was all you needed to hear.
His voice regained urgency, causing you to throw your clothes back on in a mad scramble to flee.
Your exhilarated feet carried you down the staircase, through the foyer, between the iron gate, and back onto the rainy streets of Darkmoor.
Even as the rain stung against your face, you couldn’t contain yourself. A smile was burnt on your face. Pride and adrenaline was swelling in your chest, enough to last you the whole run home. The orange lantern glow seemed more vibrant than usual, and the whole town seemed to be buzzing with more excitement than ever before.
You had no idea what tomorrow would bring. Since leaving the Guild, you never really did. But one thing you were sure of, as long as it brought Ygor, things were looking up.
cliffhanger is crazy i’m sorry ehehehhehe- i will most likely be posting a part two (heavy nsfw OBVI), this was just to test the waters and see if it was worth it to continue! my requests are open as always for little one shots or anything u desire, i’m home from uni for a minute so i’ve got nothing but time 🐇
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
areudirty
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
stormborns
