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@lxrsewritings
𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃
welcome to my profile guys!!
i am not a huge tumblr user so bear with me while i get used to ts...
i post on wattpad and ao3, same user just no 's' at the end
what i do
• smut
• fluff
• angst
• character x reader
• character x character
• character x reader x character
draws Robert Robertson and dies
I just KNOW the true crime community would've been glazing the fuck out of him i can feel it in my bones
guys please i'm so lazy to do the whole process of turning my isaac chapters into a post on here bc so much goes into it and it makes me not wanna post them on here 💔🥀
I love your writing so much, waiting for the next chapter of your series🤭
i forget i post on tumbler too LMAO ill put a few up soon 💜
New Isaac headcannon, this man can’t grow facial hair to save his life. He is cursed with a forever baby face
only indicator of ageing are his fine lines bcs he’s so expressive dramatic i like the idea of older isaac having a white streak in his hair — bride of frankenstein style. just the thought of it is driving me crazy 😭
do u write ur smut with a straight face like actually..
well... yes
i.|MY LITTLE CREATION • isaac night x oc
chapter v: life beyond the door
master list part i part ii part iii part iv
•a/n• i'm trying to make this as least boring as possible but i struggle with good plot sooo bad. hopefully i can lock in and come up with some good stuff 🥀
•word count• 3.4k
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
IT HAD BEEN A week since the day she'd first seen herself.
time inside isaac's quarters moved differently, slower, thicker, as if each hour had to be coaxed forward through dust and candlelight. iris had learned the rhythm of it: the hush of morning when the light slanted through the tall window and caught the dust motes in a sleepy dance; the muted scratch of isaac's pen against parchment; the faint ticking from the clock above the shelf that never quite kept time. the air always smelled faintly of wax, ink, and something warm, the trace of him that never faded, no matter how many candles burned down.
the days that followed were softer, filled with repetition and ritual: long hours spent finalizing her speech, testing her memory, and refining the balance of her steps. iris had become almost fluent in the world he was building for her, one careful word, one careful gesture at a time.
she could now speak completely perfectly like any other person, her voice smooth and even, with a lilt that made isaac pause sometimes when she said his name. her posture was graceful; her movement, near soundless. she could walk the length of the room without a single stutter in rhythm, without the slightest tremor in her limbs. she was no longer learning how to be alive. she was alive, quietly, perfectly, completely.
the week had also changed him. isaac had spent so long in the confines of his work, in silence, in theory, in solitude, that he had forgotten what it felt like to have someone fill the room with warmth just by existing. he no longer treated her as an experiment, though he still told himself that's all she was. but every morning he woke to the soft sound of her humming or the whisper of her feet on the floor, and the truth pressed closer: she was not a creation anymore. she was a presence, and she had begun to inhabit every quiet corner of him.
the sun was only beginning to rise that morning, its pale light spilling through the high window and across the edge of the bed where isaac slept. the air was cool and faintly damp, the world outside wrapped in fog. iris stirred first, she always did now, sitting up slowly as the light crept over the stone floor. for a while, she simply watched him, the rise and fall of his chest beneath his black t-shirt, the faint lines of exhaustion softened by sleep.
he woke later than usual, with a quiet sound and a slow stretch, his eyes still half-lidded from dreams. and when he sat up, iris was already waiting by the edge of the bed, her hair tied back neatly, her expression calm and expectant.
"good morning," she said softly, voice carrying through the still air like something delicate.
he smiled faintly, his hand brushing his hair back as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "morning my little creation," he murmured, his voice still rough. he looked toward the window, squinting at the soft light. "how long have you been awake?"
"a while," she admitted.
"of course you have," he said with a faint laugh, and then stood, moving toward the wardrobe that sat near the wall. he hesitated there for a moment, as if thinking through something, then turned, holding something carefully in his hands.
a uniform.
iris tilted her head, curious, her gaze sweeping over the dark fabric and the silver crest stitched into the pocket, the mark of nevermore academy. the jacket and pleated skirt were folded neatly, pressed crisp and new.
"what's that?" she asked, standing now, stepping closer.
isaac's expression softened. "this," he said, lifting the uniform slightly, "is yours."
her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. "mine?"
he nodded once, slow and deliberate, watching her reaction as he spoke. "it's been a few weeks," he said quietly. "you can walk. you can speak. you can think on your own. i think... it's time you lived what's beyond this room."
iris blinked, as though she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "outside?"
"outside," he confirmed, his tone gentle but firm. he laid the uniform out on the bed carefully, smoothing the sleeve with his palm. "i'll be going back to my classes today, and you're coming with me."
she looked from him to the fabric, her fingers hesitating above it. "but... what if they see-"
"they will," he interrupted softly. "and that's the point. we'll tell them you're new, a transfer student. no one will question it too deeply." he paused, eyes flicking to her face. "if they notice your stitches, we'll tell them you're a distant cousin of the frankenstein family."
iris blinked again, as though trying to picture herself in the world he was describing. the word cousin lingered in her mind, strange and human and kind. "they'll believe it?"
isaac gave a small smile. "they'll believe what they want to. and i'll make sure they don't look too closely."
he picked up the uniform jacket, holding it out to her. she took it with both hands, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against her fingers. for a long moment, she didn't move, only stared down at it, her reflection faint in the brass buttons.
"you'll do fine," he said quietly. "just stay close to me."
she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "okay."
he turned slightly, giving her space as she began to dress. the sound of fabric brushing against skin was small, almost reverent in the quiet room. she slipped into the blouse first, fingers trembling faintly at the buttons, then the jacket, its weight grounding her, its scent faintly like old stone and ink. isaac helped her adjust the collar, smoothing the wrinkle near her shoulder.
"it suits you," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
she looked up at him then, her expression unreadable but soft, eyes wide, reflecting the window's pale light. "does it?"
"very much," he said, and it came out almost as a whisper, his eyes lingering on her for a beat too long.
the air between them hung suspended for a moment, something quiet and charged, full of words neither of them were ready to say. and then he turned, clearing his throat as he reached for his own jacket and bag.
"we should go," he said finally. "the halls will be crowded by now."
iris nodded once. and then, for the first time, they stepped toward the door together, the world on the other side waiting, real and uncertain.
the corridor outside was already alive with morning noise, the low hum of conversation, the echo of footsteps, the faint metallic sound of lockers being opened and closed. sunlight filtered through the tall gothic windows that lined the hall, casting ribbons of gold across the stone floor.
iris hesitated at the threshold, her hand hovering near isaac's sleeve. the air felt different out here, cooler, alive, threaded with motion and sound.
"stay close," he murmured again, glancing over his shoulder. she nodded, her gaze darting around, wide and curious, as if trying to absorb everything at once, the laughter echoing down the hall, the students moving in clusters, the soft click of shoes on tile.
and then,
"isaac?"
the voice came light and unfamiliar, lilting through the air like the strike of a bell. iris turned first, startled, as a girl stepped into view, tall, graceful, her hair a deep chestnut that caught the morning light like fire. her uniform was perfect, her smile even brighter.
"francoise," isaac said softly, the name coming with an edge of surprise.
"you're here?" she said, coming closer, her eyes wide. "i thought you were still sick! you didn't come by for days."
isaac gave a small laugh, trying to mask the flicker of tension that rose in him. "i'm feeling much better now," he said easily, though his hand twitched slightly at his side.
francoise's gaze shifted, and landed on iris.
iris froze.
for the first time, she was standing in front of another girl. not a mirror, not isaac, but someone else living, breathing, and radiant.
francoise's eyes softened instantly. "and who's this?"
isaac hesitated. the silence stretched thin before he finally spoke, voice smooth. "this is iris. she's new, a transfer student."
"oh!" francoise lit up, all curiosity and warmth. "welcome to nevermore, iris."
iris opened her mouth, then closed it again, before finally managing a small, practiced smile. "thank you," she said softly.
francoise's eyes flicked briefly toward the faint seams along iris's neck, and isaac caught the look before she could ask.
"she's from the frankenstein family," he added quickly, tone calm but decisive. "a distant cousin."
"ah," francoise said, her smile returning as if that explained everything. "well, that makes sense. it's good to see you, isaac. really."
he nodded, the tension in his shoulders softening just a fraction.
as francoise chatted a little longer, iris studied her, the brightness in her eyes, the effortless way she spoke, how the world seemed to open easily to her words. and somewhere deep inside her chest, something stirred, a strange, faint ache she didn't understand.
soon françoise excused herself, waving over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall.
when she was gone, iris turned to isaac, her voice quiet but full of wonder. "she's beautiful."
he smiled faintly, looking down at her. "she's my sister," he said.
"i know," iris murmured. and yet, she kept staring at the empty hallway where francoise had been, her heart quietly beating against something new she couldn't name.
isaac stood beside her in the lingering hush, his hand resting at his side, not quite touching hers, but near enough that she could feel the faint warmth of him through the space between them.
the stillness between their bodies was its own kind of connection, a line drawn not by touch, but by presence. the air around them held that subtle tension, that quiet understanding that words couldn't touch.
"come," he murmured after a moment, his voice low and calm, the sound pulling her gently back to him. "we'll be late."
she nodded, the small movement catching the light like something sacred, and together they began to walk.
the academy's corridors stretched long and narrow, arched with dark stone and lit by thin ribbons of morning light that fell through the high windows in sharp, angled beams. dust motes swirled within the gold, suspended in their own slow, eternal dance. the walls were lined with framed sketches and old diagrams, anatomical drawings fading at the edges, sepia-toned portraits of thinkers and inventors whose names had long turned to whispers. each footstep echoed faintly against the tile, an echo that lingered as if unwilling to be forgotten.
students moved in clusters, murmuring to one another, the sound a low hum beneath the hollow rhythm of footsteps and distant doors. their voices rose and fell, brushing the edges of the silence like the softest tide. as isaac and iris passed, that hum shifted, fractured, and eyes began to turn.
iris felt it first.
the glances. the quiet, curious stares. a fleeting turn of the head here, a whisper there. it clung to her like static, invisible but heavy, prickling faintly against her skin. she didn't know why it made her chest tighten, didn't yet have words for the strange pull between visibility and unease, but she could feel the heat of it all the same.
isaac's stride never faltered. he moved forward with quiet certainty, shoulders straight, gaze fixed ahead. to anyone else, he looked composed, cold, as though nothing reached him. but beneath that calm, he felt something coil tight in his stomach, the faint, electric pulse of unease. nevermore's halls were a labyrinth of intellect and ambition, but beneath that grandeur lived something sharper, more dangerous: curiosity. and curiosity, he knew too well, could destroy.
his lie was simple. it had to be flawless.
he could not afford suspicion.
not now. not when everything he loved walked beside him, breathing.
they reached the lecture room. the door stood tall before them, carved with curling vines and the faint outline of the academy's crest, an open eye framed by wings and flame. the wood was dark with age, smoothed in places where generations of hands had touched it. from beyond the door came the steady tide of voices, the rustle of pages, the scrape of chairs.
isaac turned to her. his eyes caught the faint reflection of the morning light. "stay close to me," he said softly, a quiet undertone of protection beneath his calm.
she nodded, her voice barely a breath. "i will."
the hinges creaked softly as he pushed the door open. conversation faltered, not stopped entirely, but bent under the weight of curiosity.
a hundred eyes turned toward them.
the room was vast, arched high above with beams of dark oak and lined with shelves of instruments brass, glass, steel, all gleaming faintly in the cold light that spilled from tall windows. dust floated in the air like thought made visible. rows of students sat in quiet clusters, notebooks open, pens stilled mid-line.
professor eckhart stood at the front, a figure of stark composure in a gray coat, half-turned from the blackboard. chalk dust drifted like smoke from the diagram he'd just drawn. his sharp eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of them, recognition flickering.
"ah," he said after a measured pause. "mr. night. you've returned."
isaac inclined his head politely. "yes, sir."
the professor's gaze slid toward iris. there was no malice in it, only a quiet calculation, a measuring of details. the faint lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. "and this is?"
"iris frankenstein, sir," isaac said, his tone calm and even. "a new transfer. she's under my guidance for the time being."
the name landed softly in the air, though a few heads lifted at the sound of it, a flicker of curiosity, a whispered spark.
eckhart studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "very well. you may both take your seats."
they walked toward the back. the floor creaked faintly beneath their steps. she could feel the weight of every gaze that followed them, the quiet murmurs that lingered just behind their path. it wasn't cruel, not yet; just curious, human curiosity wrapped in a sheen of restraint. still, it pressed against her like invisible hands.
isaac led her to a table near the window. the surface was smooth, scarred faintly by years of pens and pressure. she sat beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture careful, as if afraid to disrupt the space around her.
the professor turned back to the board. "today," he began, "we continue our study of the central nervous system." his voice was clipped, practiced, the kind of tone that carried over silence without raising itself. chalk tapped against slate, steady, rhythmic, each line of white spreading into the dark like veins beneath skin.
iris's eyes followed every motion. her attention was absolute, her entire being pulled toward the front of the room, to the clean sweep of lines, the delicate connections of mind and body that eckhart drew with the ease of someone mapping the familiar. to her, it was wonder.
her world had been so small until now, confined to isaac's rooms, to dim light, to the hum of machines and the warmth of his voice. this was different. this was the sound of minds breathing.
and yet, beneath the wonder, she could feel the weight of their stares. the way someone in the row ahead leaned slightly back to see her, the way another pretended to jot notes while stealing a glance. she could feel it all, the tiny flickers of attention brushing her like threads.
she shifted slightly in her chair. her hands, folded neatly on her knees, trembled just faintly.
isaac noticed.
his gaze flicked toward her, sharp in its quietness. for a moment, he said nothing. then, under the table, unseen, his hand moved.
it brushed lightly against hers. not enough to startle, just enough to ground. his fingers found hers in the dim space beneath the desk, his palm warm against her skin. it was the smallest gesture, but it steadied her completely.
she looked at him, wide-eyed. he didn't turn to meet her gaze, his attention remained forward, on the board, on the professor's lecture, but his hand stayed where it was, firm and sure. her fingers curled into his slowly, as if discovering that something as simple as warmth could silence fear.
and for the rest of the lesson, he didn't let go.
the room moved on around them, chalk striking rhythmically, pens scratching, voices murmuring questions and answers, but to her, everything narrowed to that one small point of contact. the steady pressure of his hand, the unspoken message it carried: you're not alone.
she listened. to the lecture, yes, to the strange beauty of the body's inner workings, the way the professor spoke of synapses like sparks, of the mind as a map of light. but she also listened to the quieter things: the pulse at her wrist, the soft creak of isaac's chair when he shifted, the hush that wrapped them together beneath the noise.
at one point, she whispered to him, her breath brushing the air between them. "they're all alive."
his head turned just slightly, his expression unreadable. "yes," he murmured. "they are."
something in his voice made her chest ache faintly. there was pride in it, and sorrow, and something unnamed, something that felt too large to fit inside a single word.
the sunlight climbed higher through the windows, spilling gold across the rows of desks. dust floated in it lazily, slow and aimless. she followed the patterns, her eyes tracing the tiny movements, each speck suspended in the air, each one catching the light in ways she couldn't look away from. it felt, somehow, like watching time itself drift.
and then, cutting through that quiet, came the voice. low, careless, threaded with something that wasn't quite cruelty, but close.
"so the rumors were true," a boy murmured from the next row, just loud enough to carry. "the mad scientist brought a girl back with him. thought he'd finally buried himself in his work for good."
the laughter that followed was soft, but it burned all the same. not mocking, not sharp, just that easy, human laughter born of things not understood.
isaac's jaw tightened. his hand around hers flexed slightly, protective. but he didn't turn.
iris did.
she didn't flinch, didn't shrink away. she only tilted her head, eyes finding the boy's with a kind of quiet, unnerving calm. her gaze was curious, not angry, the way a creature might study the sound of something it hadn't heard before. the boy held her stare for only a second before looking away.
isaac turned then, his expression still composed, his voice soft but edged with warning. "careful, aldrin," he said. "not everything you hear deserves your voice."
the silence that followed was instant. clean and heavy, like a curtain dropping. even professor eckhart looked up from the board, his gaze flicking toward the back row. no one spoke again.
the rest of the lecture passed in that hush. the chalk resumed its rhythm, the world moved on, but something in the air had changed, a stillness that wasn't discomfort, but awareness.
when the hour ended, the noise returned all at once: chairs scraping, papers gathering, the shuffle of footsteps. students began to pour out in clusters, their voices blending again into the morning hum.
isaac gathered his notes slowly, methodically, waiting until the crowd had thinned. iris sat quietly beside him, her eyes distant, still half-caught in the strange current of the world.
he glanced at her. "you handled that well," he said softly.
her gaze flicked toward him. "they don't understand."
"no," he said, his tone gentle. "they don't. and they won't."
she looked at him then, her voice barely a whisper. "but you do."
he hesitated, only for a breath, before nodding. "i do."
they stood, moving together through the rows of empty desks, the echo of their footsteps rising again in the room's hollow air.
when they reached the door, he opened it for her, the faintest trace of warmth still in his eyes.
and iris lingered the gentle anticipation of what the rest of the day could possible bring to her.
i.|MY LITTLE CREATION • isaac night x oc
chapter iv: it's just water, iris
master list part i part ii part iii
•a/n• this will be another slow and intimate chapter. i hope i'm not boring y'all 🥀
•word count• 3.9k
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
THE FIFTH MORNING arrived quietly, though not in the way mornings usually did. the light didn't pour in, it trickled, slow and golden, as though reluctant to disturb what had been built in the soft hours before dawn. it slipped between the curtains and traced faint, trembling lines across the wooden floor, touching the corners of the room where dust floated like fine mist. the air held a hush that wasn't quite silence but rather the echo of it, something that hummed beneath the surface, stitched together from the smell of coffee grounds left cold in their cup, the faint metallic tang of machinery, and the paper scent of old notes scattered across the desk. everything felt suspended, the air, the light, even time itself, caught in the fragile moment between sleep and waking.
iris had been awake for hours.
she sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, half bathed in the faint morning light. the pale folds of isaac's shirt were draped over her knees, a soft heap of fabric that still carried the ghost of warmth from his skin. her fingers moved over it carefully, almost reverently, folding it in quiet, uneven lines. it wasn't that she'd been told to do it, there was no instruction here, no purpose except the act itself. she folded because her hands wanted to move, because the motion was simple, gentle, human. each crease she made felt deliberate, each movement an attempt to understand what care meant when expressed through something as small as touch.
her movements were slow, unhurried, like she was afraid the morning might shatter if she made a sound. there was a stillness in her, a concentration that wasn't about perfection but about presence. she was learning gentleness, how to hold fabric without crushing it, how to breathe without the tension that once made every inhale mechanical. she was learning how to exist softly.
the quiet around her wasn't empty. it was full, alive with warmth and the low hum of isaac's random machines in the corner. that hum had become a heartbeat of sorts, steady and unrelenting, grounding her in this space that was neither fully human nor entirely sterile. once, silence had terrified her. it had meant waiting, isolation, the cold between thoughts. but this quiet, the one that filled isaac's room, felt different. it pulsed faintly with life.
behind her, isaac slept.
or rather, he had fallen into the kind of sleep that looked less like rest and more like surrender. one arm lay sprawled across his chest, his fingers curled slightly as if he had fallen asleep in the middle of reaching for something. his hair, dark and unruly, had fallen across his forehead, strands shifting with each slow breath he drew. his shirt, one he hadn't bothered to button properly, was twisted at the hem from where he had turned in the night, the fabric creased and soft with wear.
he looked almost breakable like this.
there was something profoundly human about the way his face had loosened in sleep, all the sharpness and calculation that usually lived there smoothed away. the weight he carried in his posture, in his eyes, in the tension that lined his shoulders, it was gone now, replaced by something unguarded. even the faint shadows beneath his eyes seemed gentler in this light. he looked younger, quieter, the kind of tired that went beyond the body.
the sound of his breathing was steady, slow. every rise and fall of his chest was a reminder that he was real, flesh and warmth and heartbeat. for someone like iris, who had been built to understand existence through observation, that was something holy.
the past few days had blurred together in soft shades of gold and grey. isaac had hardly left her side, teaching, adjusting, refining. his hands, always so sure, had become the language she learned best. he had guided her speech, steadying her voice when it trembled too much to sound like her own. he had corrected her posture, gently placing a hand between her shoulder blades, reminding her to breathe with her body instead of through it.
and when she stumbled, when her balance faltered and her hands shook and her words fell apart, he never looked at her with frustration. only patience. quiet, relentless patience that sometimes hurt to look at.
in between the lessons, there had been other moments. smaller ones. moments that felt like cracks in the framework of the world he'd built around them. a shared glance that lingered too long. a laugh that caught her off-guard. the way he would always, without thinking, brush a loose strand of hair from her face and look at his hand afterward as though unsure what it had just done.
she had learned to laugh in those days. the sound had startled her the first time, sharp and light, spilling from her like an accident. isaac had turned toward her with a look she still didn't have a word for. something between awe and disbelief. after that, laughter came easier. her smile began to find its own shape. it was strange, she thought, how quickly a face could learn warmth.
and yet, isaac hadn't realized, perhaps couldn't realize, how quickly she was becoming someone.
the room shifted. it was small, almost imperceptible, the faint creak of the floorboards, the soft stir of air as the morning deepened. and with that, isaac's eyes fluttered open, drowning out of sleep.
for a moment, he didn't move. his mind hovered somewhere between dream and waking, where everything felt both real and not. he blinked, once, twice, his gaze unfocused, the light catching faintly in his pupils. it took him a moment to remember where he was, to recognize the outline of his own lab, the quiet hum that meant his world was still intact.
and then he saw her.
iris.
her body was gently hunched in a cross crossed position in the middle of the room, her hair spilling over her shoulder like poured silk, catching the morning light in threads of silver and gold. she was folding something, his shirt, pressing the fabric into a neat square with careful, deliberate hands. every movement was small, but it carried a kind of grace he hadn't built into her. she was humming softly, the sound a fragile thread that wove through the still air and tied the whole room together.
it was the sort of sound that didn't belong in a place like his. too gentle for the sterile corners, too human for the hum of wires. it filled the air with something living.
he watched her in silence. something inside him tightened and softened all at once.
it wasn't supposed to feel like this, this quiet ache in his chest, this strange, wordless tenderness that stirred whenever he looked at her. he told himself it was the work, the success, the marvel of watching something he had built begin to move and speak and be. but that explanation had started to sound hollow, even to him.
because what he saw now wasn't the product of design. it was a person. breathing softly in the light of morning, folding his shirt as if the gesture itself was sacred.
the air between them trembled. not with sound, but with something else, something delicate, unspeakable.
"iris?" his voice was rough with sleep, a low rasp that seemed to startle the silence.
she looked up at once, startled, but only for a heartbeat. then she smiled, and it was the kind of smile that began shyly and grew, unfolding like morning itself. "good morning," she said.
her voice had changed. it was still soft, still carrying that faint tremor of curiosity that lived in everything she did, but it no longer wavered. it moved like water now, smooth, certain, sure in its rhythm. it made him blink again, as though his eyes couldn't quite keep up with what he was seeing.
he sat up slowly, the sheets falling from his chest, the air cool against his skin. he rubbed the back of his neck, still caught between sleep and disbelief. "what are you doing?"
her fingers paused mid-fold, resting lightly on the edge of the shirt. she blinked once, considering. "folding your clothes. i wanted to."
the simplicity of it struck him like a small, quiet blow.
wanted to. not was told to, not was programmed to. wanted. choice. her own will moving quietly beneath her skin, unseen but present, like a heartbeat. something human stirring in the place where there should have been code. he felt the ache bloom in his chest, confusion, pride, fear, wonder, all tangled together until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"you don't have to," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost fragile.
"i know," she said simply, and returned her gaze to the shirt.
he watched her for a long time. the quiet rhythm of her hands, the way she smoothed the fabric of each shirt before folding, as though she could coax the wrinkles from it through patience alone. sunlight had shifted higher, reaching her shoulders now, turning her hair to a darkened glow and her skin to sight.
he'd built her with precision, each detail measured and deliberate, the exact angle of her smile, the curve of her hands, the way her eyes caught light like glass. but nothing in his designs, nothing in his notes or schematics, could have predicted this, the tenderness of her being. the subtle, almost invisible softness that threaded through everything she did. she existed gently in a world that had never been gentle to him, and somehow, that gentleness was remaking it.
his little creation.
he had always called her that, a phrase meant to anchor him, to remind him of the truth, that she was his work, his construct, his design. a safeguard against what he wasn't supposed to feel. yet now, when he thought the words, they felt different on his tongue. not ownership. not control. something closer to reverence. as though she were not the proof of his genius, but of his longing.
isaac swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the boards creaking beneath his feet. he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching her. he told himself it was study, an analysis of progress, of precision, of how accurately she mimicked life. but even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. the scientist in him observed; the man simply looked.
after a while, he stood. his joints cracked quietly in the stillness. he stretched, running a hand over the back of his neck, then spoke with that absent softness that came only when he forgot to guard himself. "i'll be at my desk," he murmured.
she nodded, not lifting her eyes from the careful rhythm of her task.
he crossed the room, the wooden floor cool under his feet, and settled into the chair by his desk. the familiar clutter greeted him: sketches, scattered papers, ink stains, the smell of graphite and oil. his notes lay in loose stacks, pages marked by sleepless nights. and on top of them, in his own hand, the name that had haunted his thoughts lately.
the hyde.
his jaw tightened. the name had begun to feel like a ghost, one that moved with him through the hours. it was the one who had dared before him, his sister's hyde. he had written about the line between mind and soul, about the divine ache of giving form to thought. he had called it the terrible mercy of a curse.
and yet, his writings stopped abruptly. no conclusion, no explanation. only silence.
he had been searching for a cure, for the missing pieces, trying to understand how to fix it, how she had carried the weight of what he now carried. but every page ended in the same emptiness.
he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. papers shifted beneath his palm. the sound filled the quiet like a whisper.
but every few minutes, his eyes drifted back to her.
iris had not moved far. she was now folding a pair of socks, her fingers delicate, her posture intent. she hummed again, a faint thread of sound that seemed to exist somewhere between memory and breath. isaac found himself listening without meaning to. the melody was shapeless, wordless, but it carried something pure, a sound that felt alive simply because it was.
time slipped in that room like water through cupped hands.
the sunlight climbed higher, soft and golden, until it reached the desk, spilling across his notes in pale streaks. his coffee went cold beside him. the machines hummed their endless lullaby. the clock ticked, each second dissolving into the next.
he didn't notice how much time had passed until he heard his own voice breaking the silence.
"iris," he said suddenly.
she looked up at once, her small pile of folded clothes perfectly arranged beside her. "yes?"
his expression shifted, softened. a hesitation flickered in his eyes, a thought hovering on the edge of speech. "would you like to try your first shower?"
her eyes widened, catching light. for a heartbeat she looked almost childlike, wonder blooming across her face. "a shower?" she repeated, tasting the word as though it were something fragile and new.
he nodded. "it's time, i think."
she rose too quickly, her movement edged with excitement. "yes, please," she said, the words tumbling out bright and eager.
the sound of her enthusiasm drew something like a smile from him before he could stop it. it felt unfamiliar on his face, unguarded. he stood and gestured for her to follow.
the bathroom was small, tucked behind a narrow door at the edge of the lab. white tile. cool light. a fogged mirror. the faint scent of metal and soap. iris stepped inside and went still, her gaze roaming the unfamiliar space with wide, searching eyes.
then she saw the mirror.
she froze.
it was the first time she had ever truly seen herself, not in fragments, not in shadows or reflections distorted by glass, but whole. her face stared back at her, framed by pale light, breathing, blinking. real.
"that's... me," she whispered.
isaac lingered behind her, his reflection a faint shadow in the misted glass. he had seen that face a thousand times, on paper, in sketches, in the glow of the lab lights. he knew every line, every curve, every detail. but watching her see it, watching her realize, was different. it was watching creation recognize itself.
iris lifted a trembling hand, fingertips hovering just above the glass. "i didn't know..." she murmured. her voice broke softly as she traced her reflection. "i didn't know i looked like this."
"you're perfect," isaac said before he could stop himself.
she turned slightly, her reflection shifting with her. "you made me."
he nodded, quiet. "just how i wanted."
the air between them changed, dense, tender, suspended. the silence was so thick it almost felt sacred. she lowered her gaze, then looked back at the mirror, as if trying to hold both truths at once: that she existed, and that someone had wanted her enough to make it so.
he stepped forward gently towards the shower, his hands steady as he turned ion and adjusted the faucet. the sound of water filled the air, soft, steady, alive. steam rose, curling into the cold light, blurring the edges of their reflections.
iris reached out, palm open, letting the stream fall across her skin. her lips parted in wonder. "it's warm," she said, her voice a hush.
"that's what it's supposed to be," he murmured, watching the small miracle unfold before him.
isaac stood close, his hands steady but careful, giving her space while remaining present. he gestured toward her sweater first. she hesitated only a heartbeat, then lifted her arms slightly, letting him help ease it over her shoulders. his fingers brushed the fabric at the seams, soft and deliberate, and the sweater slipped from her body into his waiting hands. he folded it neatly, as though it were something precious.
"the blouse next," he murmured softly.
she nodded, and he helped unbutton it slowly, one small motion at a time, careful not to rush her. her shoulders were relaxed under his guidance, her trust unfolding like quiet petals. each button undone revealed nothing sudden, only the gentle, careful rhythm of discovery. he set the blouse aside, placing it on a chair, folded just so.
her skirt came next. she stepped slightly forward, and he guided it down her legs, letting her balance herself as he supported the movement at the waistband. he lowered it fully and placed it alongside her other clothes, making a neat little stack that felt almost ceremonial in its care.
finally, her undergarments. she kicked them off, laughing softly at how small and simple the motions were, and he caught them, setting them with the same quiet reverence.
isaac followed with the same motions, undressing himself carefully before her. her eyes filtered over to the mirror again, catching sight of her full self. she couldn't help but smile gently as if in gentle admiration of herself.
after isaac was fully undressed he gave her a soft look, taking a step closer, guiding her gently by the elbow toward the warm spray. his hands brushed her lightly, reassuringly, as he helped her step beneath the water. the droplets hissed softly as they hit, steam curling around them.
she stepped forward slowly, as though approaching a threshold, and then she was beneath it, the water cascading over her, soaking her hair, her skin. her eyes fluttered closed. a sound escaped her, not surprise, but something softer. awe.
"it feels..." she whispered. her breath caught. "alive."
isaac's throat tightened. he had no words.
he stepped closer, his voice low. "it's just water, iris," he said. "but it reminds you what it means to be real."
she smiled faintly, eyes still closed, the droplets running down her face like tears that didn't ache. "i like it."
he reached for the shampoo, poured a small amount into his palm. "come here," he said, his voice almost inaudible.
she obeyed without hesitation, stepping closer into the warm cascade of water. isaac's hands moved with deliberate care, steady and soft, as he took that small amount of shampoo into his palms. the scent was light, almost floral, rising into the steam and curling around them. his fingers threaded gently through her wet hair, untangling strands with a patience that bordered on reverence. each motion was slow, precise, as though he feared even the smallest wrong touch might disrupt the fragile trust between them.
she leaned slightly into him, almost unconsciously, letting the warmth of his hands guide her. the weight she shifted onto him was tiny, subtle, yet he felt it, a quiet confirmation of her reliance, her trust. his chest tightened. it ached in a way he hadn't expected. the intimacy of the act, the softness in the curve of her shoulders beneath his fingers, was more than he had meant to give or to receive.
he moved deliberately down the length of her hair, massaging gently at her scalp, the warmth of the water mingling with the soap. the room filled with the sound of running water and the faint hiss of steam against tile. he spoke very little, only murmuring instructions when necessary: "relax your shoulders," each word was measured, careful, as though language itself might fracture the sanctity of the moment.
after rinsing the shampoo, he reached for conditioner, the bottle cold in his hand compared with the warmth of the steam. he worked it through her hair in the same slow, deliberate motions, smoothing each strand with care. he let the tips linger in his hands, making certain nothing knotted or tugged, letting her feel the rhythm of the water and the ritual of touch combined. she tilted her head back, eyes closed, small murmurs of comfort escaping her lips, and he felt the ache in his chest deepen, not for what he wanted, but for the quiet beauty of her trust.
when her hair was fully conditioned, he guided her carefully to rinse it herself. he stepped back slightly, letting her experience the water cascading over her fingers, the sensation of warm droplets sliding down her skin. he hovered close, hands ready to adjust her posture if she wobbled, his presence steadying her without pressure, a quiet tether of safety. she experimented with the water, lifting her hair, letting it run through her fingers, discovering the rhythm herself. each small motion, each careful tilt of her head, felt like a revelation to her. and he felt like he was witnessing something sacred.
then, gently, he guided her hands to wash the rest of her body. his instructions were soft, careful, "start with your arms, then your shoulders," he guided gently, watching her. "move slowly, feel the water."
he never touched her except to steady her, to prevent slipping, his presence quiet, grounding, protective. she learned the motions under his patient watch, discovering the simple truths of movement, of warmth, of touch.
the mirror fogged completely from the warmth and steam, the world outside dissolved into soft white haze. the sound of water, her gentle breathing, the muted drip of droplets from the showerhead, it all stretched time, slow and unbroken, suspended.
finally, when the ritual was complete, he reached for a towel draped over a nearby hook. he handed it to her with care, watching as she wrapped it around herself, the fabric folding over her shoulders. "see? not so complicated," he said softly. she nodded and clutched it tightly, a quiet comfort, and he moved behind her, adjusting the towel so it was secure, smoothing it over the curve of her back and shoulders. his hands hovered for a moment longer than necessary, gentle and attentive, making certain she was both covered and comfortable.
she turned slightly, shyly, her cheeks flushed from warmth and steam, and their eyes met in the misted, soft light. he gave a faint nod, a quiet affirmation of presence, and she leaned into the towel, grounding herself in the comfort of being seen, being cared for, and being safe.
he helped her dress again, not because she needed him to, but because she allowed him to. because in the simple, repetitive gestures of care, they both found something that neither science nor language could name.
when they stepped back into the room, the morning had folded into noon. sunlight pooled across the floor, touching the pile of neatly folded clothes waiting in quiet order. iris stood still for a moment, her gaze moving over the room as though seeing it anew. then she turned to him.
"when can i go out?" she asked softly. "when can i be seen?"
he froze. his hand, halfway to his desk, stilled in the air. she was watching him, not with impatience, but with hope.
"soon," he said finally, his voice roughened by something unsteady. "soon, my little creation."
she nodded, satisfied, though a flicker lingered in her eyes, something fragile, restless. a yearning not quite born but already breathing.
and though isaac turned back toward his desk, pretending to work, he felt it too.
that quiet, dangerous longing you had for the world just beyond the walls.
i.|MY LITTLE CREATION • isaac night x oc
chapter iii: victor and emily's piano duet
master list part i part ii
•a/n• i loved writing this chapter it's so poetic and intimate. but how are we feeling about the story so far though, pretty fire? i hope 💔
•word count• 3.3k
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THE NEXT MORNING came slow, drawn out in muted shades that crept over the horizon and spilled through the cracks of one of isaac's small dorm windows. the light was thin, uncertain, as though the sun itself feared to disturb what the night had left behind. dust motes drifted lazily through the golden air, each one catching faint glimmers from the beams that cut across the floor, touching the cluttered desk, the glass beakers, the faint metallic shimmer of his discarded tools. the smell of ozone still lingered, faintly threaded through the room like a memory of the storm that had brought her to life.
isaac was already awake. he hadn't slept much, not really. though his eyes burned faintly from the hours spent half-dreaming in her beside her bed, his mind refused to quiet. every few minutes, his gaze flicked toward her, toward the girl who lay beneath the pale sheets, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. he had checked that motion countless times already. his fingers had hovered over her wrist, her throat, his breath held each time until he felt the quiet pulse there. even now, he leaned forward a little, just enough to listen to the faint sound of her breathing, soft and uneven like the air itself was learning to move through her lungs.
she was alive.
he had told himself that again and again through the dark hours, though it never truly seemed to sink in. he could still see the moment of her first breath whenever he blinked, the flicker of movement, the sudden jolt, the look of confusion and wonder in her eyes as life had claimed her for the first time. now, lying there in the gray hush of morning, she looked almost peaceful. the strange faint greenish hue of her skin had warmed slightly overnight, settling into something softer. her hair, dark and matted from the night's rain and lightning, spread across the pillow in uneven waves.
isaac's gloved fingers tightened faintly around the blanket that lay lazily on them. he didn't dare touch her yet, not until he was sure. not until he had convinced himself this wasn't another dream, another failure rewritten by his mind to comfort him.
he exhaled slowly and leaned closer. his voice, when it came, was no louder than a whisper. "wake up, my little creation."
the words broke the silence like a breath through glass.
her eyelids twitched faintly. the smallest sound left her throat, something like a hum or a sigh. her lips parted, and she drew in a deeper breath. isaac's pulse quickened. he leaned closer, resting one hand against the spot just by her side. the air seemed to thicken between them as she stirred, her fingers curling slightly against the sheet.
slowly, her eyes opened.
they caught the light as if they had been made for it, pale, uncertain, but endlessly alive. she blinked once, twice, as though trying to remember what it meant to see. when her gaze found him, a flicker of recognition passed through them.
"good... morning," she said, the words halting but clear, her tone still soft with sleep.
he felt something in his chest loosen. she knew what to say. already, her speech had changed. the jagged, half-formed sounds from the night before had softened into shape. she was learning, evolving, far faster than he'd expected.
"good morning," he echoed quietly, his lips curving just slightly. "you knew."
she nodded, her hair shifting against the pillow. the faintest smile touched her mouth, like the echo of one she didn't yet know how to make.
he hesitated, then reached out a gloved hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. her skin was warmer now, alive beneath the chill of his fingertips. "you're adapting quickly," he murmured, half to himself. "you learn fast."
"learn..." she repeated softly, tasting the word.
"yes," he said. "you learn, you grow. that's what life does."
her eyes searched his face for a long moment, and something curious flickered in her expression, not confusion, exactly, but a kind of soft awareness, as though she was beginning to understand that his voice, his face, his presence, all meant safety.
he straightened slightly, slipping off the bed and stepping back just enough to give her space. "come," he said gently. "we'll try something new today, your first real day."
her gaze followed him as he moved a few steps away from the bed, standing with patient stillness.
"we're going to practice walking," he explained. "you've been still for a long time. your body needs to know movement."
she glanced down at her hands, flexing her fingers, then slowly looked back up. "walk," she murmured.
"yes," he said, his tone soft but firm. "stand up. i'll help you."
he reached out both hands, and she placed her palms in his, tentative, fragile. her skin was warm, the faint tremor of life thrumming beneath it. he steadied her as she rose, her legs trembling under the weight of her own existence. she wavered slightly, and he caught her by the shoulders.
"slowly," he said. "take your time."
she nodded, focusing on the ground beneath her bare feet. one step. then another. each movement was hesitant, deliberate, as though she was learning gravity itself. and she really was.
isaac moved back a few paces, still within reach. "try to walk to me," he said quietly.
her eyes lifted to his, and for a heartbeat the air felt charged again, that same pull, the same breathless anticipation from the night before. she took another step, her knees wobbling. then another. and another.
she was halfway to him when her balance faltered. a sound escaped her, half gasp, half laugh, before she stumbled forward, falling into him.
his hands came up instinctively, catching her by the waist. the impact was gentle, but the closeness startled them both. her head rested briefly against his chest, and he felt her breath through the thin fabric of his shirt, uneven, quick, alive.
he swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. "you're doing well," he said softly. "very well."
her gaze lifted, and for the first time there was unmistakable pride in it. a spark.
"again?" she asked, her tone almost eager.
isaac felt something like a smile ghost across his face. "again."
they practiced for what felt like hours. each time she took another step, she stumbled a little less. her movements grew surer, her breathing steadier. he guided her with quiet patience, his voice a constant low hum in the stillness. when she faltered, he was there, a steady hand, a whispered reassurance.
"that's it. you're learning."
"good. keep going."
"yes... just like that."
and each time, she grew prouder, her eyes brightening with every success.
when she finally made it to him without falling, she stopped, her chest rising and falling with quiet effort.
"you did it," he said, a note of wonder in his tone.
she smiled, truly smiled, and for a moment, isaac could almost forget that she was something he had made.
"i... did it," she echoed, her voice still trembling slightly but sure.
he nodded slowly. "you did."
she looked down at her hands again, flexing them as though still testing their belonging to her. "i feel... proud," she murmured, her gaze flicking up to his again.
the words made something twist quietly in his chest.
"you should," he said. "you've earned it."
the light that now spilled through the dorm window was a softer kind of gray that morning, thin, hesitant, like it didn't want to wake the world too quickly. it stretched across the wooden floor in pale strips, brushing the corner of isaac's desk where iris sat, perfectly still, her chin tilted toward the window. her fingers, small and faintly trembling, rested over the surface of the desk as if tracing invisible lines in the dust. she wasn't sure what she was looking at. only that the light moved differently out there, so alive, so constant.
isaac had been gone from the room for a few minutes, the sound of water running faintly behind the door to the small washroom. iris sat quietly in his absence, her head slightly tilted, as though listening to something only she could hear. maybe the hush of footsteps in the corridor beyond, or maybe the pulse that still echoed faintly inside her ribs, that curious rhythm she was learning belonged to her.
the door opened then, a low creak that made her glance over her shoulder. isaac stepped out, sleeves rolled back, his hair slightly damp. for a moment, he only looked at her, the way she sat so still, framed by mid-day light, her eyes fixed on something unseen. she turned her gaze toward him at last, a question lingering behind it, and he smiled faintly, quiet and knowing.
"i want to show you something," he said, voice low and even.
iris blinked slowly, processing his words. there was a flicker of curiosity that passed over her features, small, delicate, like the faintest ripple in still water. "okay" she spoke softly, her tone uncertain but eager, as though each new word she spoke was a fragile discovery, nodding.
he took a few steps closer, holding out a hand. "but we have to be careful again."
her gaze dropped to his hand. she still marveled at the way it moved, the way his fingers flexed and curved so effortlessly. after a heartbeat of hesitation, she placed her own into his, letting him help her stand. she was steadier now, still fragile, still unaccustomed to the pull of gravity and the way her body wavered, but she could walk with his guidance.
isaac opened the door cautiously, scanning the corridor beyond before leading her out. they moved in silence, the sound of their footsteps hushed against the stone floor. iris's eyes darted everywhere, at the faint light pooling through the hallway windows, at the shadows that lingered in corners, at the dust that swirled in the air like a living thing. she looked at all of it with wonder, as though the world itself was something she was still learning to believe in.
when they reached the staircase, isaac slowed, letting her take each step carefully, his hand never leaving hers. there was something almost reverent about the way he guided her, like a man leading a fragile miracle through the world he'd built for her.
the air grew colder as they descended, the echo of their movement growing hollow against the stone walls. isaac paused once they reached the door to the lab, glancing down at her. "quiet now," he whispered. she nodded obediently, the soft fall of her hair brushing her cheek as she did.
inside, the air was still. the faint hum of old machines filled the silence like a second heartbeat. isaac led her past the worktables and glass cases until they reached the far end of the room. there, half-covered by a dusty sheet, stood something tall and heavy, a piano, its dark black surface dulled with age.
iris's eyes widened at the sight of it. she tilted her head, stepping closer with small, hesitant movements. "what is it?" she asked softly, her voice barely a breath.
"something i used to love," isaac murmured, moving forward to pull the sheet away. dust lifted into the air, catching the faint light from the high windows. "a piano."
she repeated the word slowly, tasting it on her tongue. "piano..."
he nodded, glancing at her. "it makes music."
"music." she knew that word, he had spoken it before when he whispered to her during her creation, his voice low and full of something she couldn't yet name. the memory of it fluttered inside her like a pulse of light.
isaac brushed his fingers over the keys, testing them. a faint, trembling note filled the room, fragile but alive. iris flinched slightly, startled by the sound, then leaned closer, fascinated.
"come here," he said gently, patting the bench beside him.
she obeyed, sitting down slowly, her body stiff, her eyes fixed on the keys. they stretched before her like rows of teeth, white and black and waiting. isaac watched her for a moment before reaching out, taking her hand. his touch was cool and careful as he guided her fingers to rest on the ivory surface.
"these," he murmured, pressing one of her fingers down, "are how you speak through sound."
a single note sang into the air. iris's breath caught. her eyes widened as if she'd just witnessed magic.
"sound," she whispered, as though naming it might make it stay.
he smiled faintly. "try another."
she pressed another key, then another. each note rang differently, like little pieces of light breaking through the quiet. her lips parted slightly, her expression one of wonder and awe.
isaac watched her closely, the way her hands trembled, the way she leaned toward the sound as if drawn by it. he felt that old ache stir in his chest, the same one he'd felt when she had said his name for the first time.
"listen," he said softly, his hand brushing hers as he reached for the keys. "i'll show you something."
and then he began to play.
the first notes of victor's part in victor and emily's piano duet fell into the air like candlelight. it was soft, trembling, barely holding their shape before melting into silence. isaac's fingers moved with reverence, each note a breath, a confession, something fragile drawn from the piano as though he feared the sound might shatter if he pressed too hard. the melody curled between them, a thread of sound that seemed to shimmer in the dim light, winding through the empty room, around the two of them, until it felt like the world had narrowed to this: his hands, her heartbeat, and the ghost of a song older than either of them could name.
iris didn't move at first. her body felt caught in stillness, a stillness so complete it almost hurt. she could see the tremor in his wrists as he played, the soft bend of his head, the reflection of his profile in the polished curve of the piano. the melody reached her slowly, seeping through the walls of her chest until it found something there, something deep and long asleep.
she didn't know why it made her want to cry, a feeling she hadn't quite felt yet. she only knew that she couldn't breathe properly, that the sound of it touched her in places language couldn't go.
the song swelled, then fell away again, and she leaned closer, as though drawn forward by some invisible pull. her hands hovered above the keys, trembling, caught between fear and longing. she could feel the cold surface of the ivory beneath her palms, the faint vibration of the piano resonating through it.
for a heartbeat, she thought she'd imagined it, that faint flicker in her memory, the shadow of something once known. but then, her fingers moved. hesitant, uncertain, as if remembering a language she'd forgotten how to speak.
a single note.
then another.
then a third.
she played emily's part.
the sound that came out was perfect, yet it quivered, fell behind, caught again, but the melody recognized her. it rose to meet her like an old friend, wrapping itself around her shaking hands, carrying her forward until her touch grew steady. her timing was wrong, her rhythm uneven, but still.. still it fit. their melodies found each other in the middle of the air and twined together, not in precision, but in understanding.
isaac's hands faltered for only a breath. she saw his head lift, eyes wide in disbelief, the faintest crease between his brows. but he didn't stop. instead, his touch softened, the volume fading until it was only a whisper beneath her. he let her lead.
the song changed then, not in notes, but in feeling. it became something living. the air thickened around them, heavy with the weight of recognition.
iris's shoulders relaxed, her body learning the rhythm like instinct, like she'd done this a thousand times before. the music rose and fell between them, a quiet conversation, one built not from words but from something older, more human.
for a while, the world outside ceased to exist. the soft hum of the machines dimmed into silence, the overhead lights seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the song. every note lingered longer than it should have, as if unwilling to fade.
isaac's gaze stayed fixed on her, not her hands, not the keys, but her. there was something raw in his expression.
her fingers trembled through the final chord. when the sound dissolved, it left a hollow in its place, something so sharp and tender that neither of them spoke. the silence that followed was louder than any music.
iris drew in a slow breath, her hands still poised above the keys. she didn't look at him yet. she was afraid that if she did, the moment would break, that whatever had filled the air would disappear, and she'd never get it back.
but even without looking, she could feel him, his quiet, his stillness, the gravity of what they'd just shared. he looked at her as though she had just done something impossible.
and maybe she had.
"how did you..." isaac began, but the words fell away. he didn't know what to ask.
iris turned toward him, her eyes wide and luminous. "it was... inside me," she whispered. "the sound. like remembering something that never happened."
isaac stared at her for a long moment, the space between them suddenly electric, the air thick with something neither could name.
then,
a loud, sudden pound against the lab door shattered the quiet.
iris flinched violently, her hands flying to her ears, her whole body curling inward. the sound echoed again, louder, followed by a voice, muffled but distinct.
"isaac? are you in there?"
gomez.
isaac's entire posture tensed. he rose quickly, stepping away from the piano, his expression turning sharp. "stay here," he whispered, his tone gentle but firm.
another knock. thud. thud. iris whimpered softly, her head pressed against her knees, the sound too much for her new, fragile senses.
isaac moved to the door. "i'm busy, gomez," he called, his voice carefully steady. "working."
"i've got the papers from francoise," came the muffled reply, louder now. "she said you'd need them since you're not coming to class."
"leave them by the door," isaac said quickly.
another pound, heavier, as gomez fumbled something. iris made a small, broken sound, her hands tightening against her head.
isaac's jaw clenched. "please, gomez," he added, forcing calm into his tone. "just... leave them there."
a pause. then the sound of footsteps retreating. a soft rustle, papers sliding beneath the door. silence followed.
isaac turned back immediately, crossing the room in long strides. iris was still curled against the piano bench, her body trembling faintly. he knelt beside her, his hands hovering before settling carefully over hers.
"it's all right," he whispered. "he's gone. you're safe."
she lifted her head slowly, her eyes wide and glassy. "loud..." she murmured. "too loud."
"i know." his voice was soft, soothing. "you're not used to it yet. sound can be overwhelming."
her breathing steadied under his words. he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch feather-light.
"you did so well," he said quietly. "so perfectly, iris."
her lips trembled into a faint smile. "the music," she whispered. "i liked it."
he smiled back, soft, almost broken. "i know. you played beautifully."
the piano sat behind them, silent now, the last of its echo fading into the air. but something in that room had changed, something in both of them. and though the world outside still waited, impatient and loud, inside that small space it was only them, and the sound that still lingered between their hearts.
shadows of cursed desire • isaac night
requested by anonymous on wattpad
forbidden!isaac night x reader
summary: i'm too lazy for this so just read
notes & warnings: dom!isaac, fingering & oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, forbidden love, mentions of oral (m!receiving). lowk in love with the way i wrote this one so enjoyyy 😛
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i've always felt like a shadow in the addams family home, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of damp stone and wilting roses, and every creak of the floorboards whispers secrets of our macabre lineage. born into this world of perpetual twilight, i was raised amid the clink of potion vials and the soft hiss of serpents coiled around antique furniture, my brother and i schooled in the arts of torment and delight intertwined.
eudora, my mother, glided through the halls like a raven in silk, her hands forever tracing the veins of poisonous ivy, while father, with his booming laugh that echoed like thunder in a crypt, tinkered with contraptions designed to maim or amuse in equal measure. but it was gomez, my brother, who embodied the fierce loyalty that bound us all, his mustache a perpetual scowl of protection, his eyes dark pools that missed nothing. he was the guardian of our traditions, the one who recited the ancient feuds like bedtime stories laced with venom. and among those feuds, none burned hotter than the one with the night family.
isaac night came into my life like a storm cloud over our gothic estate, his presence a forbidden spark in the gloom. the nights were our sworn enemies, descendants of rival witches who had cursed each other centuries ago over a stolen grimoire or a poisoned chalice, legends varied, but the hatred endured, etched into family crests and bloodlines. our families had clashed in shadowy wars, spells flung like daggers, alliances shattered in fits of rage.
gomez, ever the sentinel, had drilled it into me from childhood: ''the nights are vipers, y/n. they slither in the dark, waiting to strike.'' he forbade any contact, his voice a whip crack when he caught whispers of my wandering eyes at gatherings where our worlds brushed too close.
but isaac... oh, isaac was different. tall and brooding, with ink-black hair that fell over eyes like polished obsidian, he carried the weight of his family's sins on broad shoulders marked by scars from rituals i could only imagine. we met at nevermore academy, that sprawling fortress of outcasts and oddities, where the fog clung to ivy-choked towers and the curriculum included hexes and hauntings. he was in my potions class, his fingers deft as they crushed nightshade, and i felt the pull immediately, a magnetic draw that defied the chasms between us.
at first, it was glances across the cauldron's steam, his gaze lingering on the curve of my neck as i stirred brews that bubbled with forbidden desire. then came the notes, slipped into my satchel like spells unspoken: 'meet me in the raven's wing at midnight.' i should have burned them, reported him to gomez, who patrolled the halls like a wolf on the prowl. but curiosity, that addams vice, won out. our first hookup was in the academy's forgotten greenhouse, surrounded by carnivorous plants that snapped at the air.
isaac's hands were rough from handling grimoires, pinning me against a table strewn with wilted ferns as he kissed me with a hunger that matched my own. ''we're doomed,'' he'd murmur against my lips, but his cock was already hard, pressing into my thigh as i wrapped my legs around him. we fucked there, urgent and raw, his thrusts deep and unrelenting, my nails raking his back until he groaned my name like a curse. it was ecstasy wrapped in peril, our bodies slick with sweat and the residue of potions gone awry.
those secret meetings became our ritual, stolen hours in alcoves where moonlight filtered through cracked stained glass, or in the depths of the library where dusty tomes muffled our moans. isaac would lift my skirt, his mouth hot on my thighs before he buried his face between them, tongue lapping at my pussy until i shattered, biting my fist to stay silent.
i'd return the favor, dropping to my knees in shadowed corners, sucking his cock with a fervor that made his hips buck, cum spilling down my throat as he whispered promises of forever. but forever was a lie in our world. gomez's suspicions grew; he'd corner me after family dinners, his grip on my arm bruising as he demanded truths i couldn't give.
''i see the flush on your cheeks, y/n. it's him, isn't it? that night scum.'' the guilt gnawed at me, a slow poison seeping into our bliss. each hookup left me more entangled, my heart a battlefield where desire warred with duty. isaac felt it too, his touches lingered longer, his eyes searching mine for cracks in my resolve. 'we could run,' he'd say, tracing patterns on my skin post-climax, but i knew the truth: addams blood ran thick, and gomez's forbidance was a chain i couldn't break alone.
the weight of it all pressed down until i couldn't breathe. the sneaking, the lies to my family, the constant fear of discovery, it eroded the joy, turning our passion into something frantic and frayed. i loved isaac, in the twisted way addams love, with a fierceness that bordered on madness. but love wasn't enough against the tide of history.
so i decided to end it. tonight, under a moon bloated with omens, i slipped from the addams quarters, my black dress whispering against the stone floors as i navigated the academy's labyrinthine corridors. my pulse thrummed in my ears, a drumbeat of finality. isaac's dorm was in the east wing, a tower reserved for those with darker affinities, and i moved like a ghost, avoiding the glow of lantern light. the air grew cooler as i ascended the spiral stairs, each step heavy with memories: the time he'd fucked me against these very walls, my cries echoing softly; the night we'd lain tangled in his sheets, bodies spent, dreaming of a world without feuds.
his door loomed at the end of the hall, scarred wood etched with protective runes that glowed faintly at my approach. i hesitated, hand raised to knock, my breath fogging the chill air.
what if he refused to let go? what if my words crumbled under his touch? but i steeled myself, rapping softly. the door swung open almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting, sensing my turmoil through some arcane bond.
isaac filled the frame, his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing the taut planes of his chest where shadows played over inked symbols, crows in flight, thorns entwining hearts. his scent hit me first: woodsmoke and musk, laced with the faint metallic tang of metal.
''y/n,'' he said, voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. he stepped aside, gesturing me in, and i crossed the threshold into his domain, a room cluttered with grimoires, flickering candles casting elongated shadows, and a bed rumpled from restless nights.
i stood in the center, arms wrapped around myself like armor, the door clicking shut behind me. the space felt smaller with him in it, charged with the electricity of our history.
''isaac, we need to talk,'' i began, my voice steadier than i felt. he leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching me with those piercing eyes that saw too much.
''i know why you're here. the way you've been pulling back... it's because of gomez, isn't it?'' his tone was even, but i caught the undercurrent of hurt, a vulnerability he rarely showed.
''i can't keep doing this,'' i said, meeting his gaze. ''the sneaking around, the constant hiding.. it's killing me. every time we meet, i feel like i'm betraying everything i am. gomez is my brother; he protects us, and he's right about the nights. our families... it's impossible.'' the words tumbled out, laced with the ache i'd carried for weeks. isaac pushed off the desk, closing the distance in two strides, but i held up a hand. ''no, listen. we've had something real, but it's poisoned by all this secrecy. i come to you, and it's fire, but then i go back to lies and fear. i want more than scraps in the dark.''
his expression darkened, jaw clenching as he stopped inches away. i could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint spice of his cologne mixed with sweat. ''more? like what, y/n? a life where we pretend this doesn't exist? you think i don't feel it too- the weight of the grudge, the way gomez glares at me in the halls like i'm the devil incarnate? but you keep coming back. every. single. time.'' his voice rose, frustration etching lines on his face. ''because it's not just fucking. it's us. you feel that pull, same as me. walking away won't change that.''
''i have to try,'' i countered, my chest tightening. tears pricked at my eyes, but i blinked them back, addams didn't cry easily. ''gomez forbade it for a reason. if he finds out, it'll tear everything apart. our families have hated each other for generations. i can't be the one to ignite the next war.'' we were close now, breaths mingling, the argument hanging between us like a storm about to break. isaac's hands flexed at his sides, as if fighting the urge to touch me.
''you're scared," he accused softly, his gaze dropping to my lips. ''not of gomez, but of what this means. admitting you love me, despite it all.''
the word 'love' hung there, unspoken between us before but now raw and exposed. my heart stuttered, resolve cracking under the intensity of his stare.
''isaac...'' i whispered, but he was already moving, cupping my face with hands that trembled slightly. our lips met in a kiss that started tentative, a brush of softness amid the tension, but ignited quickly. his mouth was warm, insistent, tasting of salt and longing as his tongue slipped past my lips, coaxing mine to dance. i melted into it, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer despite myself. the argument dissolved in the heat, replaced by the familiar ache of need.
he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head back, exposing my throat. his lips trailed there, nipping gently, sending sparks through my veins.
''tell me to stop,'' he murmured against my skin, breath hot. but i couldn't, my body arched toward him, traitorous and yearning. we stumbled back, his hands roaming my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the fabric of my dress. the room spun, candles flickering as if feeding on our passion. he pressed me against the wall, the cool stone a stark contrast to his warmth, and i gasped as his knee nudged between my thighs, parting them slightly.
time stretched, each touch deliberate, drawing out the anticipation. isaac's fingers traced the lace edge of my bodice, dipping lower to cup my breast, thumb circling the hardening nipple until i whimpered into his mouth.
''you drive me insane,'' he growled, kissing me harder, teeth grazing my lower lip. i tugged at his shirt, buttons giving way as i explored the hard ridges of his abdomen, nails scraping lightly over his skin. our breaths came in ragged bursts, the argument's embers fueling this fire. he hiked up my dress slowly, inch by inch, exposing the pale skin of my thighs to the room's chill. his hand paused at the hem of my panties, eyes locking on mine, question and promise in equal measure.
''i shouldn't,'' i breathed, but my hips shifted forward, inviting. isaac's smile was wicked, fingers hooking into the fabric and tugging it aside. the air kissed my exposed pussy, already slick with arousal, and he groaned low in his throat.
"but you will,'' he said, voice husky. he didn't rush; instead, he teased, tracing the outer lips with feather-light touches that made me squirm. my clit throbbed under his attention, his fingertip circling it lazily, building the pressure without mercy. i clutched his shoulders, nails digging in as waves of heat built in my core.
''isaac, please...'' the plea escaped, raw and needy.
he kissed me again, swallowing my moans, while his middle finger finally pressed against my entrance, sliding in easily through my wetness. the stretch was exquisite, his finger thick and probing, curling slightly to brush that sensitive spot inside. i bucked against him, the wall supporting my weight as pleasure coiled tight. he added his thumb to my clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles that matched the thrust of his finger.
''so wet for me,'' he whispered, nipping my earlobe. the rhythm built gradually, his hand working me with expert patience, drawing out every gasp, every tremble. my walls clenched around him, slick sounds filling the air as he pumped deeper, scissoring gently to stretch me further.
a second finger joined the first, filling me more completely, and i cried out softly, the sensation overwhelming. isaac's free hand braced against the wall beside my head, his body caging mine as he fucked me with his fingers, slow and deep, then faster, chasing my building climax. my thighs quivered, pussy fluttering around the intrusion, juices coating his hand. the emotional torrent from our fight mingled with the physical, tears slipping down my cheeks, not from sorrow, but from the intensity of it all, the forbidden love manifesting in this raw act.
then, the knock shattered the haze. sharp, insistent, echoing like a death knell. ''isaac? open up!'' gomez's voice, gravelly with suspicion, cut through the door. my eyes widened in terror, body freezing even as isaac's fingers stilled for a heartbeat. but he didn't withdraw; instead, his palm clamped over my mouth, firm yet careful, muffling the gasp that tried to escape. his eyes bored into mine, dark with defiance and lust.
''shh, baby,'' he breathed, so close his lips brushed my ear. ''i'm not stopping. you stay quiet, or he'll know. and i need this, need you- too much to care.''
gomez knocked again, harder. ''night, i know you're in there. i heard noises. if my sister's involved...'' the threat lingered, his fist pounding once more. isaac's fingers resumed their motion, plunging deeper into my pussy, the wet squelch barely audible over my pounding heart. his thumb pressed harder on my clit, circling relentlessly, while his hand over my mouth absorbed my whimpers. i bit down on his palm, the pain spurring him on, he curled his fingers inside me, hitting that spot over and over, driving me toward the edge despite the peril. my body betrayed me, hips grinding against his hand, chasing the release even as fear spiked with every word from my brother.
''come on, open the damn door!'' gomez growled, rattling the knob. the wood creaked under the assault, but isaac held steady, his body a shield, fingers thrusting faster now, three fingers stretching my pussy wide, slick and obscene. tears streamed down my face, pleasure twisting with panic, my walls clamping down as the orgasm built inexorably.
i shook my head against his hand, pleading silently, but he just smirked, whispering, ''come for me, quiet now.'' the command tipped me over, waves crashed through me, pussy spasming around his fingers, cum gushing as i came hard, body convulsing silently against the wall. muffled sobs escaped into his palm, every nerve alight.
gomez cursed outside, footsteps retreating finally, grumbling about checking elsewhere. isaac eased his hand away, fingers still buried inside me, pumping lazily through the aftershocks. he licked his palm where i'd bitten him, eyes gleaming. ''good girl,'' he murmured, kissing my forehead. but he wasn't done, slowly, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to my lips. ''taste yourself.'' i did, sucking them clean, the salty tang mixing with our shared breath. the danger had only heightened everything, and as he unbuckled his belt, i knew ending this was farther away than ever.
he lifted me then, carrying me to the bed with ease, laying me down amid the tangled sheets that smelled of him. my dress was hiked up, panties discarded somewhere in the fray, and isaac stripped off his shirt, revealing the full glory of his toned body, muscles flexing as he loomed over me.
''we're not done talking,'' he said, but his voice was thick with need, hands parting my thighs wider. i should have protested, pushed him away, but the afterglow and the adrenaline kept me pliant, my pussy still twitching from his touch. his hands moved faster then my thoughts as he tore my dress of and he settled between my legs, cock hard and straining against his pants. he didn't rush though, instead, he kissed a trail down my body, lips lingering on my collarbone, un clipping my bra and sucking a nipple into his mouth until i arched off the bed.
his tongue swirled around the peak, teeth grazing just enough to sting, while his hands kneaded my hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. ''you think you can walk away?'' he asked between licks, moving lower, nipping at my stomach. ''after this? after us?'' the question hung, emotional undercurrent pulling at me even as desire flared anew.
i threaded my fingers through his hair, torn between pulling him up and pushing him down. ''isaac... gomez almost...'' but he silenced me with a kiss to my inner thigh, high enough that his breath ghosted over my sensitive folds. ''let me show you why we can't stop.''
he spread me open with his thumbs, exposing my dripping pussy to his gaze, and i flushed under the scrutiny. ''so beautiful,'' he murmured, before his tongue delved in, lapping at my entrance, tasting the remnants of my climax. i moaned, loud this time with gomez gone, hips lifting to meet his mouth. he sucked my clit gently, then harder, fingers, clean now, sliding back inside to fuck me in tandem. the dual assault was devastating, pleasure rebuilding swiftly, my body a live wire under his control. he hummed against me, vibrations sending shocks through my core, while his free hand pinned my thigh, keeping me spread.
minutes stretched into eternity, his oral attention thorough, tongue flicking and circling, fingers curling to massage my g-spot. i writhed, babbling incoherently, the emotional floodgates opening- ''i love you, but it's so hard'' -words spilling as he brought me to another peak. he didn't let up, chasing my orgasm until i came again, screaming his name into the pillow, pussy clenching around his fingers. only then did he rise, shedding his pants, cock springing free, thick, veined, tip glistening with pre-cum.
isaac positioned himself at my entrance, rubbing the head along my slit, teasing. ''say you want this,'' he demanded, eyes locked on mine, vulnerability peeking through the lust. ''say you won't leave," his voice coming out gentler, almost as if a plea. the moment hung, charged with everything unsaid.
''i want you,'' i whispered, pulling him down. he thrust in slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely, our groans mingling.
he paused, buried deep, forehead against mine. ''we'll figure it out. together.'' then he moved, hips snapping in a rhythm that was both tender and fierce, cock dragging against my walls with each plunge.
we fucked like that for what felt like hours, positions shifting, me on top, riding him with abandon, his hands guiding my ass; him behind, pounding into me from the rear, one hand fisting my hair. sweat slicked our skin, the room filled with the slap of flesh, my pussy gripping him tight as he chased his release.
''cum inside me,'' i begged, the taboo words slipping free, and he did, roaring as he filled me, hot spurts coating my insides. we collapsed, tangled and spent, his arms around me a promise against the storm outside.
but as dawn crept in, gomez's shadow loomed in my mind.
ending it? impossible now.
we'd sneak again, fight again, fuck again, bound by blood and desire, addams and night entwined forever.
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i.|MY LITTLE CREATION • isaac night x oc
chapter ii: then it is yours to know
master list part i
•a/n• soft isaac has me in an actual choke hold bro
•word count• 3k
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THE STEPS DOWNWARD from the lab were uneven and narrow, each one made with stone that had long since darkened with the breath of the underground. isaac's hand remained steady at her arm, guiding her, because iris's legs trembled under her own weight. she leaned into him with hesitant, jerky movements, each step an uncertain test of a body not yet accustomed to its own existence. her feet touched the stone as though the ground itself might not hold her, but he never let her falter; his hand was there, anchoring, his voice low, a constant thread woven through the dim silence of the stairwell.
"slowly," he murmured, adjusting his pace to hers. "the world waits for you, iris. there is no need to rush."
she breathed shakily, her words catching, halting as though she was learning them piece by fragile piece. "...warm. here. inside."
isaac's gaze flickered down to her, his brow tightening in that faint shadow of concern, though it softened almost instantly into fascination. "what kind of warmth?"
iris pressed her hand against her stomach, just beneath her ribs, her palm splayed awkwardly over the faint feelings inside. her eyes widened, as though astonished by her own body's response. "small... flutters," she whispered. "like... winged... creatures. small. soft." she tilted her head, the memory seeming to come from nowhere, as though pulled from some hidden well she had no conscious claim to. "like the... ones you spoke of. before."
he stilled at that, his steps pausing. the stairwell seemed to grow even quieter, the air holding still around them. his voice lowered, almost breaking apart in disbelief. "butterflies."
her lips parted on the word, repeating it softly, tasting its shape as though it was already hers. "but... ter... flies."
he swallowed hard, searching her face with something like awe threaded through the steady line of his features. "you weren't supposed to know that," he said quietly, almost to himself. "i spoke of them when you were still... nothing more than a thought. i whispered to you when there was nothing yet to hear me."
she blinked, confusion curling her expression. "then... why?"
isaac's hand smoothed more firmly along her arm, his thumb brushing over her skin in a motion both grounding and reverent. "i don't know," he admitted, voice raw with a reverence he rarely allowed himself. "perhaps you remember because you were always listening... even before you had ears to hear."
her brow furrowed, her voice splintering again into halting fragments. "why... do they come... every time..." her breath shivered, the words dragging like fragile glass across her tongue, "...your hands. touch."
for a moment, isaac's composure fractured. his chest tightened, his throat constricting at the weight of her words. he let out a slow, controlled breath, fingers lingering against her arm with the faintest tremor. "then they come because you are beginning to feel," he whispered, as though confessing a secret not meant for the air. "and perhaps... because you were made for me."
iris tilted her gaze up toward him, the pale light of the stairwell catching in her eyes like flecks of glass and water. she didn't speak, but the way she leaned against him, unsteady yet clinging, was answer enough.
they reached the base of the stairwell at last. the heavy door groaned as isaac pushed it open, leading her into the narrow corridor beyond. the air shifted, cooler, drier, and lined with the faint smell of dust and old stone. isaac's steps quickened, his grip at her waist pulling her gently closer to his side as he glanced down both ends of the hallway, ensuring its emptiness.
no voices, no footsteps, only the echo of their own breaths.
"quiet now," he murmured, his lips near her ear. "we must be unseen."
she nodded faintly, though she leaned even heavier against him, her body still learning how to carry itself. her head dipped toward his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury of feeling the fragile weight of her resting there.
he guided her swiftly through the hall, every shadow seeming sharper, every silence deeper, until at last they reached the wooden door that belonged to him alone. with a deft motion he slipped them inside, closing it soundlessly behind them. the chamber was small, private, his dormitory. books crowded the shelves, a desk was cluttered with stray notes, and the single bed stood near the window, sheets drawn tight with precision.
"here," he said softly, leading her across the room. he helped her lean against the edge of the bed, his hand steady at her arm until he was certain she would not collapse. even then, he did not step away.
iris tilted her face up to him, her breathing unsteady, her hand now pressed against her chest as though something inside her demanded her attention.
"it's... sudden," she whispered. "beating. so loud."
his eyes narrowed, soft with intrigue, with awe that bordered on hunger. "your heart," he said.
her brows drew together, her voice thin, broken. "it feels... beautiful." she lifted her palm more firmly over her chest, her eyes never leaving his face. "yours... does it too?"
for a moment, isaac could not move. her question, so simple, cleaved something deep inside him. slowly, carefully, he reached for her wrist, his gloved fingers curling with the gentlest precision, and guided her hand upward, pressing it against his chest. the steady rhythm pulsed beneath her touch, strong and unwavering.
her eyes widened, her lips parting as though the soundless realization filled her with something greater than words. "i... like yours," she whispered. "calming."
his chest rose with a quiet, unsteady breath. he lowered his gaze to her again, and his voice softened to something almost inaudible. "then it is yours to know, my little creation."
her hand lingered there, but then she turned her gaze up at him again, her expression shifting with hesitant wonder. "you... feel mine?"
his breath caught. the words struck something deep, something dangerous, and yet he could not deny her. his hand released hers only to move higher, his fingers brushing delicately over the inside of her wrist first, tracing the faint throb of her pulse there. he lingered, feeling the fragile rush beneath her skin, before sliding upward, pressing his palm against the frantic beat of her heart.
her chest rose beneath his touch, her skin burning warm against the cool leather of his gloves. the silence between them seemed to stretch, taut and trembling, the air heavy with something unspoken.
her lips parted, trembling. "you... make it fast."
his throat tightened, his hand lingering against her chest longer than it should, as though he could not yet bear to withdraw. but then, a low sound broke the silence, sharp and sudden: the growl of her stomach. iris startled faintly at the noise, her brows furrowing in confusion.
she pressed her free hand to her stomach, bewildered. "again. the sound... inside."
isaac let out a slow breath, drawing his hand back at last. "that," he said gently, "is hunger. your body asking for fuel. food."
she blinked, tilting her head, still pressing her palm against her abdomen. "hunger."
he stepped to his desk, pulling something from the small bowl that rested there, an apple, its skin shining deep red in the dim light. he returned to her, the fruit resting in his palm, and pushed it gently toward her. "this will quiet it."
her eyes lingered on the object, uncertain, her hands twitching with hesitance. isaac reached for her again, curling his fingers around her hand, lifting it slowly until he placed the apple in her palm. his hand did not release hers; instead he guided it, steadying her trembling fingers around the round weight.
"hold it," he whispered.
she obeyed, clumsy and tentative, lifting it slowly toward her mouth. her gaze flickered once toward his, as though silently asking permission.
he nodded, voice low. "take a bite."
the sound was soft, the crunch of teeth breaking through skin, the first taste flooding her mouth. her eyes widened, her lips wet as she chewed carefully, swallowing as though trying to understand what her body had done.
isaac watched her without blinking, his eyes tracing every shift of her mouth, every tremble in her throat as she swallowed. he looked as though he could devour the sight of her, as though it was more sustaining than any food he could claim for himself.
"do you like it?" he asked softly.
iris nodded slowly, chewing again. her words broke between bites, halting but certain. "you... like these. you ate them... when you were thinking."
isaac froze. the words struck like lightning, crawling under his skin with a mixture of wonder and unease. "you couldn't know that," he murmured, voice low, nearly breaking.
she only looked at him, her lips stained faintly with the apple's juice, her gaze wide and innocent.
he swallowed, his throat working as he forced steadiness into his voice. "then you will love them too."
iris paused, holding the apple close, her gaze never leaving his. her lips parted, her voice tender and slow, each word falling as though it carried the weight of something eternal.
"then i will love them too."
the words fell softly between them, fragile as a promise, or maybe as a hope. after she said it, the silence that followed wasn't empty, it seemed to fill the air instead, like the faint hum that lingers after music stops. isaac didn't answer right away. he only watched her, the dim lamplight catching the curve of her cheek and the faint tremor at the corner of her lips. something in his expression shifted, a flicker that might have been relief, or softness, or maybe both at once.
iris held the half-eaten apple between her fingers, the pale flesh gone brown where the air had touched it. she stared at it, the bite marks small and uncertain, and wondered why her chest felt so heavy when everything around her was quiet. maybe because she didn't fully understand what he meant, about loving them, about what any of this really was. and yet, when she looked at him, something deep in her chest seemed to settle, as though her body recognized him before her mind could.
"you don't have to," isaac murmured finally, his voice low and uneven. "you don't have to love them. not yet."
his eyes drifted down to his hands, fingers flexing as if remembering what they'd created. "just.." he exhaled slowly, "just live. that's enough for now."
she nodded, though she didn't understand why the words hurt a little. maybe because he said yet, and that meant he believed there was time, time she didn't even know how to measure.
the room had gone dim except for the faint glow of the lamp near the window. light rain still whispered against the glass, soft and endless. iris sat with her knees drawn close, the apple resting forgotten in her palm, while isaac leaned back slightly, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the shadows.
"strange," she said after a while. "how quiet it.. is."
"you'll get used to it," he replied. "quiet doesn't always mean empty."
his voice carried the calm of someone who had lived with silence for a long time, not as a burden but as a companion. and maybe that's what she felt in him: that kind of quiet, one that could hold you rather than crush you.
she turned the apple in her hand, watching how the faint light glimmered against its fading skin. "are.. you lonely isaac?" she asked softly.
isaac's gaze shifted toward her, and for a moment she thought he might not answer. but then, in that steady voice that always seemed to carry both weight and gentleness, he said, "all the time."
he smiled faintly, a small, almost invisible thing. "but then i remember i chose it."
iris frowned, trying to understand. "chose.. alone?"
"chose to stay," he corrected. "there's a difference."
something about the way he said it made her chest ache. there was a sadness in him, but it wasn't the kind that begged for pity. it was the kind that came from knowing too much, about the world, about yourself, and still choosing to remain.
she looked at him for a long time, quietly studying the lines of his face. there was something ancient in his eyes, something that didn't belong to the present moment. it made her wonder what kind of man he really was, the kind who built life from nothing, or the kind who was haunted by what he'd done to make it possible.
"isaac?"
he looked up.
"what am i to do?" she asked, almost whispering.
he blinked once, slowly. "you're doing it."
"here?"
"existing," he said. "breathing. asking questions. wondering things you don't have to." he paused, then added quietly, "that's what the living do."
her throat tightened. she didn't know why such simple words could make her feel so much. maybe because it was the first time hearing that just being was enough.
the apple slipped from her fingers onto the table. the sound was soft but seemed to echo through the room, like the last note of a song. isaac glanced down, then reached over and turned it in his hand, inspecting it as though it were something delicate and rare.
"you should eat more," he murmured. "you'll feel better."
she took it back, obediently, biting into the fruit again. the taste was faintly sour now, but she didn't mind. it grounded her, the sound, the texture, the motion of chewing. every small action felt deliberate, as though she were learning how to live moment by moment.
"isaac," she said again after a while. "why did.. did you make me?" her words stumbled but not completely, she was adapting.
his gaze flickered. she saw it, that small hesitation, the fraction of a heartbeat before he spoke.
"because i wanted to see if i could," he said first. but his voice faltered halfway through, and the words didn't sound right, even to him.
she tilted her head. "not the real reason."
he didn't deny it. he just sat still for a long while, the lamplight trembling faintly across his face. then he said, "no. it's not."
the quiet stretched again, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. it was filled with all the things he didn't say, things she could almost hear in the spaces between his breaths.
eventually, the apple was gone. she set the core aside, wiping her fingertips against the hem of her sleeve. her movements had grown slower, heavier, the edges of her awareness starting to blur.
"you're tired," isaac said gently, watching her eyes begin to lose focus. "you need rest."
she blinked a few times, her body swaying slightly. "rest..." she repeated, nodding. "i want rest."
"that's a good sign," he murmured, standing. "come on."
he offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation. his palm was warm, steady in a way hers wasn't. she followed him as he guided her toward the narrow bed near the far wall. it looked untouched, the blanket neatly folded, the pillow still bearing its sharp edges from being never used.
he helped her lay down onto the bed clumsily, her hands resting on her lap. he bent down slightly, just enough to hover gently over her. he didn't step away yet, though instead, he lingered by the edge of it as one hand absently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear while watching her half-lidded eyes struggle to stay open just a little longer.. for him.
"will you..." she started, her voice small, already fading into the edge of sleep, "will you stay?"
his hands paused, his nose taking a sharply hitched inhale of air.
there was something in the way she asked so softly, her voice giving a soft tremor of uncertainty, already half-lost to sleep yet still clinging onto him even now. his hand paused mid-motion where it had been brushing against your temple before he let out a quiet chuckle and lowered himself beside you on the bed instead of retreating back to his desk like he usually would have done.
so he nodded once, softly. "i'll stay."
her lips curved faintly, a fragile sort of relief settling over her. she shifted under the blanket, curling slightly toward him as he laid near the opposite edge of the bed.
the rain outside softened to a whisper, and the lamplight flickered one last time before it dimmed completely underneath isaac's eyes.
for a long while, neither of them moved. her breathing slowed, steady and even, her head drifting until it came to rest against his shoulder. he didn't move her away. instead, he sat still, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the faint movement of her eyelashes fluttering in dreams.
something in him changed then, something quiet but irreversible. maybe it was the way she trusted him without question. maybe it was the strange, unbearable warmth of her closeness, reminding him what he'd been missing for so long.
he let out a slow breath, lowering his gaze to her hand where it had fallen against his arm. the smallest touch, but it felt like a promise, or maybe a plea.
he stayed that way until her breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep, and even then he didn't move. the night stretched on, endless and still, and in that silence, isaac realized that for the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about what he had lost, only about what he had made, and what it meant to keep it safe.
he reached out once, brushing another stray lock of hair that had fallen on her face. his fingers lingered for just a moment, hovering close but not touching.
"sleep well, iris," he whispered.
and then, for the first time in a very long while, isaac let himself rest too.
i.|MY LITTLE CREATION • isaac night x oc
chapter i: the lonliness of isaac night
master list
•a/n• HIIIII we are so freaking back and hopefully for good this time. i am feeling so so excited about this book i had sm fun writing this chapter. i how you guys will enjoy it as much as i do
•word count• 3.3k
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ISAAC NIGHT had always lived in the periphery of things.
he was not a boy who disappeared in crowds, nor one who shone brightly enough to be seen. he lingered somewhere in between, an oddity among oddities, a shadow moving across the edges of nevermore academy. even in a school designed for outcasts, where the strange and the extraordinary thrived, isaac found himself misplaced. his classmates called him peculiar in ways they could not fully define, and that was perhaps the most isolating truth of all.
others had their clans, their tribes, their bonds formed by shared gifts and afflictions. isaac only had his mind. it was restless, obsessive, always unwilling to slow down. and he continuously had the burden of knowing it would never be enough.
he had francoise, of course, her sharp wit and dry patience acting as the tether that kept him from spinning off entirely into his own head. and there was gomez, too, loyal to a fault, eager to laugh at isaac's sardonic comments or help carry an armful of rusted machinery into his tower. but neither of them could meet him where he lived, not really. they existed in the orbit of his mind but never inside it, never able to share the electricity of the thoughts that consumed him late into the night.
and so loneliness became his inheritance.
he did not resent it, not always. solitude granted him freedom, and freedom meant invention. but on those nights when the sky pressed low and the wind whispered against the stones of nevermore, isaac felt the ache of it. he yearned, not for crowds, nor for companionship in the shallow sense, but for a mind that could mirror his own. for someone who might look at his contraptions and experiments not with confusion, or polite indulgence, but with understanding.
with hunger.
with the same fire he constantly burned deep down within him.
his sister had once been that for him, in fleeting, fractured ways.
her face lingered in memory the way lightning lingers after it splits the sky: bright, fierce, unforgettable. before the hyde, before the madness, she had been his truest confidante. they had spent long nights in hushed conspiracies, sketching inventions on the floor of their childhood home, pages torn from textbooks and scavenged scraps of paper spread out around them like offerings. she laughed at his wildest ideas, not because they were ridiculous but because she believed he could do them.
but her curse had taken over her now.
not entirely, not in the way death takes and never gives back, but in a way that carved a divide between who she had been and who she became. isaac devoted himself to her salvation, chasing remedies and concoctions, tinkering with serums and syringes in the hope of granting her moments of peace. he learned quickly that science could not erase the hyde, only quiet it. still, he worked. always, he worked.
but in the spaces between experiments for her, he turned to himself. to his own gnawing emptiness.
it was not enough to build machines, not anymore. not enough to mend broken engines or twist wires until sparks danced between his fingers. the thought had come to him slowly, quietly at first, like a shadow pooling in the corner of his mind: if life would not grant him a companion, then perhaps his science would.
and once the seed was planted, it consumed him.
he began his work in secret. even francoise, even gomez, would not understand. it was madness, surely, to dream of stitching life together from death. it was forbidden knowledge, the kind whispered about in darkened halls. yet isaac felt no fear of it. he had never believed in boundaries the way others did. science was not a cage; it was a key.
he set up his workshop in iago tower, that lonely crown of stone and iron that jutted against the sky. the space had once been a relic of old machinery, abandoned and dust-laden, but isaac claimed it as his sanctuary. rusted gears lined the walls, copper wires coiled like serpents across the tables, and scattered across every surface were his notebooks, dozens of them, pages filled with scribbled formulas and anatomical sketches.
and at the center of it all was the very table he intended to creat life on.
the table was iron, cold and unyielding, fitted with restraints that he had welded himself. above it hung a crude array of wires and conductors, the beginnings of the machine he would rely upon when the storm came. he had scavenged every piece: discarded lightning rods, scraps of steel from the maintenance sheds, glass tubes salvaged from broken lamps. each item had passed through his hands and been remade into something new, something necessary.
that was only the beginning. now with unsteady fingers and a heart that would not quiet, he reached for the one thing he had always longed for, life itself, waiting to be born beneath his hands.
he worked with precision, and with reverence.
he chose each piece with care, as though assembling a puzzle that only he could see the picture of. there were nights spent hunched over cadavers stolen from forgotten corners, hands steady as he examined the sinew, the bone, the fragile weave of vessels beneath skin. he was not careless in his theft, he took only what would not be missed, what would not upset the delicate balance of the dead.
the skin, pale and faintly green from the grip of decay, he stitched with patience. every seam was neat, every thread drawn tight enough to hold but not tear. he treated the body as an artist treats canvas, and each pass of the needle was a brushstroke toward perfection.
though the organs required greater care, still.
he could not simply place them haphazardly; the body was an orchestra, and each instrument had to be tuned. he studied the structure of the heart, tracing its chambers with a gloved finger before easing it into place within the ribcage he had so carefully mended. the lungs, delicate as paper, he handled like treasures, making sure the stitched alveoli would hold breath when breath returned.
and the brain, ah, the brain was his masterpiece.
others might have dismissed the notion, claiming that consciousness could not be forced into flesh stitched together. isaac did not agree. he believed in galvanism, in the electricity that pulsed beneath every living thing. he believed that if he carved the right pathways, if he aligned the synapses like constellations, then lightning could ignite thought itself. he treated the brain as sacred, soldering filaments of copper to its base, embedding tiny wires that would guide the surge of electricity.
piece by piece, night by night, the girl emerged beneath his hands.
he named her before she was ever alive: iris.
iris, like the flower that blooms against all odds. iris, like the part of the eye that opens to the light.
she would be his light.
his proof.
his companion.
the nights blurred together, endless hours spent in dim lamplight, the smell of formaldehyde and copper clinging to his clothes. he sewed and he soldered, he measured and recalculated. he spoke to her sometimes, softly, as though his words might seep into her bones before life did.
months, more than he could count had passed when at last the body was whole, dressed in borrowed clothes to hide the seams, isaac felt something stir within him that he had not felt in years.
the night the storm arrived thrummed through him, a fierce anticipation burning through him that seemed to crawl across his skin.
nevermore's skies had always been dramatic, prone to tempests that rattled windows and howled through the towers. but this was different. the air felt thick, charged with a kind of inevitability. thunder rolled like a warning, and lightning split the heavens in jagged streaks.
isaac prepared his machine.
he had constructed it to channel the storm, a crude but powerful conductor that funneled lightning from the rod atop the tower down into the wires wrapped around the table. clamps bit into iris's wrists and ankles, not as bonds but as channels, pathways for electricity to flood into her veins. glass tubes glowed faintly as they filled with energy, waiting for the moment of release.
the storm raged. isaac's pulse mirrored it.
when the first bolt struck the rod, he watched as the energy surged down the wires, snapping and crackling with hungry sparks. it coursed through the machine, into the table, into her. her body arched, fingers twitching violently as electricity surged through her veins. the scent of scorched flesh filled the air, but isaac did not flinch. his eyes were wide, fever-bright, fixed on her face.
another bolt struck, brighter, louder. the tower trembled with the force of it. iris convulsed, chest heaving as though fighting for air it did not yet have. the wires hummed, the machines groaned, and isaac's heart beat so hard he thought it might burst.
then silence.
the rain did not cease. it washed over the glass panes of iago tower in endless silver sheets, catching the lightning in brief, furious flashes. thunder rolled like a creature too large for the sky. inside the tower, every sound was different, softer, muffled beneath layers of stone, metal, and static hum. wires crackled. gauges trembled. light flared in brief breaths, illuminating the shadowed shape upon the table.
isaac stood just beyond the circle of lamplight, motionless. the air smelled of ozone and scorched leather. his gloves gleamed faintly, fingertips trembling where they met. every movement he made now felt sacrilegious, every inhale too loud in the stillness that followed the storm's climax. and yet, under the hush of the dying electricity, there was something else. something new.
a sound so faint he might have imagined it, the briefest catch of breath.
he drew closer, his eyes fixed on her chest, waiting for movement that might never come. for months he had envisioned this moment, mapped it out across hundreds of sleepless nights until his mind became little more than a theater of stitched images: organs suspended in pale fluid, bones catalogued by size and density, flesh sealed in careful threads of silver sutures. but now, faced with the reality of it, the magnitude settled over him like a shroud.
the body on the table, his creation, his dream, his sin, shifted. barely. a whisper of air left her lips and isaac froze.
then came the second breath. a full, desperate gasp, like the first exhalation of the earth after creation. a breath so harsh it was like she had been drowning and was just now coming up for air. her back arched slightly, every limb trembling under the ghost of electricity still weaving through her. isaac felt it, the tremor running down his own spine as though his veins were connected to hers.
her skin, once grey and cold as stone, caught the low light in a way it hadn't before. there was a faint glow beneath it now, not brightness but warmth, something living trying to remember what it felt like to exist.
her eyes opened.
they did not roll, but fluttered, with almost sudden, unnatural clarity. glassy, luminous, unanchored. they stared at the ceiling for a long, suspended moment before finding him.
isaac could not breathe.
"you're... alive," he whispered. the words escaped him like a confession, small and hoarse, reverent as prayer. "you're alive."
he stepped closer, slow, deliberate. his boots scraped softly against the cold metal floor. he had imagined greeting her in triumph, the exultation of a god who had outwitted death itself, but that feeling was gone. what replaced it was something far quieter, deeper. awe, yes, but threaded through with something dangerously close to tenderness.
her gaze followed his movement, uncertain, trembling slightly as if even the act of seeing was an effort. her hands twitched on the table, fingers curling and uncurling with delicate precision. the stitches at her wrist drew taut, dark pale lines across the greenish hue of her skin.
isaac reached out without thinking, his gloved hand hovering just above hers. he could feel the heat radiating now, faint but real. it was life, fragile and newborn, humming beneath his touch.
"you can hear me, can't you?" he said softly. "you can feel this."
no response came. only a faint widening of her eyes, a shiver down the length of her arm. her lips parted, but no sound emerged.
isaac's throat tightened. he withdrew his hand briefly, dragging in a slow breath to steady himself. he had to remember, she was not yet whole. this was no ordinary birth. this was the union of bone and wire, muscle and current, sewn together by obsession and will.
and yet... she was alive.
for a long while, the tower was silent except for the fading drip of rain through a crack in the ceiling. isaac moved around her slowly, his mind still half caught between disbelief and calculation. he adjusted the straps on her arms, then carefully loosened the clamps holding her in place. each motion felt symbolic, the release of a body from its confinement, the acceptance of what he had wrought.
as the final restraint fell away, she stirred. her hand lifted weakly into the air, fingers trembling like a newborn fawn trying to find its footing. isaac guided it down, his touch light but sure, guiding her movements with the precision of someone who had rehearsed this in his mind a thousand times.
"easy now," he murmured, half to her, half to himself. "you've been asleep for a long time."
she blinked. the sound of his voice seemed to ground her. it was as though something in the timbre of it, the calm, deliberate tone, resonated with whatever faint thread of consciousness had begun to take root.
the room flickered once more with lightning, and in that brief flash of silver, isaac saw her properly. her hair, dark, damp, clinging to her face, fell unevenly across her cheeks. the skin of her neck bore the faint shimmer of newly healed stitches, almost invisible now, but still clinging with a grey darkness. her chest rose and fell with quiet rhythm, uncertain but steady.
she was not perfect. he had known she wouldn't be. some of the seams were still visible, some patches too pale, too smooth. but there was a beauty in it that no living human could possess, a beauty that was entirely hers, a fragile masterpiece sculpted from ruin.
isaac allowed himself a small smile.
he had named her long before she ever existed. iris.
the name came to him on a night not unlike this one, when sleep had refused to come and he'd been staring at the reflection of his own weary face in the lab's darkened window. iris, the colored part of the eye, the bridge between sight and soul. the flower that bloomed in grief, soft and radiant even in mourning. it felt right. it felt human.
"iris," he said aloud, testing the name against the silence.
her eyes flicked toward him again, pupils tightening slightly, as if she recognized the word, or perhaps recognized herself in it.
isaac's heart stuttered.
"yes," he breathed, smiling faintly. "iris. that's you."
he could not have explained what it felt like to speak to her for the first time. the world outside the tower seemed to vanish. there was no thunder now, no rain, only the low hum of the machines and the sound of her faint, uneven breathing.
he wanted to say more. to explain everything, who he was, what she was, why he had done this, but the words would not come. they felt too heavy, too fragile to speak aloud. instead, he watched her. watched as her gaze moved around the lab, taking in the soft lights, the shelves of books, the steel instruments laid neatly across the counters.
the movement was small, tentative, but it was learning. she was learning.
isaac stepped closer again, his voice barely a whisper. "it's all right," he said. "you're safe here."
her head tilted at that, and the faintest sound left her throat, a quiet, broken hum that could almost have been the start of a word.
he froze.
then, very slowly, iris spoke.
her voice was soft, fragile, more vibration than sound, as though each syllable had to be pulled up from deep within her. "who..." she managed, the word breaking halfway through. "who are you?"
isaac stared, disbelief melting into something gentler, something like awe. he swallowed, then bent slightly so that their eyes were level.
"i'm isaac," he said softly. "your creator."
the word hung between them, not a declaration of power, but of connection. he waited for her to react, for fear or confusion or some trace of understanding. instead, she only blinked, gaze searching his face with quiet curiosity.
his lips twitched into a faint smile. "you can call me isaac," he added. "that's... that's all you need to know for now."
she seemed to consider that, as though the syllables of his name were something to turn over in her mind. then, after a long pause, she nodded once, the smallest, most human gesture imaginable.
isaac felt something tighten in his chest.
he had done it. not only life, but thought, reaction, will. all of it was here before him, fragile and unfinished but real.
he straightened, moving to fetch a blanket from the nearby shelf. when he returned, he draped it over her shoulders carefully. she flinched at the touch, startled, and he immediately drew back.
"cold," she whispered.
he blinked. "yes," he said quietly. "you'll feel that for a while. your body's still... adjusting."
she looked down at her hands, turning them slowly in the low light. they trembled slightly, not from fear, but from unfamiliarity. isaac watched as she traced one seam with a curious fingertip, following the line up to her wrist, her expression unreadable.
he could have told her then how he had chosen each piece, how he had traveled far beyond the academy grounds to gather what he needed, how he'd stitched her not from convenience but from intention. every muscle aligned with precision, every vein mapped by memory. he could have told her how he'd spent nights bent over blueprints until his hands bled, or how the sight of her unfinished form had filled him with both terror and devotion.
but he didn't. not yet.
instead, he simply said, "they're yours now. every part of you."
she looked at him again, brow furrowing faintly. "mine?"
"yes." he smiled, a small, trembling thing. "all of this... it belongs to you."
the silence stretched between them again, softer now, less like emptiness and more like the quiet before dawn.
outside, the rain began to fade into mist. the storm was dying.
isaac exhaled slowly, as if waking from a long dream. "come," he said gently, offering his hand. "let's get you on your feet."
iris hesitated, then placed her hand in his. her skin was warmer now, the faint tremor still there but steadier. he guided her carefully, mindful of every movement, every uncertain breath.
her legs trembled beneath her as she stood. she wavered, and for a brief second she leaned into him, just enough that he could feel her weight, light and fragile and entirely alive.
isaac caught her before she could fall, one hand steadying her arm, the other at her back.
she looked up at him then, and something in her gaze shifted, the confusion still there, but behind it, the faintest spark of trust.
and for the first time in years, isaac felt seen.
fuck you • isaac night
requested by anonymous on wattpad
enemy!isaac night x reader
summary: you and your coworker isaac are rivals to say, but what happens after the hidden sexual tension between you two finally breaks?
notes & warnings: dom!isaac, slight sub!isaac, hair pulling, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, slight degration, slight praise, rough sex, multiple positions. wrote this so quick so idk if it's that good.
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the fluorescent lights of the dimly lit office buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the cluttered desks. it was well past midnight, and the rest of the team had long since gone home, leaving only you and isaac night to finish the project deadline. isaac, with his sharp jawline, piercing brown eyes, and that perpetual scowl that made him look like he was plotting world domination, had been your nemesis since day one. he was the golden boy of the firm, brilliant, ambitious, and insufferably arrogant. every meeting turned into a battlefield where he'd undermine your ideas with his smug corrections, every email exchange a passive-aggressive war.
tonight was no different.
"you're wrong, y/n," isaac snapped, slamming a stack of reports onto the conference table. his dark hair was tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, his white button-up shirt clinging to his broad shoulders from the humid air. "if we implement your strategy, we'll tank the entire campaign. stick to what you know, fetching coffee."
your blood boiled. you'd poured hours into this plan, and he had the audacity to dismiss it like you were some intern. "oh, please," you shot back, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the floor. "your precious ideas are outdated and boring. at least mine have some innovation. if you weren't so busy stroking your own ego, you'd see that."
he stepped closer, invading your space, his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and spic,filling your nostrils. at 6'0", he towered over your 5'6" frame, but you refused to back down, tilting your chin up defiantly. "innovation? that's code for reckless. you're going to get us both fired with your half-baked bullshit."
the argument escalated, voices rising until you were inches apart, breaths mingling in the charged air. his eyes locked onto yours, a storm brewing in those depths, anger, yes, but something else flickering beneath, something raw and unspoken. you'd always hated how attractive he was, even when you wanted to throttle him. those full lips curled in a sneer, but they looked so damn kissable.
"you think you're better than me?" you hissed, shoving his chest. he didn't budge, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. the touch sent a jolt through you, electric and unwelcome.
"i know i am," he growled, but his grip tightened, pulling you closer instead of pushing away. the heat radiating from his body made your skin prickle. for a split second, the office faded, the reports, the deadline, the rivalry, all drowned out by the pounding of your heart.
then, without warning, his mouth crashed against yours. it wasn't gentle; it was a clash of teeth and fury, his lips bruising yours as he kissed you like he was punishing you. you gasped into it, shock melting into a fire you'd denied for months. your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you kissed back just as hard, biting his lower lip until he groaned.
he released your wrist only to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, angling your head to deepen the assault. you tasted the faint bitterness of coffee on his tongue as it invaded your mouth, demanding surrender. part of you screamed to stop, this was isaac, your enemy, but the larger part, the one fueled by pent-up rage and desire, pushed him toward the table, needing to dominate as much as submit.
"fuck you," you muttered against his lips, even as your body arched into him.
"that's the plan," he rasped, spinning you around and pressing your hips against the edge of the table. his hands roamed down your sides, rough and possessive, hiking up your skirt with zero finesse. you felt his hardness grinding against your ass through his slacks, thick and insistent, making your core clench with anticipation.
you twisted in his grasp, shoving him back until he hit the chair, dropping into it with a surprised grunt. straddling his lap, you ground down against the bulge in his pants, eliciting a low curse from him. "not so fast, night. you don't get to call all the shots."
his eyes darkened, hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. "then what do you want, y/n? to keep fighting? or to finally shut up and fuck?"
the words ignited something primal. you leaned in, nipping at his earlobe before trailing kisses down his neck, sucking hard enough to bloom a red mark. he shuddered beneath you, his cock twitching against your heat. your fingers worked at his shirt buttons, popping them open to reveal toned abs dusted with a trail of dark hair. you raked your nails down his chest, drawing a hiss from him.
"both," you whispered, sliding off his lap to kneel between his legs. the carpet bit into your knees, but you ignored it, focused on the prize. his belt buckle clinked as you undid it, zipper following suit. he lifted his hips, helping you tug his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock.
it sprang out, thick and veined, the head already glistening with pre-cum. you wrapped your hand around the base, stroking firmly as you met his gaze. his breath hitched, that arrogant mask cracking. leaning forward, you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, savoring the salty taste. he groaned, hand fisting in your hair, not pulling, just holding, as you took him into your mouth.
you sucked him deep, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around the underside. he was big, stretching your lips, but you took it, bobbing your head with deliberate rhythm. "shit, y/n," he panted, hips bucking slightly. you hummed around him, the vibration making him curse again. one hand braced on his thigh, the other pumped what your mouth couldn't reach, saliva slicking the way.
he watched you through hooded eyes, the anger still there but twisted into lust. "you hate me, but you suck cock like you were made for it." his words were a taunt, but his voice was wrecked, betraying him.
you pulled off with a pop, glaring up at him. "shut up and enjoy it." then you dove back in, taking him to the back of your throat, gagging slightly but pushing through. he moaned, head falling back, fingers tightening in your hair. you worked him relentlessly, alternating suction and licks, until his thighs tensed and he warned, "i'm close-"
but you stopped, standing abruptly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. his frustrated growl was music to your ears. "not yet. my turn."
he didn't argue, hauling you up and onto the table, papers scattering like confetti. your skirt bunched at your waist as he yanked your panties down, tossing them aside. he dropped to his knees, spreading your thighs wide, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air. "look at you," he murmured, voice rough. "so wet from hating me."
before you could retort, his mouth was on you. tongue flat and broad, he licked from entrance to clit, lapping at your folds like a man starved. you cried out, hands flying to his hair, holding him in place. he devoured you, sucking your clit between his lips, flicking it with precise strokes. two fingers plunged inside you, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
"isaac..fuck," you gasped, hips rolling against his face. he growled into your pussy, the vibration sending shocks through you. he ate you out with the same intensity he argued with, fierce, unrelenting, adding a third finger to stretch you, thumb circling your clit when his mouth moved to suckle your inner thighs.
the pressure built fast, your body coiling tight. he sensed it, doubling down, tongue thrusting in alongside his fingers. "come on my face," he demanded, muffled against you. it was the command that tipped you over, orgasm crashing through you, walls clenching around his fingers as you soaked his chin.
he lapped you through it, not stopping until you were trembling, oversensitive. rising, he wiped his mouth with his forearm, eyes blazing. "taste yourself," he said, kissing you deeply, letting you lick your essence from his lips.
the kiss turned frantic again, clothes shed in a blur, your blouse ripped open, bra unhooked, his shirt discarded. naked now, skin slick with sweat, he lifted you off the table, turning you to bend over it. your breasts pressed against the cool wood, ass up as he positioned behind you.
his cock nudged your entrance, teasing. "beg for it," he said, voice low and dangerous.
"fuck you," you replied, but pushed back, trying to take him.
he chuckled darkly, holding your hips still. "that's not begging."
anger flared anew, mixing with need. "please, isaac. fuck me. hard."
he didn't make you wait. thrusting in one smooth motion, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching your pussy around his girth. you moaned, the fullness overwhelming. he set a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping against your ass, balls slapping your clit with each drive.
"this what you wanted?" he grunted, hand coming down on your cheek in a sharp smack that made you yelp, and clench around him. "to be fucked like the enemy you are?"
"yes.. harder," you demanded, bracing against the table. he obliged, pounding into you, one hand wrapping around to pinch your nipple, the other rubbing your clit. the dual assault had you seeing white, pleasure-pain blurring into ecstasy.
he moved his hand to pull your hair, arching your back, changing the angle to hit deeper. "you're so tight, y/n. gripping me like you never want to let go."
you came again, sudden and shattering, pussy fluttering around his cock. he didn't stop, fucking you through it until you were limp, then pulled out, flipping you onto your back.
"not done," he said, climbing onto the table, settling between your legs. missionary now, face to face, the intimacy at odds with the roughness. he slid back in slowly this time, eyes locked on yours as he rolled his hips, grinding deep.
the shift was intense, anger simmering into something hotter, more personal. you wrapped your legs around his waist, nails digging into his back as he thrust steadily, building you up again. his mouth found your breast, sucking the nipple hard, teeth grazing.
"isaac," you whimpered, the sound foreign on your tongue.
he groaned, pace quickening. "say it again."
"isaac- oh god-"
he captured your lips, kissing softer now, but the thrusts remained punishing. sweat dripped from his brow onto your skin, bodies sliding together slickly. tou met every movement, hips lifting to take him deeper.
the third orgasm built slower, a tidal wave. he reached between you, thumb on your clit, circling. "come with me," he ordered, voice strained.
you shattered, crying his name as he followed, cock pulsing, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. he collapsed onto you, both panting, hearts racing in sync.
finally spent, he slipped out, rolling you to face him. the office was a mess, clothes strewn, table askew, but neither cared. he grabbed his discarded shirt, using it to gently clean between your legs, wiping away the evidence of your passion with surprising tenderness.
"you okay?" he asked, voice soft, eyes searching yours. the arrogance was gone, replaced by concern.
you nodded, a small smile tugging your lips. "yeah. that was... intense."
he chuckled, pulling you into his chest, wrapping arms around you. "understatement. i've wanted to do that since the day we met."
surprised, you looked up. "what? you've always hated me."
"hate and want aren't mutually exclusive," he admitted, brushing hair from your face. "especially with you. you're infuriating, and brilliant."
warmth bloomed in your chest, the rivalry fracturing into something new. you snuggled closer, his heartbeat steady under your ear. "truce?"
"for now," he teased, kissing your forehead. "but don't think this means i'll go easy on you at work."
you laughed, the sound light in the quiet office. as dawn crept in through the windows. whatever came next, arguments, projects, life, it would be different now, charged with this secret heat.
but for the moment, in the afterglow, it was perfect.
Hi girl!
Would love to request Isaac Night x gf reader.
(Y/N' s ability is "superhuman pattern recognition and abstract reasoning" she can “see” how things connect people, plans, numbers, words, emotions like a visual blueprint in her mind. She's very good at arts and sience 'cos of that)
So one night Y/N was feeling bad, her mind was full of everything, so to tune it a little bit off she decided to go to Lago tower, maybe Isaac will give her some hard equasion. So she went there completely exhausted and found Isaac writing some long numbers on a chalkboard. She stopped silently beside him and tooke a brief look at the numbers then took chalk from Isaacs hand and started solving the equasion. It took her 3 minutes to do that. Then she just collapsed onto Isaac's working bench holding her head in her hands. And Issac? Totally smitten. He was in love with her and her mind. And his mechanical heart ached to see her in pain. So he was fluffy and thanked her. And he wanted to take her mind off of everything....so he was like focus on me and they make out😁
Ammm....hope it's ok, tell me what you think I NEED SPICY FLUFF
ask and you shall receive 😛
the equation of us • isaac night
boyfriend!issac night x reader
summary: after a sleepless night overwhelmed by the constant noise of her superhuman mind, y/n finds herself at isaac's tower, where a shared equation turns into quiet understanding and a steamy makeout.
notes & warnings: this is my first story request here and omg omg does it make me happy! also i absolutely loved this idea, so hope i wrote it to what you'd like. soft!isaac, kissing, fluff.
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i could see the patterns again.
they came in bursts when my mind got too crowded, strings of light, threads of meaning that tangled through the air, weaving themselves between numbers, sounds, words that people didn't even know they were saying. everything connected. everything always connected. sometimes it was beautiful. sometimes it was unbearable.
tonight, it was unbearable.
the city was quiet outside my window, but my head was loud. equations, half-finished sketches, emotional blueprints of people i'd passed in the hallway, all of it humming, overlapping, too much for one mind to hold. i pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to stop seeing. it didn't work.
so i did what i always did when i needed to quiet the noise, i went to lago tower.
isaac would be there.
he was always there.
the elevator hummed softly as it carried me up the endless steel shaft, its walls reflecting my tired face. the digital panel flickered between floors like a heartbeat. i hadn't told him i was coming, i never really had to. there was something about isaac night that always felt... open. like he was waiting for me even when he didn't know it.
when the doors slid open, the familiar scent of oil and ozone drifted in, a mix of metal, electricity, and the faint sweetness of the tea he always forgot to finish. the lab lights were low, the world outside a blur of dark blue through the windows. he was there, of course, standing by the chalkboard with his sleeves rolled up, scrawling numbers in looping, elegant strokes.
for a moment i just watched him.
his hair was a little messy, a strand falling into his eyes, his mechanical wrist glinting as it caught the light. he looked so alive in his own world, utterly focused, completely still, like a storm pretending to be calm.
then he noticed me.
"you're here late," he said softly, voice low, like it had been waiting.
"couldn't sleep," i murmured, stepping closer.
his gaze flicked over me, taking in my expression, my trembling hands. i saw the faint crease of worry in his brow. "the noise again?"
i nodded. "too many connections. i thought maybe... if i worked on something, it'd quiet down."
he hesitated, then stepped aside, gesturing to the half-filled board. "then help me. i was just trying to simplify the energy transfer equation for the core prototype, but it's-"
i didn't let him finish. my eyes had already caught the flow of symbols.
they lit up in my mind like constellations, every variable, every function mapping into place. i reached for the chalk still in his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles. i felt the faint hum beneath his skin, the warmth of his human pulse meeting the quiet thrum of the mechanical circuits beneath.
he froze for just a second as i took the chalk, and then i began to write.
the pattern unfolded fast, too fast. numbers spilled into letters, letters into motion. i didn't even have to think, i could see it. the answer, the balance, the way everything aligned. it took three minutes, maybe less, before the solution resolved into a single elegant line.
when it was done, i dropped the chalk. it clattered against the bench. my head felt heavy, the glow in my mind fading to ash.
i leaned forward, hands pressed to my forehead, trying to breathe through the sudden emptiness that always followed moments like this.
then i felt him move closer.
"hey," isaac said quietly, voice rough with something that wasn't just concern. "you okay?"
i nodded weakly, though i wasn't. "just... tired. it's like all the lines burn out at once."
he reached out, fingers brushing against my arm before settling carefully on my shoulder. his touch was warm, impossibly warm.
"you shouldn't push yourself like that."
"i needed it," i whispered, eyes still closed. "the noise was too much. this helped."
he was quiet for a moment. i could feel his gaze on me, steady, searching. and then, a soft sound, the kind he only made when he couldn't find the right words.
"you're incredible, you know that?"
i looked up slowly. his eyes met mine, dark and burning softly in the dim light.
"no," i said, smiling faintly. "just complicated."
"complicated," he murmured, "is beautiful."
the way he said it, it wasn't teasing. it wasn't even admiration exactly, though it was. it was raw, reverent, like he'd just confessed something he wasn't supposed to feel.
and suddenly i realized how close we were.
his hand was still on my shoulder, his other braced against the bench beside me. the glow from the monitors cast faint light across his jaw, his throat, the metal veins beneath his skin. there was a softness to his expression, something almost humanly fragile.
"isaac," i whispered.
"mm?"
"you're staring."
he smiled faintly. "can you blame me?"
i laughed under my breath, but it came out shaky. my pulse was loud now, louder than the noise in my mind had ever been.
he took a slow step closer, his hand sliding from my shoulder to the side of my face. "when you walked in," he murmured, "you looked like the answer to every question i've ever written on that board."
i blinked, my throat tightening. "isaac..."
"you're always trying to make sense of everything," he said softly, thumb brushing against my cheek. "but you don't have to, not with me."
the air between us trembled. i could see the pattern again, only this time, it wasn't numbers. it was him. the way his heart sped up when i looked at him. the slight tremor in his voice. the pull between us that didn't need any kind of logic to exist.
"then tell me what to focus on," i whispered.
his breath caught.
"me," he said, voice barely above a murmur. "just me."
he leaned in, slow enough for me to pull away if i wanted to, but i didn't. i closed the distance, meeting him halfway.
the first touch of his lips was tentative, almost experimentalc as if he was still figuring out the equation of it. but then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and it deepened. not rough, not rushed, just real. his mouth was warm, steady, coaxing.
his lips parted mine with a gentle insistence, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth in a silent invitation. i opened to him, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the faint electric hum i felt buzzing from his skin. It was like kissing a storm, contained, controlled, but alive with potential.
my hands slid up from his shirt, fingers threading into the soft strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. he responded with a low sound, almost a hum, vibrating against my lips as he tilted his head to deepen the angle. jis thumb stroked along my jawline, a feather-light touch that grounded me even as my pulse raced. the world narrowed to this: the press of his body against mine, not demanding but present, the way his free hand settled at my waist, fingers splaying wide to pull me just a fraction closer.
heat bloomed in my chest, spreading like sunlight through fog, chasing away the last remnants of my overthinking. his kisses varied now, soft nips at my lower lip, followed by a slow, lingering sweep of his tongue that made my breath hitch. i mirrored him, tasting that unique blend of mint freshness and the subtle spark of static, like biting into a charged summer air. it wasn't overwhelming; it was intoxicating, drawing me in deeper, making me forget the boundaries between us.
he shifted slightly, his knee nudging between mine as my back leanes against the table, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth building between us. his hand at my waist tightened just enough to send a spark of awareness through me, not urgent, but enough to make my skin tingle. i arched into him instinctively, my body seeking more of that connection, the steady rhythm of his mouth on mine syncing with the quickened beat of my heart.
when he pulled back again, it was only to trail his lips along my jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "better?" he whispered, his voice a warm rumble that sent goosebumps racing across my arms.
i nodded, words failing me as i turned my head to capture his mouth once more. this kiss was hungrier, our breaths coming faster, but still laced with that tenderness that defined him. his fingers traced lazy circles on my back, soothing and igniting all at once, while mine clutched at his shoulders, feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath the fabric.
eventually, we slowed, foreheads resting together, lips brushing in feather-light touches that promised more without rushing toward it. in that moment, with his electric essence humming softly against my skin.
"you did it," i whispered. "you shut it all off."
his hand traced small, absent circles along my back. "good. then i'll keep doing it."
i smiled, eyes closed. "you can't promise that."
"watch me."
his voice was low, teasing, but there was something real beneath it, something that sounded a lot like love, even if neither of us said it aloud.
the rain had started outside, soft and rhythmic against the tower's windows. the chalk on the board still glowed faintly in the dim light, the perfect equation, finished and quiet.
"you know," isaac murmured after a long moment, "the answer you wrote... it wasn't just right. it was elegant. almost too perfect."
"you're saying that like it's a bad thing."
"no," he said softly. "i'm saying i think it was about more than the math."
i tilted my head, meeting his gaze again. "what do you mean?"
"maybe you weren't solving my equation," he said. "maybe you were solving us."
i laughed quietly, but my chest ached. "you're such a scientist, cheesy."
"and you're my favorite anomaly."
the words hung between us, warm and tender. i didn't answer. i didn't have to. instead, i reached up, brushed the hair from his eyes, and kissed him again, just once, soft and lingering, until everything around us blurred into stillness.
the patterns didn't return that night.
whispers of a broken heart • isaac night
requested by anonymous on wattpad
boyfriend!isaac night x reader
summary: you thought you knew the boy you loved, until a hidden truth changes everything. in the quiet moments between life and loss, you cling to him, holding on when time itself seems to slip away.
notes & warnings: extremely fucking sad, soft!isaac, dying!isaac, mentions of death, small mentions of blood. lowk almost cried writing this bc i had the great idea to listen to adrianne lenker during it, i do NOT recommend.
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THE FIRST TIME you noticed something was wrong with isaac, it was subtle, almost laughably so if it weren't so unsettling. you'd walked into the brand new dorm lounge that evening, your bag slung lazily over one shoulder, hair half-tangled from the breeze outside. isaac was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, tinkering with one of his little mechanical projects, the tiny gears clicking softly in rhythm with the faint crackle of the fire. he looked up and smiled at you, warm, tender, that smile you'd known for four years, the one that made your heart stutter even after all that time.
"hey, dove," he said, and it was so soft, so affectionate, that your chest fluttered.
"hey," you answered, dropping your bag and sliding down next to him. his hand found yours instinctively, thumb brushing over knuckles. it was a touch so familiar, so safe, that you didn't even need to ask how his day had been.
"you're cold," he said casually, eyes darting down to your hand. "have you been outside too long?"
"maybe," you said, smiling. "but you always manage to keep me warm."
he laughed softly, but there was something odd in it, a faint hitch, almost imperceptible. you didn't say anything, because maybe you were imagining it. he was always dismissive of little aches or fatigue, brushing them off with a shrug or a joke about stress or lack of sleep.
the next week, you noticed it again. he'd been more tired than usual, his hand hovering over his chest once or twice before he buried it in his pocket. one evening, while you two were sitting on the balcony overlooking the city, he coughed, light, restrained, like he didn't want you to hear.
"you okay?" you asked, worry pricking your chest.
"just a cold," he replied, the usual shrug that usually settled you, but now didn't. something in the way he avoided your eyes made your stomach twist.
but then, the day everything broke.
you were walking down the corridor after your last class, backpack heavy, thoughts drifting to the sandwich you were planning to eat before heading to the library. the hallway was mostly empty, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the lockers casting long shadows across the tile. and then, there it was, his voice, soft, but urgent.
"gomez, i... i don't know how much longer i can last," he was saying, voice barely above a whisper. "my heart... it's failing. there's nothing i can do to fix it. don't tell y/n. please, she... she doesn't need to know."
your feet froze.
your chest felt as if it had been hollowed out. your stomach lurched, and a strangled noise rose in your throat, a sharp, silent sob that you pressed a trembling hand over before anyone could hear. tears burned at your eyes, blurring the fluorescent light into a soft, harsh glow. your heart shattered into a thousand impossible pieces in that moment, each shard cutting deeper than the last.
you stood there for the remainder of the day in a fog, your classes a blur, your hand clutching books you weren't reading. every second stretched out, torturously slow, your mind replaying his words over and over. "my heart... it's failing. don't tell y/n." the very idea that he was suffering, that he hadn't told you, your isaac, made your chest ache as though someone had gripped it in iron fingers.
finally, the day ended, dragging itself to a close like a wounded animal. you barely waited for the last bell to ring, racing across the campus, skipping hurriedly through familiar streets as your heart beat painfully in your chest. the thought of him alone in his dorm, unaware that you now knew, drove you faster. you practically burst through his dorm door, the metal pieces clicking shut behind you.
"isaac?" you called, your voice shaking, and the tears came in a flood the second he appeared. his head lifted, eyes wide with surprise, immediately scanning your tear-streaked face.
"y/n... what's wrong?" he asked, concern sharpening his tone, taking cautious steps toward you. but you didn't answer. instead, you threw yourself into him, burying your face into his chest, one hand pressing over his heart. it was just as warm, just as steady in it's beat, but you knew the truth.
"why didn't you tell me?" you whispered, voice choked with tears. "isaac... your heart... you..."
he closed his eyes, and for a moment, you felt the quiet, heartbreaking weight of his own pain. he cupped your face with trembling hands, lips brushing against your hair. "dove... i wanted to. i... i didn't want you to worry. i couldn't... i couldn't bear it if you saw me like this."
tears blurred your vision, sliding down your cheeks as you clung to him. "i can't... i can't just watch you suffer, isaac," you breathed, pressing your forehead against his. "please... please let me help."
he swallowed hard, a shiver running through him. "there's nothing to help with... not anymore. my heart... it's... failing. i've tried everything, dove. everything. but this... this one thing... i can't fix."
you stayed like that for hours that night, wrapped around him, murmuring soft reassurances and promises you weren't sure would be kept. your hands traced his face, memorizing the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his hair fell into his eyes. every sigh, every small tremble of his body made you ache in a way that words could never convey.
the first few days after that revelation blurred into an aching haze. you never left his side once you arrived in his dorm each time, sitting on the edge of his bed while he leaned back against a mountain of pillows, frail and hesitant. he insisted he could manage on his own, tried to brush your insistence aside, but you ignored the protests. your hands hovered over him constantly, tucking stray hairs behind his ears, brushing at his lips with a thumb when he absentmindedly rubbed at his mouth from fatigue.
"dove..." he whispered one afternoon, eyes half-lidded, the usual spark of mischief dimmed, "you don't need to-"
"i need to, isaac," you said softly, voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm. "i can't just... sit back and watch you hurt like this."
he tried to smile, but it faltered halfway through, replaced by a faint wince. "i'm... okay. really."
"no," you replied, shaking your head, tears brimming. "you're not okay. not like this. i can feel it. please..." your voice cracked as you leaned closer, brushing your lips against his temple in a quiet gesture of love and desperation. "let me help you bear this, even if it's just... a little."
the days became a rhythm of small, intimate chores. you would bring him meals, carefully prepared to be easy on him, sitting beside him as he nibbled at the food. sometimes he would choke on the taste, coughing lightly, and you would immediately press a hand to his back, murmuring reassurance.
"it's alright, dove," he would say weakly, but you didn't believe him. you had memorized every micro-expression, every tremor of his fingers, the subtle hollowness in his eyes.
"no, isaac," you whispered once, brushing at the damp of his forehead with a cool cloth. "look at me. please. you can't lie to me."
he swallowed hard, his throat dry. "i... i don't want to worry you."
"but i already know," you said, voice soft yet firm, as though the act of speaking it aloud might ground both of you. "and it doesn't matter. i'm here, isaac. i'm here."
some afternoons were easier than others, though "easy" was a relative term. he would rest against your shoulder, eyelids heavy, and you would read aloud from your schoolwork or the novels you loved, careful not to let your voice shake as you recounted the passages. he would sometimes drift into sleep mid-sentence, one hand feebly curling around yours. and when he slept, you stayed, watching, memorizing, pressing tiny kisses into the back of his hand or along the nape of his neck, wishing, always wishing, that there were a way to take the pain from him.
other days were crueler. a coughing fit would wrack his chest, leaving faint traces of blood on the tissues you hurriedly pressed against his lips. your own hands shook as you cleaned him up, murmuring constant reassurances that he couldn't hear or, if he did, he half ignored them. wanting to pretend like he wasn't sick.
he had swallowed, voice breaking. "i... i'm trying... for you."
"you don't have to try for me," you whispered fiercely, leaning close, letting your forehead rest against his. "you just have to let me be here. let me love you through this, the way you've loved me all these years."
and the nights were worse.
the darkness seemed heavier in his room, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long, trembling shadows across his pale face. he would often wake in the middle of the night, shivering or clutching his chest. you would hold him tightly, murmuring soft lullabies he had always loved, your voice breaking with every word.
"shh... i'm here, isaac. always," you whispered, pressing your lips to his temple, brushing back hair that had fallen across his face. "you're not alone, not ever, my boy."
"i... i know..." he would rasp, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "but it hurts... so much."
"i know," you said, your own tears spilling freely now. "i know it hurts, but i'm here. let me hold you. let me carry some of it, just for a moment."
he would nod against you, clutching your arm with trembling fingers, and you would hold him through the pain, counting breaths, humming softly, letting the hours pass in silence filled only with whispered promises and the steady sound of your shared heartbeats.
some days, you would coax him to eat more, though he often refused, claiming he wasn't hungry. you would tease him gently, brushing your fingers against his cheek.
"isaac, i know you're lying about not being hungry," you'd say, tone playful but tender. "you've got to eat something... for me."
"for... you?" he would whisper, voice thin. a faint smile would tug at his lips, a fragile spark of the boy you had loved for so long.
"for me," you confirmed, kissing the tip of his nose, a soft, lingering press. "i need you strong enough to annoy me tomorrow."
he would laugh weakly, a sound so small yet it felt like sunlight in the gloom, and for a few moments, the world outside your shared bubble of despair didn't exist.
but the weakness returned quickly. weeks went by, and the sickly pallor of his skin grew more permanent. he spent entire days in bed, unable to work, unable to move freely. you would sit for hours, hands folded over his chest, listening to the faint rhythm of his heartbeat, tracing the rise and fall of his shoulders, whispering every mundane detail of your day into the quiet room.
"and then in chemistry," you'd say one afternoon, "i mixed the reagents completely wrong, and the whole thing nearly bubbled over. mr. holloway nearly exploded, and i swear... it was chaos. you would have laughed."
he would smile faintly, eyes half-lidded. "i... wish i could have been there," he rasped.
"you're here now," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "and that's more than enough."
sometimes, when he would drift to sleep mid-story, and you would continue, quietly, so he could hear the cadence of your voice even in dreams. other times, he would attempt to speak, whispering a single word or half a sentence, and you would lean close, waiting, nodding, wiping the tears from his cheeks.
"my dove... i-" he would start, voice failing him.
"shh," you would hush gently. "rest, isaac. just rest."
as his condition worsened, the bedridden days turned into every day. the hospital became your second home. every day, you drove the thirty minutes from nevermore to sit by his side, arms wrapped around him as he lay pale and fragile in the bed, tubes and monitors framing him like some cruel diorama of mortality. you spoke constantly, telling him about school, the work you were doing, the small triumphs and failures of your day, hoping some of the life from your stories would infuse his failing body with strength. the doctors admitted that there was nothing left to do, that the heart that had always been his could not be repaired.
sometimes, his fingers would twitch to reach for yours. he would grab it, pressing it against his chest.
"you hear that, dove?" he would rasp one day, his lips barely moving. "that's... that's my heart. still... for you.
you would nod, pressing your forehead to his, tears flowing freely now.
and then there was that fateful day, your heart had known it long before your mind could admit it. you entered the hospital room with a tightness in your chest, the kind that made every step toward him a struggle, as though the floor itself resisted your approach. the room smelled faintly of antiseptic, that sterile sharpness mingling with the soft, lingering scent of him, his shampoo, the faint musk of his skin, the faint perfume of the blanket he had been wrapped in, warm and familiar. it was comforting and cruel all at once, reminding you that he was here but already slipping away.
he lay on the crisp white sheets, frailer than you had ever seen him, the tubes and monitors forming a cruel, metallic cage around him. his hair fell over his forehead in soft, errant strands, catching the light from the window and turning almost a dark silver in the morning sun. the quiet beeping of the heart monitor was steady but slow, so very slow, and every breath he drew seemed a monumental effort, like pulling air through water. you felt it in your chest, the raw, aching knowledge that each inhalation could be one of the last he would take.
you choked back the first surge of tears, forcing your legs to carry you across the room, each step heavy with dread. when you reached the bed, you climbed in beside him, wrapping yourself around him as naturally as if he were still the strong, vibrant boy who had held you for the past four years. his hand stirred weakly, fingers trembling as they brushed against your hair. you leaned closer, pressing your cheek to the softness of his scalp, inhaling him, the warmth, the faint tang of medicine, the subtle notes of him that had always been yours.
"my dove..." his voice was just above a whisper, fragile, hoarse, yet full of the love you had lived for four years. "you're here."
you couldn't speak. your lips trembled against his shoulder as tears fell freely, soaking the fabric of his shirt, and his hand found yours with a flickering, unsteady strength. he tried to brush the tears from your face, but you let them fall, letting them mark you both, evidence of the unbearable reality you were trapped in.
"i... i'm... so scared," you whispered against him, your voice breaking. "i can't... i can't lose you, isaac... please don't leave me."
he coughed lightly, a wet, painful sound that made your chest twist. you rubbed at his back instinctively, murmuring soft, wordless murmurs as your lips pressed again to the top of his head. after a moment, he lifted a trembling hand to the back of your head, trying to tilt it up, your faces inches apart. his eyes, watery and red-rimmed, locked with yours. "i... dove... i need... one last thing," he rasped, voice barely audible. "could... could you... sing for me? just one more time?"
your breath caught, tears stinging your eyes. "i... i can, isaac," you whispered, shaking, clutching his hand as you pressed your cheek against it. "anything you want, isaac. just tell me what you want to hear."
"anything," he murmured, voice weak and hoarse. "just... sing... for me... like you used to... please."
and so you sang. your voice cracked at first, choked with tears, barely a whisper, but you kept going, drawing on every fragment of strength you had. the melody was soft, trembling, winding around the sterile walls of the room, filling the empty spaces with something warm, alive, though both of you knew it would not be enough to stop the inevitable. you traced his hands with your fingers as you sang, memorizing the frail bones and quivering veins, the way his pulse fluttered weakly beneath your touch.
he whispered small things between the notes, words of love and memory, "my dove... always... my dove... never... leave... me..." and each word tore into your heart like glass. you pressed your forehead to his, murmuring in time with your song, rocking slightly as if swaying could keep him steady. "i'm here, isaac... i'll never leave. always, always with you."
after what felt like an eternity of singing and murmuring, his eyelids fluttered, half-open, and he reached a trembling hand up to cradle your face. his touch was weak, but deliberate, brushing away your tears, trying to imprint you into his memory as though he could carry you with him beyond the fragile confines of life. he kissed you slowly, deliberately, each second stretching into eternity, and you pressed closer, clinging to him with all the desperation your body could summon.
"stay with me," he whispered again, each word a ragged thread of breath. "one last time... my dove... stay..."
your voice broke anew as you responded, each note and word soaked in grief and love, each syllable a vow, a plea, a gift. you sang through choking sobs, rocking his frail body in your arms, imprinting every detail of him into your memory: the curve of his jaw, the pale shimmer of his lips, the faint tremor of his fingers as they sought yours. the hospital room seemed to shrink around you, time stretching into an infinite corridor of loss, with every sound, the beeping monitor, the distant footsteps of nurses, the faint whir of machines, looming like a chorus of inevitability.
he murmured your name between notes, trying to reassure you even as his body failed him. "y/n... my... little... dove... my girl" he whispered, and you pressed a trembling kiss to his temple. "i... feel... you... always..."
the minutes passed in a haze of song and whispered words, your tears soaking into the thin hospital sheets. you felt the life in him falter, the warmth of his hands cooling, the pulse in his wrist growing faint beneath your fingers. you clutched him tighter, your cheek pressed to his, lips brushing against the curve of his ear as you continued, even as your own voice cracked and broke.
"i... love you, isaac..." you murmured between notes, hands tracing the frail line of his collarbone, pressing him into you as though sheer will could keep him breathing. "always, my beautiful boy... always..."
his lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, a fragile acknowledgment of your presence and devotion. he drew a shaky breath, and you felt it rattle through his chest like a fragile wind. "i love.. you... always..."
and then, slowly, impossibly, he relaxed in your arms, the tension of life leaving him in a delicate exhalation. his fingers loosened around yours, resting limply against your hand. the last flicker of warmth, the last subtle press of his heartbeat beneath your palm, faded into silence. you felt it in the hollow of your chest before your mind could comprehend: he was gone
you didn't move. you stayed pressed against him, sobs wracking your body, holding him like he was still the axis of your existence, because in this moment, in this final, eternal instant, he was. the room smelled of him, his hair, the faint residue of the lotion he liked, the antiseptic tang of the hospital, but now it was heavy with absence, with the profound weight of a love you could not carry forward alone.
the monitor's beeping had slowed, stilled, and the world outside continued as though it had not noticed, cruelly indifferent. you whispered to him, your voice hoarse and ragged, telling him again of your love, of the memories you had shared, of the quiet life you had imagined together beyond the fragile years you had been granted. you pressed your lips to the crown of his head, to his hair, to the cheek that had smiled at you a thousand times, holding him with a reverence reserved for the sacred.
you memorized every last detail, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he exhaled his final breath, the tremor of his fingers, the soft, fragile sound of your own sobs mingling with the echoes of the lullabies you had sung. and as the sun shifted, casting muted beams across his still face, you held him, whispering to him, endlessly, as though your words could tether him, even now, to the love that had always been yours.
he had gone, and yet, in that space between life and memory, he remained, every breath, every heartbeat, every whispered word etched into you.
and you held him still, long after the last breath, long after the world had moved on, because the only thing that mattered now was that he had been yours, wholly,
beautifully,
and that in your arms, he had always known it.
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I adore how Isaac’s whole story is that he is cold and ambitious because he doesn’t have a human heart anymore but he is actually so full of love like he’s so affectionate and gentle to Francoise they don’t fight or raise their voice at each other they are always tenderly holding each other like they’re gonna lose each other because they are and he kept his promise to her like he could have selfishly continued the original plan and still try to save her but what she wanted was more important to him like it makes me iNSANE.
And don’t even get me started on Gomez saying whatever shred of goodness he had ended up in Thing … I need a minute… actually a week or a few months, maybe a year….
