Welcome to my blog, brimming with highly edited dissociative daydreams. Cross-posted: fanfiction.net/u/4373704/Diswrit | archiveofourown.org/users/Diswrit
Requests/prompts are currently closed(guidelines). I intend to finish the requests I already have at my leisure :) My request queue has more information <3
Writing Schedule(Updated 07/09/26)
School has monopolized the bulk of my time and I'm working a minimum of 40 hours a week Update: Back to daydreaming scenarios, back to work, my July class is threatening to break me :p Writing as I'm able, still working on Time Is The Fire <3
Masterlists
I have multiple series now! Stories in red do not have fully functional navigation links, owing to the fact that I changed my blog name and the consequences haunt me still. Masterpost links are now fixed: "next" and "previous" chapter links are still in progress :)
Divider by @saradika-graphics <3
Sandbox Adventures(One Piece, Zoro x OC | Complete)
Grains Against The Tide(One Piece, Zoro x OC | Discontinued)
The Storm Before The Fall(Wednesday, Isaac Night, Francoise Night & Gomez Addams | Ongoing/On hiatus)
Night Fell With A Lightning Strike(Wednesday, Isaac Night x vampire!OC | Complete)
Third Strike(Wednesday, Isaac Night x vampire!OC | Complete)
Second Hand(Wednesday, Da Vinci Galpin!OC & Pugsley Addams | Complete)
Darkest Part Of The Night(Wednesday, Isaac Night x psychic!reader AU | Complete)
Time Is The Fire(Wednesday, Isaac Night x pyro?reader AU | Ongoing/Active)
Reader Inserts: SFW | NSFW(Wednesday, Isaac Night x fem!reader)
Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics, @empyreanevents & @steviebbboi <3
Images from pinterest, minor edits by me <3
You were tempted to seek Isaac out, regardless of how deep into the Jericho woods he retreated with the company you so reviled. Finding him would have been easy enough. The pull of your bond led truer than any compass, infallible over any distance, and there was nothing better than sex after murder.
For better or worse, you were too preoccupied to act on the desire.
It was easy enough to dodge the brigade that swarmed Nevermore to put out the fire. The smoke wafting in to fill the secret passageways would have suffocated anyone else, but you were better than immune to its effects. The smoggy aftertaste was to be savored, so much that you were regretful when you had to leave it behind.
Professor Greeves hadn't gone far. You intercepted him before he could confer with any of the authorities descending to investigate the arson and the charred corpse still smoldering in the heart of the history teacher's office. Greeves was already stammering when you cornered him, already trying to talk his way out of a fiery death as flame flickered behind your eyes and coiled at your fingertips.
"Run, and I'll burn you to ash just like I did Cætus," you warned him. "Scream, fight... and I won't hesitate."
"God, I never wanted it to go so far, I-I-I never thought he would- would want to hurt you, I didn't think-"
"Well don't start trying to think now, teach," you drawled, affecting Cætus' pet name for the professor purely to throw him even farther off balance. The flourish of manipulation was unnecessary, but you could never help yourself.
"Please don't hurt me!" he whimpered.
You bore down over him, stoking his terror with every step you took closer.
"Are you afraid of fire, professor?" you wondered, cruelty winking out from beneath the casual affectation of your tone.
Everyone knew well enough to flinch away from an open flame, but the terror shining from Greeves' wide eyes seemed more potent than what you were used to seeing. It was delectable. Then again, he could just as easily have been afraid of you as of the heat you could conjure with a thought.
"I didn't mean for- please, I don't want to die!"
"Hm..."
As fun as it would be to burn him to death one agonizing patch of flesh at a time, you suspected he might be of more use to you alive. No less tormented, you reassured yourself.
"But your ignorant meddling has fostered such a steep price," you tsked performatively.
You seized his arm. He cowered away from the contact and covered his face with his free hand like the gesture could protect him if you decided to immolate.
"And you know my secret. What I really am," you went on. Your grip on him was sweltering, but not yet hot enough to cause harm. The contact was pure intimidation, an extra dose of sinister indulgence that made your mark go from trembling to quaking. "You're a loose end at best. And that's if I can excuse all the trouble you've caused me..."
Greeves was too afflicted to offer anything resembling a coherent response. He shook like a cicada in a monsoon, clinging to the wall like it could save him from the flood.
You released him. He wasn't as much fun to torture as you'd hoped he might be. He was fortunate that fun wasn't your only objective.
"But... luckily for you, someone needs to take the blame for what happened here today," you informed him. "And it was your office, after all. Your friend who flew in, only to die so gruesomely so soon after. It's remarkable, really, how I'm not connected in the slightest if you only look at it on paper."
"B-b-but I- I... I didn't-"
"Didn't kill him? Didn't set the fire? Deny it and you become as useless to me as a pocket lighter," you cackled. "Now's the time to start thinking, professor. Think very, very carefully about what you say next. It'll decide what I do with you."
You crossed your arms over your chest while you waited. With flames decorating your body like lively, flowing jewelry, you cut a fearsome figure. Every shimmering lick and crackle was a threat in its own right, potent reminders of the pain you could inflict if he answered carelessly.
Greeves sucked in a series of ragged, panting breaths while sweat beaded across his face and his eyes darted between imaginary options that he reviewed with a pronounced lack of hope. He met your fierce gaze, opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, then closed it again. He clamped his jaw tight, muscles flexing visibly under the strain of his disallowed rebuttal. His features warped hideously with the realization that dead or alive, he would likely be the assumed culprit of your crimes.
You were giving him the option so you could enjoy the resulting turmoil. There were few things better than killing a man. Watching one choose between two bleak fates was among those rare, treasured tortures.
"C-can I run, or do I have to turn myself in?" he mumbled at last.
"It makes little difference to me," you answered blithely. "But don't forget..."
Your index finger lifted his chin until the column of his throat was stretched taut, uncomfortably so, by your insistence.
"Give me a reason to come find you and there is no prison, no distance, no army that could keep me from exacting my vengeance," you purred.
The promise was a lie. Your powers were far from limitless, but he had no way of knowing that. More to the point, he was too terrified to question your absurd claim. All he could do was nod, eager as though you were slipping a gallows noose from around his neck rather than damning him to an existence on the run or locked away behind bars.
"I still... I still have so many questions," he mourned softly.
You laughed and rolled your eyes. The man's priorities were odd enough to amuse, but you were finished with him. The fact that Greeves would flee without the knowledge he so coveted was a petty layer of irony that you hadn't considered in your calculations of his punishment. You refused to give it more than a second's thought now. You strode away without a backward glance.
You made your way to Iago tower with a curvature to your journey designed to let you avoid the worst of the mess still unfolding throughout Nevermore's faculty wing. You sought the tower on tender impulse, hoping to shroud yourself in the vestiges of Isaac's presence until he returned. For once, you weren't interested in tracking him down. You needed to think.
You had already gone through his things to your satisfaction. Now, you settled down at his improvised desk and kicked your feet up on the surface with a familiarity you hadn't earned. You were still an uninvited guest at best, but you made yourself at home like you owned the place.
You producted Cætus' spark and turned it around and around between your fingers. Triangular, richly faceted, the gem was clear as orange-stained glass and little larger than a nickel. It was hot enough to burn against even your overheated skin and so brilliant you couldn't look at it directly without narrowing your eyes. It seemed to emit a marmalade glow all its own, a light that struck you as softer than it should have been. Was it some remainder of Cætus true nature? He was a truly gentle soul. His disposition was benevolent before you twisted him into a vengeful shell of what he once was.
You smiled again to yourself. You would treasure his downfall for all the time you had left to you. More than his downfall, you intended to treasure his spark as the rare god-sent gift it was. You clenched your fist around it to let the wickedly pointed edges bite into your palm. Outside, dark was falling rapidly, leaving you shrouded in gloom. You allowed it to engulf your statuesque figure while you sat, mired in contemplation with the searing sting of Cætus' excised spark scourging your flesh as though his spirit still resided within the beautiful remnant. As though his ghost still wished you harm from beyond the veil of the grave. As though his lingering resentment could punish you with nothing more than the sheer strength of his venery.
You ignored the specter of your brethren and steered your thoughts in a productive direction.
You'd heard many, many stories about sparks, the little jewel-like hearts that made a phoenix. For all the stories, little was verifiable as fact. You knew they were the source of an immortal's memories. They separated the original reincarnators from the sorry fools with whom rebirth was shared second-hand through kisses and vows. Yours burned in the hollow of your throat while you squeezed your newly pilfered spark harder in your fist. Questions and possibilities twirled and tangled through your nefarious mind.
You opened your fingers to gaze upon your prize once more. The warmth of firelight shone up at you, illuminating your features so gently that for a fleeting moment, you almost looked angelic. Then you smiled with every single one of your teeth and the illusion was dispelled. You rocked slightly from side to side in Isaac's wheeled desk chair, idle as you prepared to settle in to play a waiting game.
"Isaac, oh Isaac," you crooned to yourself. "When are you coming back, Isaac? Don't leave me waiting too long, darling. I have a gift for you, my love."
You dipped to press your lips to the spark in reverent, jubilant ceremony.
Isaac avoided Gomez for the scant remainder of the weekend. To his profound relief, Sara made it easy on him.
"Sorry Gomez, this isn't a boys trip," she tsked him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
"She's right, mon cher," Morticia agreed. "Our evil master plan was to get the two of you out here, isolated, helpless... and have our way with you."
"Cara mia! What a splendid plan!" Gomez gasped happily.
Despite apparently condoning individual activities, Gomez's gaze followed Isaac as Sara led him farther from the campsite. Anxiety crept and crawled under Isaac's skin, insidious as a rash. To make matters worse, he actually did develop an itching, burning red rash before the day was out.
"I hate camping," he grumbled, spread out on his stomach with his cheek resting on his folded arms while Sara rubbed ointment over his lower back.
"You just got into some ivy or something, it'll be fine," she assured him. "Come on, swimming was fun, wasn't it?"
"Swimming was fun," Isaac sighed in concession.
"And how about that weird tree?"
"Uh... sure, it was strange looking."
"Isaaaac!" Sara groaned. "Tell you what. You can pick the destination for our next weekend getaway, okay?"
"Hm. Somewhere with indoor plumbing for sure," Isaac griped. "Gomez can foot the bill. He's always happy to throw his family's money around."
"You know, I thought... well, nevermind."
Sara settled down at his side. Isaac quirked an eyebrow, wondering if she had noticed the subtle, simmering tension between him and his best friend. As little time as Isaac had spent near Gomez on this trip, the moments they had endured together had been fraught with awkward silences and eyes that refused to meet.
"I guess I'm not a big fan of sleeping on the ground either," Sara sighed balefully.
"Morticia's trip ideas are always to be second-guessed," Isaac said, callous and careless. "She comes up with some real doozies."
"Oh. Yeah. Real... real doozies, you're right. Isaac, seriously, you didn't like anything about this weekend?" Sara pressed.
What she was too timid to tell him was that camping was her idea. Morticia had to be talked into the adventure. Facing down Isaac's scorn, Sara wondered if he would recant if she told him the truth. Would it matter? After all, she knew how he really felt now. He'd been vocal all day about his hatred of weeds, his loathing of insects, his distaste for the fare available to a teen camping troupe.
Sara was hurt by the thought that Isaac was unimpressed with her idea, but she decided to keep that fact to herself. She clutched the pain tight to her chest like she always did, quietly holding it in a bottomless reservoir that seemed to take endless contributions, never draining, ever festering.
"Well... you were the best part of this weekend, hands down," Isaac replied after a few moments of thoughtfulness.
Despite herself, Sara couldn't help but start to smile. Isaac shuffled closer and clasped hands with her. He nuzzled tenderly into the crook of her neck, carving his way into her embrace like he'd forgotten he belonged there, only to bask in recollection now.
"Oh yeah?" she prompted.
She held him tight and clung to the newer, sweeter words. She always set aside the bitter things he said. She preferred to stuff them into a drawer, out of sight, out of mind. Why dwell on them when she could instead put the light parts, the good parts, the parts of Isaac she loved, on a pedestal?
"Yeah. Although, that's not really a fair redeeming factor," Isaac went on for argument's sake. His shifted to settle comfortably in her arms, sighed his satisfaction and relaxed completely. "Everything's better with you there."
Sara was still sad, but she pressed a kiss to his forehead and kept it to herself.
Sara was always sad. She'd gotten good at keeping it to herself over the years. Isaac had a habit of peeling back the emotional layers that separated her from devastation, but tonight he seemed mercifully too tired to interrogate her. She decided that rather than question his uncharacteristic lapse, she would take it as a mercy.
Isaac closed his eyes as the lively sounds of the night hummed beyond the canvas tent. Frogs and owls, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the creaking of sturdy boughs, the low ambient hum of crickets and fireflies. Truthfully, he was as inclined to untangle Sara's complicated emotions as ever, but tonight he was busy tiptoeing around what Gomez may or may not have told the girls.
Isaac grit his teeth. For tonight, at least, he was still safe, but inevitably, he would need to deal with Gomez. As eager as he was to leave their late night encounter unspoken, he couldn't do so without subjecting himself to the gnawing grip of paranoia. If he didn't talk it over with his best friend, he would always wonder. What did Gomez assume? What did he discuss with Morticia? What did Morticia pass on to Sara? How close would it be to the truth? Did it really matter, if Sara believed what she was told? Would Sara believe?
Isaac breathed and stopped himself. He could tell he was spiraling. Thinking about it would do him no good, he reasoned. Better to wait until dawn broke, until they were on their way back to Nevermore to close out their long weekend. It was a mercy that classes wouldn't resume until Tuesday. The extra day off would give him all the time he needed to deal with Gomez.
One way or another.
As willing as you were to await Isaac's return without moving from his desk, you were still a creature bound by physical needs. You needed to eat. You needed to sleep. You left your lookout as demanded by natural necessity, only to return once your requirements were met. You were on track to go down in history as the most reclusive student to ever attend Nevermore academy. Or you would have been, had anyone made a note of your absence. Bereft of anything resembling a friendship, you could have been a ghost or a vanisher for the effectiveness with which you slipped the noose of social pantomime.
When Isaac finally returned to Nevermore, his first step was not, of course, to visit his laboratory. You waited patiently for him to appear, vibrating with anticipation by the time he saw fit to caper up the stairs of the tower that, for all intents and purposes, belonged to him. Judging by the way he peeked out of the lift cage, he expected to find you waiting for him. He didn't, you noted with a thrill, seem unhappy to see you occupying his chair.
"So, the history teacher and the other phoenix didn't kill you after all," he said, feigning disinterest even as he betrayed his investment with the accuracy the details he remembered.
He strode up to his desk to deposit a backpack that thunked down like it contained a shelf's worth of books. You paid it little mind.
"Glad to see me alive?" you purred smugly.
"You're in my chair," Isaac huffed, though he made no attempt to remove you.
He gathered notes and tools, moving them between workspaces like the inconvenience of your presence didn't even merit the effort it would take to clear you out. You swiveled in place to track his movements, unabashed as ever to be caught so ardently admiring a boy who offered you nothing but disdain in return. Your hand slipped into your pocket and your fingers closed around Cætus spark. Your heart beat faster with excitement.
"Admit it, you're happy I'm not dead," you cajoled him.
"Hm. My dick might be happy you're not dead," he shot back, coy and evasive. He leafed through a dog-eared notebook with his back to you.
You hopped up and sauntered closer, hands sliding easily over his shoulders as your eagerness got the better of you.
"Well, I missed you, even if you didn't miss me," you sighed at his ear. "And I have something for you. To... celebrate your return, let's say."
"Celebrate? I was only gone for a- you know what, whatever," Isaac scoffed. "Listen, we need to talk."
He turned, capturing your wrists and folding them over your chest like he was laying you out for funerary rites. You were still coasting too high on the ecstatic fumes of seeing him again to question his manner with more than a raised eyebrow.
"Talk about..?" you prompted with patient indulgence.
"Sara. You. Me."
The quick purse of your lips communicated your disinterest clearly enough, but Isaac barreled on before you could get another word in.
"I need to know that you won't hurt her," he told you, rushed, fervent and sincere. "You know that if you ever did, I would never forgive you, right?"
"Isaac-"
"No, listen!"
His grip tightened on your wrists painfully. You gasped delightedly and leaned into the brutality. Isaac ignored your fluttering lashes and parted lips, undeterred by your obvious enjoyment of his roughness.
"I'm not stupid!" he all but spat. "I know you better than you think I do, okay?! I know you're planning something horrible to do to Sara and you're going to knock it the fuck off right now! Are we clear?!"
The adoration shining from your features might have fooled someone of lesser wiles into believing you would do as you were told. As it was, Isaac leaned in closer, unimpressed by the way you didn't back down or flinch from his fury. He bared his teeth, inches from your face and hissed his next words.
"I'm not going to let you hurt her, do you understand me?! She was mine first! Mine!"
"Oh, I know all about your possessive streak," you assured him. "Let go of my wrists, Isaac."
You weren't about to agree to anything. Stubbornly, Isaac's fingers crushed even harder into your skin, promising bruises that perfectly reflected the shape of his grasp. You wouldn't heal them quickly, you decided dreamily while he seethed. You would keep them, cherish them, a reminder of his touch, of the intensity of his passion. Pointed in the wrong direction though it may have been.
"What, you've given up on driving me away?" you murmured, replete with satisfaction. "You're not telling me to leave you alone any more, darling. No, you want us both, is that it?"
"I'd have to be some kind of idiot to ever imagine that could work out," Isaac sneered. "But... you're under my skin now. If I can't cure the infection, I might as well learn to live with the disease."
"So unflattering," you tsked him. "Let my wrists go, Isaac. I have something for you."
"Promise me you won't hurt my girlfriend," he insisted. "That you won't bother her, won't so much as look her way. I want you to steer perfectly clear. Aren't you always saying you'll do anything I want?"
"You don't know what you want!" you all but snarled, snapping in the face of his oblivious, single-minded crusade.
Isaac's insistence was fraying the already thread-thin strand that was your tolerance for the other woman in his life. Despite his assertions, Sara temple was the intruder in this dynamic. She didn't know it, he didn't remember... but he might soon.
"Promise me, or whatever this is that we're doing- it ends here and now," Isaac threatened.
Empty words, you were almost certain, but you were tired of dancing with him around pointless barbs.
"Oh, my love," you sighed, back to sweetness as you let your wrists heat up. Fire boiled your blood in your veins until your skin seared against his. He jerked back, released you with a startled yelp and a skittish withdrawal. "Sorry darling, I know I said I would never burn you. Why must you make a liar of me, hm? When this could all be so much simpler, if you would just... let go of the false bonds you built before I found you."
You dug through your pocket while you spoke, brought Cætus' spark out to hold it up to the waning evening light. The golden cascade of sunset turned the gem into a miniature star, a supernova of brilliance between your thumb and forefinger. Despite himself, Isaac squinted when he saw it. Curiosity got the better of him, even as he rebuffed your advances.
"I'm not interested- it should go without saying that I can't be bought with trinkets!" he scoffed.
"This is no petty bauble," you informed him gravely. "Actually... if I'm being completely honest with you, I'm not entirely sure this will even work. But at this point, I'm willing to try anything. Desperate times, don't you know?"
"What-"
You silenced him swiftly. It was your turn to arrogate one of his wrists so you could smash your palm against his. The spark was trapped between your hands, clasped with unwillingness on his part.
"Hey, you- you cut me!" Isaac cried, shock widening his eyes and dropping his jaw in an expression of disbelief that bordered on comical.
"Oh please, please let this work!" you begged anxiously, ignoring his exclamation for the time being.
Your hands held his captive while blood dripped slowly from between your fingers as his struggled against yours. He pulled back, only to freeze in place a second later. You held your breath while you watched his face fall into something like dumbfounded revelation. He stood still, unmoving as a petrification victim while the slow ooze of his blood steadied into a flowing stream to splatter against the grated metal floor near your feet. The droplets landed with a gentle pattering sound that you disregarded in favor of examining your lover.
"Isaac?" you ventured, almost too on edge to speak while you waited for him to react. "Do you... remember anything?"
"I... I remember..."
Isaac blinked slowly. When his eyes met yours again, his vision was clearer than you'd seen it in any lifetime. His gaze was so sharp that it wrested a shiver from you as it dug deeper with serrated teeth, unforgiving and cold.
Then a line of scarlet traced a quick, jagged path down his quivering upper lip. The abrupt nosebleed spilled over to collect along the edges of his teeth. The clarity in his eyes gave way to something that more closely resembled mania- or outright madness.
Your stomach dropped with dread in the same instant as your love seized in your hold. You surged forward to catch him in your arms as he went ramrod stiff, shaking in the thrall of some terrible, silent fit. Unable to support himself, he toppled without bending a single joint in his body. You guided his descent to the best of your ability, panic spiking through you in nauseating waves as you wondered rabidly whether you'd made an awful mistake.
"Isaac?! Isaac! Can you hear me?! Isaac!"
He shook like an epileptic, your hand the only thing shielding the back of his head from knocking into the metallic floor over and over again. Pain shot through your bones as his skull crushed your hand against the grate hard enough to bruise, perhaps enough to fracture. You withstood it it for his sake. Your other hand was still in his, trapped in a grip that refused to relent. Cætus' spark burned between your palms and the scent of searing flesh, usually a smell you would enjoy, wafted out noxiously. You choked on panic, struggling fruitlessly to pry your hand out of the death grip Isaac held it in. The tremors wracking him only worsened and all you could do was ride them out with him while regret devoured you like a pack of ravening dogs.
Story Warnings: Smut! Minors DNI! Cock-warming at it's finest, cocky and pathetic Isaac in the same narrative, brat-tamer reader and mild academic misconduct. Teasing, orgasm denial, overstimulation, P in V, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, implied oral(f receiving)
Divider by @somebitchprobably-graphicdump <3
"Hold still or I'll make you put your clothes back on and leave."
"Yes ma'am," Isaac drawled behind you. He was too smug, overly pleased with himself for pestering you into surrender, into any measure of sexual indulgence. How could he possibly begrudge you the restrictive set of rules ordaining his stillness beneath you? As long as you allowed him to languish beneath you in the first place...
He lay naked on your bed, knees bent and legs hung over the edge, feet firmly planted on your floor. You straddled him easily, upright, facing away from him with your desk hastily pulled close to the bed. The quickly contrived arrangement allowed you to sit on his cock while you worked on your most urgent essay. Wearing only a t-shirt, you typed away dutifully, far less distracted than you should have been with his length stretching you open.
You clamped around him involuntarily, then shifted minutely to relieve some of the maddening pressure from his swollen head slotting wrong against your cervix. The adjustment jostled him deeper, tore a gasp from you as the clatter of keys halted abruptly. His tip brushed something soft and sensitive deep within you, then settled firmly against it when you let your weight fall back over his pelvis. It felt too good. All you wanted to do was rock your body over his to stimulate the spot. Instead, you forced yourself to settle and breathe through the bliss that was so potent it was almost agonizing.
Behind you, you heard Isaac swallow a mischievous chuckle.
"Oh, so you can move, I just can't?" he wondered in blithe condemnation.
A glance back laid bare his insufferably self-pleased disposition. One hand folded neatly behind his head while the other crept in your sheets like he was toying with the idea of touching you.
"Actually, yes," you countered. "Gotta be comfortable while I work, after all..."
Isaac gulped audibly and you hid your smirk by turning back to your laptop. The click and patter of keystrokes resumed. For a few pristine moments, Isaac behaved for you and you made a little progress, finally free of the sweet distractions of his inconsiderate seductions.
Then you felt him flexing inside you, muscles contracting to force the barest excuse for movement while he throbbed. Inclandestine, he started to groan with overstated pleasure at the simple, technically failed attempt at friction. He muffled the sound with the palm of his hand as quickening breaths betrayed his torment.
You were having trouble enduring the lack of movement yourself. His member felt soothing resting inside you, levering your walls apart while you basked in the glory of fullness, but your body craved impact. You craved motion, craved friction, craved the sinuous slide of him past your aching entrance. You wanted to feel him hit that sweet spot on the instroke, wanted to bounce on his rock-hard length until-
You shook your head to clear it and pinched the inside of his thigh hard enough to make him yelp.
"You brat! Pelvic floor exercises count as moving," you chastised him. "Stop it and stay still! This is the last warning you're going to get before I throw you out. This essay is due tomorrow morning. "
"Okay, okay, I just... f-fuck, you just feel so... feel so amazing!"
Isaac sighed and settled beneath you.
"Can I touch you at least?" he wondered, a tremor creeping in to destabilize his voice.
The demand came out closer to a whine. His condescension was hilariously short-lived, already crushed beneath neediness as the slick plush encasing his cock clung and cloyed. You felt his fingertips perusing the vertebrae of your lower back and hummed your contemplation of his request.
"You can give me a massage while you're here," you decided imperiously. You went right back to typing.
Isaac took to the task eagerly, hands creeping under your loose t-shirt before the words left your mouth. His thumbs pressed in generous circles and his fingers kneaded firmly against the tightest muscles he could find. He worked his way higher at a glacial pace, digging in along the column of your spine to unwind knots and comfort soreness. Your slouched posture unfurled and somehow, straightening your torso allowed his cock to settle even deeper inside you. You sighed contentedly, tilted to give him subtle direction that he followed perfectly. It wasn't long before he had to sit up, to support his weight on one elbow and work your shoulders with the other.
"Too hard?" he murmured.
"No, perfect," you praised him.
"How much do you have left to go on that paper?" he asked.
The low, sultry hum of his voice was so seductive as to be nearly irresistible. Still, you gathered your focus, primed your discipline and kept tapping away at your composition.
"About half," you answered.
He groaned unhappily and flopped back down against the mattress. The bounce wiggled him inside you enough to make you gasp with pleasure- and enough to earn him another pinch.
"Isaac, I warned you-"
"No, no that was an accident!" he protested quickly. His palms fluttered over your hips as if to soothe some imaginary wound. "I didn't mean it! I'm sorry! Please don't kick me out!"
Isaac's begging had you biting your lip, grateful that he couldn't see your face. You rubbed over his thigh, comforting in the wake of a punishment that may have been unwarranted.
"Alright, but only because I can tell you're trying to be good for me," you acquiesced.
Isaac's next breath shuddered out with relief.
"I'll be so good for you if you let me," he rasped, persuasion harrowed by raw lust. "Come on, it'll be fast... you know I can make you cum so fast that- ow!"
You pinched him again, aggravating the same patch of reddened skin you had just rubbed to disperse the pain of his last penalty.
"No talking," you ordered. "You're distracting me."
The truth was, you were sorely tempted to tell him he could do whatever he wanted to you, but your looming deadline kept you grounded. You shifted slightly and dragged a piteous whine from him when you drew off his throbbing cock by an inch or two, only to sink back down at a better angle. You hummed your satisfaction with his new placement, ground down once, twice, just to feel him pressing against your most sensitive reaches. Isaac moaned like you were fully fucking him, hands fluttering around your hips in a silent plea for more.
You indulged him with one, two, three more quick grinds and loosed a bated whimper of your own at the sensation of him pushed tight to your back wall, stretching a little further every time you moved. It was an internal battle to resume stillness, to go back to typing like nothing of note had transpired.
Isaac's feet braced hard on the wooden floor and his thighs tensed like he wanted to roll up against the heat that wrapped his straining member so snugly. You felt the sheets pull and glanced under your arm to see his fingers fisting in the bedding. He was breathing deep with every inhalation, carefully metering the rise and fall of his chest while he fought the compulsion to move. His thighs tensed and relaxed over and over again while the steady cadence of his respiration gradually grew less controlled.
You paused your writing in an ill-fated attempt to repress a visceral shiver. It ripped through you despite your best efforts at containment, beginning in your thighs and spiking up past your clenching cunt, straight through your tightening stomach, stealing your breath on its way to dissipate back down your spine. You could feel the obscenity of your arousal, viscous wet pooling in the dark curls around Isaac's base. The moisture tacked hair to his skin and yours in a shining, matted mess, extending into trails that slowly tickled their way down between his tensing thighs. Isaac felt it too, the shiver and the ridiculous extent to which you were dripping for him. He responded with a shudder of his own, a ripple of distress that coiled through his body and knocked all the air out of his lungs. He panted with the need to thrust up, to grind, to push, to nudge you with his hands, anything, anything to break the wave of longing overtaking every muscle in his body.
You resumed your typing, devastating any expectations he might have had that you would translate the crawling urge into merciful motion. You heard his breath hiss out from between his teeth, felt his hands settle shakily over your hips. You stayed stubbornly still, though your lips parted with ecstasy as you felt him start to throb inside you. Not movement, not even a muscular flex, but a pulse of fresh arousal so strong you could feel it engorging him further, pronouncing individual veins until you could almost count them as they burned against your ravenous walls.
His fingers dug in and you thought he was actually holding his breath with the strain of maintaining a posture that should have been relaxed. You licked your parted lips, keystrokes slowing again as your thoughts turned to lascivious mush and heat coursed up from the site of his penetration. Your clit throbbed in response to his unvoiced desperation, tandem heartbeats spacing each pulse of your degeneracy a split-second behind his. After a few minutes, the subtle beats synced and you gasped in unison at the strange sensation.
Your essay stalled and your teeth clamped down over your lip hard enough to hurt. Your legs shook at his sides with the need to move, to ride him, to guide his grasping fingers around to your aching, forlorn clit. The pulsating veins singing his desire into your weeping, clinging cunt felt incredible even in static suspension. You imagined what they would feel like dragging past your entrance and whined at the fantasy that was so, so close to becoming reality. One word and he would be fucking you the way you both wanted...
Beneath you, his hips lifted by a margin so slim you wondered if you were imagining it until pure euphoria fired through your gut as his unyielding tip abused that same sweet spot again.
"Fuck!" you groaned. "Fuck, I told you not to-to move!"
Isaac was burning so hot inside you he felt feverish. He offered no defense for himself, no excuse. You twisted to peer over your shoulder, almost alarmed by the sight of sweat coating his forehead. It glued his raven-dark curls down like folded wings, dipping to obscure eyes so hungry that their coal-black depths rivaled even the obsidian sheen of his hair.
"I think- I think I need a break!" he gasped. "You feel so good, so-squeezing me so tight, babe, I'm gonna... fuck, I can't take it! I'm gonna fucking-"
You pinched his thigh with scowl and he cried out dramatically. His hips pitched up hard enough to send your eyes rolling back in your skull. His too, you realized, because you regained your bearings much faster than he did.
"Calm down!" you scolded him. "You'd better not cum before I finish this stupid paper!"
"Pleeeaase!" he moaned senselessly.
"I'm serious, Isaac! Sit up! Come on, get up here!"
He obeyed, but the tremble wracking his fraught figure made it a rough ascension. You had to reach back to help him up. Perspiration trailed down from his temples past eyes that were glossed over with repressed desire.
"I'm getting hot too," you grumbled, validating at least one fraction of his melodramatic travails.
You yanked the shirt over your head and swiped at his brow with it before you tossed it aside. You tossed his curls back into their usual place and leaned over just enough to press him with a kiss that was meant to be comforting. He steadied a little, the distraction of your tongue invading his mouth pulling his mind just far enough from your misuse of his cock to pull him back from the edge of climax.
"Hold on for me til I'm done," you murmured. "I promise it'll be worth it..."
Isaac sighed and nodded, the wispy denouncement of his concession caressing your parted lips as he dropped onto his back again.
"I can... I can hold on for you," he declared, a distinct current of pride bolstering his words. "I can do that."
"Good... so good for me, Isaac," you purred happily. "Here..."
You let him have a taste of the heaven his patience would earn him. You slid up in a true stroke for the first time, then shimmied down again with a wiggle that tore a deep, wavering moan from him. He watched while you did it twice more, only to settle down solidly with him abducted into the perfect spot to torture you both in equal measure.
"Now be still for three hundred more words. If you can do that, I'll fuck you just the way you want," you promised.
His hands didn't leave your body this time. They massaged your thighs, tickled the bottoms of your feet, slid sensuously up your back, considered the idea of playing with your breasts only to retreat when you threatened to pinch him again.
Two hundred words later, your resolve was obliterated by the frantic, ceaseless pulse of Isaac's lechery. The drumbeat of horniness radiating from his errantly nestled erection into your soaked, helplessly spasming walls was undoing you faster than you cared to admit. You'd forbidden Isaac from finishing before you were ready to take him properly. You figured it was only fair to limit yourself to the same ruleset.
"Fuck it, I can pad a hundred words into what I already have in ten minutes!" you growled.
Isaac rose as if from the grave, mouth open against the curve of your shoulder while he clutched your body to his.
Finally, his eyes screamed, blown wide and black as oil slicks from the duress of his wait.
When you started moving it was slow and halting, but still too much after too long spent mired in a pleasure that spiked and receded, apparently of its own accord. Isaac's teeth, dull against your shoulder, provided a much-needed distraction from the overwhelming stroke of him, thick and hard as shale, against flesh that ached for attention. You couldn't hold back your wanton moans, couldn't stop your nails from marking his thighs with rows of scalloping indentations, couldn't restrain the frenzied, rhythmless grind of your cunt into his lap.
Isaac was no more composed, pride rearing again to taunt you with filth that simmered against the shell of your ear and sparked a fire between your legs.
"Fuck, that's right! That's right, take it! Ugh, such a pretty little fucking cock-tease, got me so-"
You silenced his growling profanities with a kiss that almost hurt as much as the next thrust. Isaac jerked up to meet you and the impact was so potent you couldn't breathe past the pleasure. He abandoned bravado in favor of chasing your heat, hips snapping up wildly to slap against your ass while you kept riding him reverse.
It didn't take much to push you over the edge. You'd already lingered there too long, clenching and dripping around the steel of his cock while he held still for you. Now, he incessantly tapped at that sweet spot where you craved him so badly, hitting it over and over again while you wailed and contorted in his lap. You leaned back hard and let him do all the work for a few dazzling minutes while you wondered if you were going to black out from the sheer ecstasy of finally, finally feeling him drag past your neglected entrance, of finally allowing him to spoil your stroke-starved walls.
You let him keep pumping into you while you came down from your high, grit your teeth against the discomfort of overstimulation. Your own retaliation came in the form of a little hair-pulling, a brisk tug at his curls that forced his head back. He panted, the apple of his throat exposed as it bobbed voraciously while he sucked in air to fuel the manic pace of his thrusts. You knew he couldn't hold such a brutal pace for long, so you decided to wait out his fury rather than attempt to console it.
Sure enough, he slowed after only a few more crazed cants upward. You took over again, legs shaking with fatigue that you battled valiantly to reward your long-suffering boyfriend.
You could tell he was unraveling behind you from the uncontrolled, shameless pitch of his moans. You worked harder in his lap, faster if only to hear him whimper louder for you. One of his hands thrust back at a sharp angle to support his weight while the other sank its fingers into your hip. He couldn't control your motion any more than he could the breathy, fucked-out chorus that warned you how close he was truly getting. His fingers flexed spastically in unison with the graceless upward ruts that were impeding your ability to slide off him far enough to compose a true thrust. Isaac was falling apart in slow motion, frustrating himself with an eagerness he had no hope of leashing, not after so much teasing and waiting.
You slowed to a torturous crawl that left him gasping in futile protest. You leaned back, one hand shooting down to cover his fingers on your hip as they threatened bruises. Your other arched up over your head, back to tangle through the curls you loved to pull. You dragged him closer, demanded his chest flush to your back and his lips brushing yours. With the redistribution of his weight, his other hand rushed forward to caress your body with a desperate hunger. He tried to ravage your mouth, but you weren't having it. Your grip on his hair tightened until he was whining, yearning into a stooped posture that begged for a passionate kiss you withheld. Your tongue snaked out to trace and torment the outlines of his straining lips. His darted out to steal a taste, heavy breaths moistening the air between you until it felt thick enough to drown in.
"Calm, Isaac," you admonished him. "You don't want to hurt me, do you?"
None of the clarity returned to his usually sharp eyes. Usually brown, but unremitting lust elevated them to ebony orbs awash with a saline screen that must have blurred his vision. He nodded clumsily for you through the haze of sexual excess immuring his usually formidable faculties.
"Good," you purred, satisfied.
The motion of your hips faltered. His cock still rested deep in the depraved shelter between your legs. You could feel him throbbing again, heartbeat amplified into agony that pulsed and thrummed out from the veins tracing his length. You let him have the kiss he craved, chased the intoxicating taste of his impatience covetously. His lips overcame yours with a manic energy that clashed harshly with your sluggish, post-orgasmic lassitude. You rubbed your fingertips against his scalp, soothing instead of inciting for once. Your tongue slid over his and you sucked softly. The pressure was just enough to draw a muted string of moans from him. You drank them down like nectar, tainted though they were by the bitterness of his innate impudence. When you had your fill, you broke the kiss while his open mouth still inclined toward yours, still rooting for more.
Your lips didn't stray far. They painted a sweet trail from his chin up his jawline until you caught his earlobe between your teeth. Isaac sat still for you, trembling while you rocked in his lap to afford him the barest excuse for friction that would keep him complacent while you had your way with him. His hands relaxed on your body, one still braced at your hip and the other groping tactlessly at your breasts. Your free hand roamed along his arm to appreciate the flex of tendons and the roll of lean muscle in his bicep as he clutched you tighter.
"Are you close?" you asked, light and lilting, only slightly mocking and quiet as a whisper at his ear.
"Mm- mm-hmm!"
You tucked your insufferable smirk into the straining cushion of his neck, forcing him to arch back farther to accommodate you. Your hips rose and fell again, resuming a rhythm of thrusts specifically intended to finish him. His moans rose in response, lashes fluttering and grip firming while you suckled until a dark spot materialized to marr his pale throat.
His hand fell from your hip to meander down your thigh, undeterred by your now-constant movement. His palm slid down to your knee, then his clipped nails flexed to dig bluntly against your sweat-slicked skin. You were already trembling from the effort of riding him. The quakes wracking your overworked muscles intensified when he dragged his nails up the sensitive span, drawing four distinct paths to the crest of your thigh. You felt him searching, the rough pads of his fingers fumbling through your soaked, parted folds while you rocked against his body.
You slowed to encourage him, mewled when he found your clit. There was no way in hell you could climax again, not so soon after the first time, but his touch still sent flares of unbelievable pleasure shooting along nerves already strummed too thoroughly with bliss.
"Please don't- don't- uhh!" Isaac choked and gasped. He circled the pert, hooded bud erratically while you moaned to let him know how good it felt.
"Fuck, please don't stop!" he begged, one octave away from sobbing. His thighs seized beneath you, hips jerking up in a short, doomed attempt to steal a little more friction. "Don't stop, I'm- god, I'm s-s-so fucking close, p-please!"
His pleas twisted the roiling mass of bliss collecting deep in your gut, set it cresting in lapping waves and preparing to spill over into ecstasy. You lengthened your bobbing thrusts again, pulled him flush so you could drink the cries he let in response to your lavishment of his aching, overused cock.
"Yeah?" you teased, mocking and breathless even as he stroked you higher to match your pleasure to his. "So close, huh? Gonna cum for me, babe?"
"Uh- uhh! Huh! Uh-huh!" he managed, jaw permanently dropped as the rhythm of his fingers deteriorated from messy to pure chaos.
You were no better, sliding and stumbling through the motions of riding him while you fought to keep a steady hand on the wheel of your shared debauchery. Dominance was always a slippery slope for you, though Isaac was making it easy this time.
"You've been so- fuck! So good for me," you sighed, relinquishing your hold on his curls so he could drop low enough to muffle his unhinged moans against the curve of your neck. "Tell me where you want to cum for me, Isaac!"
Your hand fell to cover his, to guide his fingers when his strokes started to fail. He was too far gone to reply, so you went on, still tormenting even at the cusp.
"Wanna pull out and cover me with it?" you chuckled wickedly.
The pitch of the moans vibrating into your skin keened. He was rutting up again, hard impacts abusing a spot inside you that made your vision swim around the edges. You bit back cries of your own that would have put his to shame, doubled down on your slamming thrusts and pulled his hair again to persuade his teeth free of your stinging flesh.
"No? I could swallow it for you instead," you suggested.
A glance back had you grinning at the way Isaac's eyes rolled back in their sockets, teeth clenched against your vulgarity, cock punching mercilessly toward your farthest reaches as you drove him out of his mind.
"Or do you want to leave it in this time?" you wondered, your own pleasure all but forgotten as you turned your complete focus toward ruining the boy striving behind you. "Want me to take it for you while you fill me up? Hm?"
"Oh fuck! Fuck, u-ugh!"
Isaac collapsed fully, hit the mattress hard enough to make the bed frame creak in protest while he shouted his climax thoughtlessly. He gripped your hips to pull you as close to him as possible while he yearned up to find the deepest place within you to deliver his long-awaited orgasm. You let him shake and spill, clenched with high intentionality as you savored the sweet, savage, helpless cries he loosed for you. They tapered down into whimpering, sated groans that you found no less delectable. You kept rocking against his body, pushing futilely as if his spurting cock wasn't already buried in you to the hilt.
By the time you stopped, he was writhing beneath you with sensitivity, hissing protest and wrapping you in an embrace that was only selfish because it was designed to force you off his lap. You wanted to keep grinding, but you let him pull you down anyway. His lips were weak when they found yours, even though his arms didn't seem short of vigor. You let him clutch you, chuckled with fond derision at how needy he still was after such an explosive orgasm. Leaking with the fruits of his labors, you caught your breath much faster than he did.
"I'm gonna make you pad my essay," you informed him shamelessly. "I need a hundred words. You got me?"
"Pad your- I'll, uh... oh, fuck. I'll do it, but only on one condition," he proposed shakily.
You started to get angry, but the next words out of his mouth placated you immediately.
"I need you to climb on top of my face... and let me clean up the mess I just made in that sweet pussy," he murmured, the words slurred as though he were already drunk on the mere idea.
the kiss — isaac night x gn!reader
note: I had one, one second glimpse of owen about to kiss someone and I had to write making out with isaac. warnings: suggestive, but not smutty
There was nothing graceful about the way Isaac’s hands dove beneath the boundary of your shirt. The fabric crumpled in his path, and the lower buttons strained against the intrusion of his grasp as he roamed the exposed skin, restless in his insatiable curiosity – as though he could not decide where he wanted to hold you most.
Each brush burned. Each scrape of his clipped nails dispatched shivers through your nerves. Feeling. Studying. Groping. Finding the slope of your chest and anchoring there at last, palm pressed against the curvature of your ribcage, feeling for the pulse of the heart below, fingertips curling into the skin upon its discovery.
The classroom door had barely found its frame again when your back hit the cool stone beside it. The rough, rugged bricks biting into your shoulder blades did little to dissuade the arch of your body into his. His palm splayed broad and steady against the bare skin of your lower back, holding your hips flush to his, unwilling to permit even the slightest of distance between you.
His lips had scarcely left yours since you'd crossed the threshold. Your fingers traced the tick of muscles along his jaw, the protrusion of each under tension, mouth working against your own to betray his incessant want.
Isaac Night, for all his genius, was only a boy after all.
The skin beneath your touch creased, dimpling with the attempt of a smile and a weak laugh, the absurdity of your desire bubbling past his usually impeccable composure. The steady rush of his breath across your cheeks betrayed his reluctance to part even for breath. Each ragged inhale, exhale, forced through his nose as it ghosted across your skin, the tip brushing yours with every slight inclination of his head, lips hungering for yours.
Surreptitious sighs passed between you, muffled by the roll of tongues, the taste of him heavy and bordering on distracting. So much so that it was almost impossible to render the events that had led you here. How you had been walking from class one minute and in his clutches another. How conversation about your upcoming project had dissolved so easily in contact with teenage lust. All it had taken was the brief flick of his gaze from eyes to lips, and whatever good sense either of you possessed was abandoned.
Warmth trailed from every point he held you. The faint traces of the cologne he'd applied that morning still clung to his skin, softened by the almost-sweet scent of his shampoo drifting from the curls that refused to stay where they belonged as he stooped to meet your advances. They tumbled between you, threatening to tangle in your lips until your hand smoothed them back into place, each absent-minded stroke coaxing another soft, beautiful sigh from low in his chest.
He pressed closer still, surrounding you almost entirely as if to shield you from non-existent onlookers – your only company the dust motes unsettled by your abrupt intrusion – as if to consume you, greedy and desperate.
This is what it was like to kiss Isaac Night. A boy as devoted to the artistry of desire as he was the craft of his machines.
As your knees weakened and his strength became your scaffold, you decided there was no superior feeling.
Chapter Warnings: Smut! Minors DNI! Groping, fingering and oral (f receiving), cheating, p in v, unprotected sex, overstimulation, masturbation(m)
Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics, @empyreanevents & @steviebbboi <3
Images from pinterest <3
Saturday disappeared beneath the shuffle and bustle of campsite setup. Of the four, Gomez was perhaps the most experienced outdoorsman, which was hardly a lofty title to claim among such a staunch selection of city-slickers. The humdrum business of erecting tents and gathering kindling was enough to occupy all the daylight they had left after they selected the site of their misadventures. Isaac was distant the entire time, half or more of his mind devoted to wondering futilely how your showdown had gone. Sara assumed that he was troubled over his sister and the conundrum of her cure. He never corrected her.
By the time darkness fell, the teen couples should have been too worn out to do much more than crawl into the privacy of their temporary shelters. Isaac certainly was. Still, he had to roll his eyes at the stifled giggles and low moans emanating steadily from the tent Morticia was sharing with Gomez. He settled down wearily atop a sleeping bag that he could already tell wasn't going to provide anything approaching a restful night's sleep.
I really despise camping, he thought venomously.
"We should have set up shop farther away from the lovebirds," he grumbled out loud as Sara secured a layer of mesh over the open flap.
"Aw, are they bothering you?" she laughed while he shifted and wriggled in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
"I don't begrudge them their fun, I just... would a little discretion kill them?" he pointed out in exasperation.
"They're not being that loud," Sara countered. She crawled closer until she was bearing down over him in the cramped space. He swallowed hard, watched her approach warily while she radiated sultry intent. "I'll tell you what... I can't make them be quiet, but I bet I could distract you. Bet I could do it so good, you wouldn't even hear those two going at it in the background..."
Her body slid over his with a boldness that was hardly untoward. After all, he was supposed to be hers. Was it purely guilt, Isaac wondered unhappily, that had his stomach turning over and his breath catching dreadfully?
Isaac let Sara kiss him and he thought of you while her lips moved gently over his. She hummed her satisfaction, oblivious while he bit down on a burgeoning discontent that would eagerly ruin the moment if he let it. He leashed his misgivings and pressed forward to meet her sugary offering with dulcet acceptance. Already drained of passion by your earlier visit, already enervated from the crucible of unpacking in the wilderness, he lay docile for Sara while her hands considered the edges of his clothes. There was more than flirtation in her tentative touch. She was waiting for permission, expecting him to rise to her provocations, to stir with arousal in response to her tepid strokes and timid lovebites.
Isaac sighed heavily and decided against forcing himself to meet her in the middle. He slumped back against the sleeping bag, breaking the kiss in the process and giving Sara pause. Her fingertips were teasing below his beltline, but with a helpless pulse of mortification, Isaac realized his libido was completely spent. Your relentless pursuits had beaten his carnal appetites into obliterated submission.
"Still tired?" she wondered, clearly disappointed.
"Just... can't get in the mood with those two out there howling like cats in heat," he muttered disingenuously.
"Oh, for the love of..."
Sara sputtered with something close to indignation and Isaac's heart skipped a beat. Was he caught? Did she know? Had her patience with the charade finally run out? Would she hold him accountable for his duplicity now?
"If they don't shut up soon, I could always set their tent on fire," Sara suggested.
The impish gleam in her eyes startled Isaac. His laugh was too abrupt, so sharp that he clapped a hand over his mouth to dull its edges. Sara chuckled along with him, lips dipping to graze the well-defined twist of his collarbone. Her fingers matched the mischievous lilt of her words. Their playful coaxing remained undeterred by Isaac's dormant physiology as they worked patiently at the buckle of his belt.
"I'm not entirely sure a little arson would be enough to stop those two," Isaac chuckled.
Sara's persuasions, though welcome, weren't enough to inspire him out of flaccidity. Not after the vigors he'd been subjected to earlier at your merciless hands.
And his own, but he was choosing to blame you for that as well.
She had his belt open, but his hand covered hers before it could defeat his zipper as well.
"I hate to disappoint, but I just... it's been such a long day," he plead.
Mournfulness dragged his tone down into a register that made his regret sound authentic. In a way, it was. If Isaac thought he could have both girls, he would have done so in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, the physical limitations weren't all that convinced him the bubble would burst before long. He knew Sara would never agree to share. She would leave him before she turned a blind eye to his infidelity. As for you...
Isaac shuddered at the thought of what catastrophe awaited if you kept pursuing him while Sara was still in the picture. He knew your violence too well and your possessiveness was potent enough to put Sara's to shame. God forbid you became bored with whatever game you were playing and decided to do something decisive to eliminate your competition...
Competition.
The shudder evolved into something baser, uglier. Isaac was rattled to the core by the realization that, without giving himself permission to do so, he had all but fully acquiesced to your preposterous claim on him. Sara loosed a wistful sigh that seemed to spread out and settle in a defeated smog over her boyfriend, still prone between her and the sleeping bag. Beneath her negligible weight, he reeled at the apparition of an unpleasant reality; In his bones, in his tainted soul, even in the filigreed heart he so prided himself on having constructed from nothing, he felt irrevocably that he belonged more to you than he did to her.
Sara started combing her fingers through his curls and laid her cheek on his chest while he clamped down on the horror threatening to overtake him. Her loose embrace was a comfort, but not enough to disperse the storm clouds brewing in his tormented conscience. It was all he could do to steady his inhalations, beat down the blend of panic and self-loathing fomenting in his gut, and wrap his arms securely around her languid form.
"I love you. You know that, right?" Isaac managed.
His voice was soft, the rhetorical question uttered more for his sake than hers. He didn't anticipate she would actually need convincing, but his plaintive tone seemed to spark some melancholic apprehension in the girl laid out across his chest. The fingers she had playing in his hair slowed their twirling as her expression fell.
"Why, though?" she sighed, sad as a widow burying her husband.
Isaac blinked at her, mind treacherously blank. She met his nonplussed gaze with inquisition that looked innocent enough, albeit doleful.
"What?" he demanded.
"I'm not being a jerk, I promise," she assured him. "I just... I'm genuinely curious, that's all."
"What, do you want, like... I could make a list or something," Isaac offered, nearly dumb with dismay at her instigation.
She knows! She must know, she must-
Isaac clamped down hard on his accelerating heart rate, though the pace of his breathing ran away before he could catch it. He stumbled over his next words, tripped over the compulsion to confess, but resisted. He cleared his throat and forced himself to stammer out an excuse instead.
"You're not asking that because I couldn't- it doesn't mean anything, I promise! I'm just tired, just-"
"No, Isaac, please," Sara shushed him, palms fanning out over his figure soothingly. "Please, I didn't mean it like that. Not at all. You know, I just... sometimes I can't help but wonder what you see in me. You know?"
Her wide eyes searched his with a desperation that allayed his selfish fears. He recognized the dull pain swirling behind her glistening irises, the slumbering reminder of the fragility she harbored. With an agonizing pang, it occurred to Isaac for the first time that Sara might be too delicate to survive a betrayal of this magnitude. Could she withstand the truth of his rampant unfaithfulness, if it ever came out?
Sara quivered above him, frail as a house of cards waiting for a breeze to send its walls tumbling down. Could he live with himself if he became the reason for her collapse?
Isaac swallowed his brimming terror, tightened his embrace on Sara and rearranged their positions to give himself time to think through what he would tell her. He rolled her onto her back, nudged her legs apart and settled between them with his face hidden against her neck and his fingers twining through hers. As much as his actions were designed to placate her, it was a relief to be off the hard ground, still unforgiving even through the tent floor and the layered sleeping bags.
"You know, as a man of science," he mumbled against her skin, "... I always need to know why. Why do things work the way they do, why is the world the way it is. Why do we feel the things we feel, why do we feel them for some people and not others? Why, why why, right? Science is nothing but a bunch of people who don't know anything asking why over and over again until someone comes up with an answer we can all agree on."
"Isaac, I don't-"
"No, let me- I'm working up to something, hear me out?" Isaac plead.
One of his hands left hers to take a turn seeking the bare skin hidden by her night clothes. Her breath slowed and her grip tightened. He felt bumps raise in the wake of his incitements and the thrill of riling her up so easily was almost enough to excite his overused anatomy. Almost, but disappointment crippled his hopefulness when all he could muster was a twitch in response to the sensation of her heat against his palm.
"Oh- okay," she breathed.
Isaac purred satisfaction into the thrum of her pulse, teased between their tight-pressed bodies with fingers that served as sinuous distractions. They slid and stroked, salacious and shameless, pretending hesitation for the sake of allowing his wiles enough time to recoup from where she'd scattered them with her unorthodox question.
"I can't tell you why I feel the way I do about you," he sighed. "Maybe it's because you throw me for a loop sometimes... and I like people who can keep up with my wit... even better if they can make me think twice."
"Isaac! Hey, not fair!" Sara gasped, protesting as his fingers quested deeper through her slick folds. She pushed him playfully, but not hard enough to actually free herself from his weight or displace him as he dipped deeper, more tantalizing with every passing second while his teeth nipped at her skin.
"Maybe it's because you're cute when you get flustered," Isaac went on. He thrust deep with one digit, intentionally wrecking her train of thought and leaving her panting at the shell of his ear. "Or because you're so beautiful that, sometimes, I wonder why too. Why me? What did I do right to deserve you, hm?"
"Sw-sweet-talker!" she managed without the faintest trace of true accusation in her voice.
She was yearning into the palm of his hand, grip closing around his wrist to demand more, lips searching for his while lust whipped her up into a frenzy. This time, their kiss vibrated with desire that diffused from her tensing muscles to his, urging him futilely to join her in hedonistic abandon. Isaac knew better than to think he could match her longing, but he gave her a second finger to bridge the gap and she seemed content enough to accept raw pleasure in place of the answer she had demanded from him.
Past the haze of euphoria Isaac was inflicting on her like a debilitating condition, intentionally meant to throw her off the scent of his transgressions, Sara still clung to enough objections to protest his tactics.
"Dirty trick, getting me all-all wet like this if you're really not planning to make love to me tonight!" she chided him half-heartedly.
The dart of her hand to his crotch bore the same connotation as a medic checking for a pulse. She groaned her disapproval, only for the sound to lengthen and soften back into a moan of surrender when Isaac crooked his fingers inside her firmly, generously. She leaned into the gesture helplessly, let her legs fall open wider for him while his free hand set to the task of displacing her clothes. He hummed and lapped at her neck, determined to manufacture a convincing facsimile of devotion from the crude clay of carnality.
"Come on, you know I would never tease you for nothing," he plied seductively. His mouth dropped lower with every word, tongue wet against her skin in passing on his way down. "Besides... we need to get back at Morticia and Gomez for disturbing us earlier."
Sara laughed breathlessly at his wicked humor, but the sound hiked up into an octave reserved for bliss when he reached his destination.
"But I... I wanna make you feel good too," she pointed out, though she had already given in to him completely.
Isaac didn't humor her with a response this time. He was too busy tickling her clit with the tip of his tongue, lapping around his thrusting fingers as they scissored at her soaked entrance. The most he deigned to afford her was a low hum and that was given mostly in service of encouraging her impassioned, ecstatic cries.
"Taste so good!" he slurred, unflinching in the face of the mess he drew from her with every thrust and suck. The fingers of his left hand pressed dark prints against her delicate skin, grooves that traced deep enough to make her hiss with pain.
"Isaac!"
He moaned at the invocation of his name, quickly losing awareness in the wash of her eagerness and the inept roll of her hips. He clutched her closer, pulled his fingers apart within her and slipped his tongue between them impulsively. Levering her open afforded him the best access, her heat and her slick coating his tastebuds and collecting at the back of his throat. He swallowed and trembled with the effort of holding his crouched posture, the exertion of straining his wrist to keep pumping into her while she writhed away like he was giving her too much.
Then her hands fisted in his hair and her aggression startled him out of the moment with its familiarity. Such savagery didn't typically belong to Sara, but for you... for you, it was natural.
For one perfect, flashing instant, Isaac imagined it was your grasp tangling through his curls, your nails crushing against his scalp cruelly, your thighs trembling with the spastic threat of release. Trembling because he was making you fall apart, driving you out of your mind with rapture, making you clench and drip around his fingers-
Isaac drew back to catch a harsh breath as desire flared and sparked through him like a trail of gasoline drippings igniting spontaneously in the summer sun. Unbelievably, he felt his cock firming, springing to life at the mere suggestion of your presence. Even the illusion of your manner was enough to wake his passions.
Sara's fingers loosened almost immediately and she pushed up onto her elbows with profuse apologies spilling out to interrupt the litany of pleasure Isaac wanted to hear. The crashing return of the present moment devastated him for a single kaleidoscopic heartbeat. He shook his head while he reoriented himself and Sara soothed his scalp in a misplaced attempt to make up for her roughness.
"No, do it again!" he whined brusquely, cutting her off.
"Huh?!"
"Felt so fucking good, do it- do it again!" he growled.
"Isaac, I didn't mean to hurt you, I don't want to-"
He surged up to fasten his lips to hers, hard enough to drag an undignified squeak from her. He tried and failed to guide her fingers back into the wild mess of his curls, only to give up when she went limp in his grasp. Instead, he pulled her hand low between their bodies to let her feel the unexpected resurgence of his arousal. Sara's hesitation suffered under the sensation of him half-hard against her palm. She pulled back to survey him critically, barely coherent from the close call with orgasm Isaac was pushing her toward before his focus broke.
"This isn't the first time you've wanted me to hurt you," she frowned, troubled even past the fog of lust obscuring her finer judgement.
"It doesn't hurt!" Isaac grumbled. "Sara, please, if you just-"
She silenced him with enthusiastic indulgence that crackled through her brittle restraint. Her fingers wove through his hair, tighter than was usual for her. Still not as rough as Isaac wanted, but it was a decent start. His lips abandoned hers while he fumbled to undress himself between her legs.
"Do it harder!" he rasped at her ear.
She moaned out a half-articulated dissent that died when Isaac rubbed his stiffening member against her seeping core. Silk and sluggish, malleable lava, he was still too giving against the plush of her cunt to truly be useful, but he came a little closer to matching her appetite with every passing second.
"Do it harder!" he demanded, the promise of sex breaking his usually smooth voice into a gravelly murmur. "Do it and I'll fuck you so good you'll see stars when you cum for me!"
Your favorite line, but it somehow felt right tumbling from his mouth.
Sara whimpered. Her already assailed composure shattered under his vulgar seductions. Her fingers fisted in his hair until his jaw fell open as wide as possible and his eyes glazed over, sightless with hunger. He forced his way inside of her, still not fully hard, still not aroused enough to carve his way into her properly, but she was so drenched from his sloppy cunnilingus that the botched union somehow succeeded. Her cries escalated too quickly, her nails raking down his back while he struggled to find an angle that would keep him from slipping out at every slight adjustment of her hips beneath his. Her frenzy was directionless, bordering on panic as her grip faltered and tightened on his locks in a haphazard, rhythmless dance that suggested she was forgetting and remembering his newest kink every time his body slammed against hers.
Isaac leaned down to devour her senseless shouts, hiked one of her knees up almost to her shoulder as he panted in the grip his sudden, degenerate lust. She only grew louder the harder he bore down over her, but the closer he nudged her toward climax, the more her grip on him loosened. Sara's nails went from punishing to pacifying faster than Isaac could groan his disappointment. If she noticed that he was dissatisfied, she hid it well. Then again, she was falling apart underneath him with alarming speed while he finally found purchase, finally sank to a depth he could maintain, finally hit the high point of arousal that he was accustomed to mustering with salacious thoughts alone.
Isaac took his own pleasure greedily, heedless of what Sara might have needed from him. He took it brazenly, as if in recompense for her inability to maintain a decent grip on his hair. His hips snapped forward with a violence tempered only by his own persistent fatigue, driving him deep enough to make her scream for him with every harsh thrust. The tent became smothering, moisture clinging in the air as sweat pooled between their heaving bodies.
"Isaac! Isaac! Just like that! Just like-"
His moans almost matched her feral pitch when she clamped around his length, still working feverishly against walls that quivered with the tremors that always reduced his girl to a shaking puddle in his arms. This time, he kept going, kept pushing, kept demanding, kept rutting against her quaking form until the direction of her pleas pivoted sharply.
"ISAAC! Stop, I can't- FUCK! Too much, too- can't take it, s'too good, I can't-"
Isaac could have howled his frustration but he slowed regardless. He refused to pull out, let her shudder through the throes of hyper-sensitivity with his fingers caging her wrists overhead and rabid teeth scraping raw marks thoughtlessly onto her neck. He buried himself deep while she clenched uncontrollably, still thrashing in his hold, all but sobbing from overstimulation. Bitterly, Isaac's thoughts drifted to you while Sara begged for reprieve from the very mania she'd been so eager to incite not so long ago.
You would take it for him. You would let him have his way with your body until he was completely satisfied. It would be your pleasure to bear the brunt of his perversion, to let him plow between your legs no matter how many times he made you unravel before he let go and joined you in release.
The abject yearning to swap Sara out for his other woman mid-coitus was jarring enough to bring him back to some meager semblance of sensibility.
"We can- we can stop, if you want," he managed, but the words were clearly forced, unmistakably grudging.
"No, I can... fuck, I just need a-a minute, babe!" Sara gasped.
Isaac throbbed with the need to keep going, the urge to ravage her until her screams went so hoarse that the words constituting her protests were incomprehensible. With a sickening, feverish jolt, Isaac acknowledged the desire to hurt her, the inexplicable high that came from hearing pain mixed in with the chorus of her bliss. As much as he craved the scourges of a lover who would indulge his subtle masochism, he realized starkly that he possessed a sadism to rival the self-deprecating slant of his impulses. Part of him thirsted for cruelty. For the power of domination, the thrill of subjugation.
"We should stop," Isaac grunted tersely.
If I don’t stop now, I’ll take it too far.
He kept the desolate thought to himself. He rolled off of Sara while she was still catching her breath, fixed his disordered clothes and shuffled to find his shoes. She was too dazed, too busy fighting for breath to ask where he was going, but he muttered a quick excuse as he unzipped the tent flap anyway.
"Air, just need some... gotta breathe, gotta..."
He was still mumbling to no one as he stumbled into the darkness, away from the small campsite until he was satisfied that he was far enough. No one would be able to hear him. He clutched himself again, back braced against a tree with the cool breeze tacking his sweat into a viscous sheen while he jerked off with his eyes squeezed shut and your name bleeding past his lips like a some unstemmed internal hemorrhage. When he came, it was such a let down that he had to bite back a cry of frustration.
"Fuck!" he growled instead, shaking his hand violently to fling his spend toward the brush. "Fuck... ah, fuck."
He settled back against the rough bark and shifted just enough to refasten his pants.
What a mess, he thought derisively.
Twice in one day, and neither climax had truly sated him. He ran his hands through his hair, aggravation dissipating into the softly chirping woodland while he wished he would have stayed by Sara’s side. Whether she would have let him finish inside was an open question, but it was worth asking and he felt acutely that he would have been more satisfied with such a conclusion.
Oh, to ruin his sweet, silly little Sara. The memory of her, panting and harrowed under the duress of his vivacity sent a delighted shiver tearing down his spine. The echo of her pleas, of her begging him to stop, reverberated deliciously in the reprehensible chambers of his mechanical heart. He wanted to hear her pleading with even more desperation. He wanted to bruise her, to mark her, to bleed her, to fill her until she wept for him and flowed over with the evidence of his dissolute affection.
What the fuck is wrong with me…
Dismay crept in when the vision fled. As much as Isaac wanted to blame you for his descent into profligacy, he knew that your presence was even less than a catalyst. He may not have been so openly inclined to indulge his worst impulses before you waltzed into his life and encouraged him to do so, but he hadn't been a saint either. The worst thing he could pin on you was perhaps an awakening of the darker urges that lurked in his subconscious, but even that, he suspected, was a stretch. If they slept before the light of your blaze called them to rise, they had done so fitfully, flailing in their restive repose. Snapping, gnawing and slavering, Isaac's baser proclivities regularly tested the barrier of his discipline for cracks and weak points.
A weak point. That was the best description for you, Isaac mulled. He was malcontent long before you appeared to torment and appease him. He raged against the constraints of civility, tested the boundaries demarcating the imaginary differences between god and man.
If anything, your influence had only accelerated the inevitable, Isaac realized with profound resignation.
A rustling in the bushes interrupted his dour contemplations. Isaac's eyes narrowed. His first thought was that a coyote or a raccoon was responsible for the disturbance. Out of an abundance of caution, or unchecked paranoia, he raised his right hand and swept the entire area with grasping, seeking fingers. His grip closed around something that felt suspiciously human and his stomach dropped with dread. He yanked and hauled Gomez out of the brush by the collar of his shirt.
The spark gaped like a fish, blinked rapidly like he couldn't believe he'd been caught. Isaac was so shocked that he released his friend in favor of clapping his hand over his mouth anxiously. The clinging scent of his own fluids assaulted his senses, overpowering and so irrelevant that he couldn't spare it a second thought.
"I-I didn't hear anything!" Gomez lied terribly. "Honest! And- and even if I did, I would take it to my grave, old boy! You know I would!"
Isaac shook under the duress of discovery. Clearly, Gomez had overheard his moans, recognized the name he couldn't stop himself from whimpering like a shameful secret into the ear of an isolation that promised utmost discretion, only to betray his confidence at the last minute. Isaac let his hand fall slowly, fingers twisting neurotically in his shirt on their way down.
"Old friend, please, please tell me," he began tremulously. "Tell me that Morticia is not in those bushes too."
"She's not! I had to take a leak, she's er... you know, waiting for me to come back," Gomez assured him quickly. "Seriously, Isaac, your secret's safe with me. I wouldn't dream of breathing a word to another soul. You know that!"
"I... yeah, I know," Isaac trembled. "I know, I just..."
Isaac trusted Gomez with his life. So it took him a moment of careful thought to put his finger on the flaw that made this discovery feel so damning.
"Gomez, you don't... you don't think I'm a bad person, just for that, do you?" Isaac pressed. "It was just... I mean, it wasn't even really a fantasy, more like a- a slip of the tongue or temporary insanity, or a fever dream, or-"
"Isaac, Isaac, stop," Gomez sighed. "You're not a bad person. No one's perfect, alright? I'm certainly not going to stand here and judge... especially since I'm sure I don't have the full picture. I mean, knowing you, there's more to the story, isn't there?"
Isaac stood stock still, frozen like a man staring down a firing squad.
"I thought so," Gomez went on, as though Isaac's silence was answer enough. "Look, old boy, my girl's waiting for me. We can talk tomorrow, if that's what you want. Or, if you don't want to talk about it... well, you know how short my memory is. I won't bring this up unless you do."
It was so dark that Isaac struggled to see the wink Gomez shot him as he scampered away.
"No," Isaac murmured to himself, now confident that he was, at last, alone. "No, old friend. You're wrong. I am a bad person."
He stumbled back to his own tent, disturbed in more ways than he cared to count. He found Sara already dozing, though she stirred at the rustle of his return.
"There you are," she sighed.
Grasping, sleepy fingers found his hems and urged him to take his place at her side. If Sara was upset with him for his loss of control, she hid it well. Or maybe she was just too tired to lash him with her scorn. He settled beside her and pressed close enough to lose some of his troubles in the billow of her hair. Her fingertips massaged his scalp languidly, providing a welcome distraction that he leaned into gratefully.
"You're not mad at me?" he mumbled. "I didn't hurt you or piss you off?"
"I just needed a second to recover," she murmured back, still half-asleep as his arms caged her selfishly. "That was amazing."
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm."
"Did you see stars?" Isaac teased, tone lighter for the ease with which she accepted his cruelty as a game to be forgiven and forgotten.
"So many stars," she sighed.
She slumped in his embrace, back asleep in the span of a few halting breaths while Isaac still coasted on lingering chemical fumes that refused to let him rest. He held her closer and clung to the present with stubborn short-sightedness.
I have her now. Come what may, she's mine for tonight. And I'm not letting her go easily.
Was it practical for Isaac to have both girls? Definitely not. Possible? The odds of him succeeding should he attempt to walk so fine a line laughed in his face. His pride bristled at the ridicule and he reminded himself that he had already done the impossible enough times over to make a mockery of fate. Why should he treat this like anything but another trial to overcome, another choice to be ignored, another set of variables to wrestled until they succumbed to his capricious, arrogant whims?
Isaac Night had never been one to let bad odds stop him from employing a desperate gambit. He wasn't going to cave to trepidation anytime soon. Consequences be damned, he decided with a nefarious rush of giddiness, he was going to have his cake and eat it too.
Can you please make more Isaac night oneshots 🥹🥹🥹 all of the ones I read was way back 2025😭😭
lol, crazy to think Ive been at this for like, a year now ^_^ Anything is possible, I’m gonna get the current story out of my system and then see how I feel from there, but it is nice to know ppl are still interested :) <3
Chapter Warnings: Violence, blood, angst, character death
Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics, @empyreanevents & @steviebbboi <3
Images from pinterest <3
Leaving Isaac unsatisfied sat wrong in the hollow space where your conscience would have resided if you had one. Your undying desire to please him rankled in the face of the reality that you'd left him to contend with his lust alone. Worse, the thought that he might find satiation at another woman's hands squirmed under your skin like a parasitic invasion. The discomfort was almost enough to break your resolve and send you scurrying back to his side.
You refused to falter. Your stride was unbroken even as your posture skulked. Nevermore's secret passages wouldn't take you directly to Greeves' office, but they would get you close and you were ill at ease traveling in open view. The knowledge that your foes could be watching set your hair on end.
Between apprehensiveness for the battle you were preparing to fight and the discomfiture of walking away from Isaac, your nerves were strung tight. Taut as power lines, just as unsightly and even more electrifying, they vibrated with uncertainties flavored so broadly that their jagged twanging dulled the finer edges of your typical savagery. You felt ill-prepared, like a surgeon walking into his operating room with a butter knife in place of a scalpel.
Ready or not, you only had the upper hand as long as you acted first. Hesitance would negate your advantage, if it hadn't already. Had your dalliances given Greeves and Cætus the time they needed to formulate a plan? To set traps, to lure you out of hiding on their terms? The thought was foremost on your mind when you spotted Greeves near his office. He moved with an irate, off-kilter dip in his gait that declared a poorly concealed nervousness. When he disappeared into his office, he glanced over his shoulder with a thoroughness that gave him a distinct resemblance to a bait animal checking to see if the predator he was trying to draw out was already bearing down over his back.
They've set a trap for me. They must have.
Trap or no, you were determined to bring this sordid affair to a head. You could come to your adversaries as the hunter, or wait for them to find you as prey.
You waited until the coast was clear, then dashed from the hidden alcove that allowed you to watch without being seen. You paused with your hand on the doorknob and tension stringing through you in sickening, snapping tendrils. It was your turn to survey your surroundings, to wonder if you were being observed. Much like Greeves, you pressed onward like you didn't actually have a choice in the matter. You turned the handle and thought it felt heavier than it should have. The sensation as enough to freeze you in place, suspended on a tightrope of indecision. What awaited you beyond? Would your opponents' preparations prove overwhelming, or would you be able to evade or muscle your way through their contrivances? How foolhardy was your advance, when weighed against the risks of retreat?
Usually, the prospect of murder would have quickened your blood to a roaring crescendo, tantalized your pulse into a rigorous dance, sent maniac glee coursing through your body like the anticipation of sex or a feat of daring. The fact that your targets were armed with the knowledge to counter your powers dampened your excitement. More to the point, the stakes here had the potential to be higher than mere demise. You always laughed at mortality and this encounter should have been no different, but the circumstances rendered it grave as a true death.
Reincarnation at this stage would send you on a decade-long quest to find Isaac once more. Which wasn't to say that you minded your mate significantly older than you. He was a delicacy at any age, but for once, the wasted time would never be recouped. And what if he died before you could find him again? Lost forever... no, the risk was utterly unacceptable.
You set your jaw, squared your shoulders and reconsidered your bold strategy. Was more cunning called for in this instance? A confrontation was tempting, one step inside to clean the whole mess up once and for all, but...
"It's not like you to be so reluctant."
Cætus' voice behind you was as good as a jolt of electricity straight to your brain stem. Panic stretched seconds interminably, but still not long enough to afford you the reaction time that would have saved you from the cage of his grasp. One arm bound you close and his other shot out to open the door, to drag you inside along with him.
Frigid water hit your system with the same shattering, screeching force as a train smashing into a body stranded on its track. You couldn't even gasp past the shock of it, couldn't stop the air from leaving your lungs like you'd taken a punch to the gut rather than a bucket of water to the head. Cætus was just as soaked as you were, hissing with displeasure at the sacrifice your second thoughts required of him.
So there was a trap after all.
Your dismal thoughts whirled while you collapsed to the ground along with your presumptive captor, writhed alongside him in a puddle that rendered you both weak as flopping tuna beached by the tide.
"Isaac!"
Sara's delight to see him nagged at his conscience. He bit down hard on his grumbling and summoned a smile for her sake. When she embraced him, he forced himself to kiss her. When she started to pull away, he was still unhappy with his efforts. He dragged her back, eliciting a little whine of surprise from her when his lips latched to hers a second time.
Sara hummed delightedly into his mouth, opened to his plying while he practiced sincerity on his unsuspecting girlfriend. The swipe of his tongue across hers felt like a rehearsal. The subtle press of her figure to his felt like a lie. He wove his fingers deeper into her locks and coaxed her even closer, deepened the kiss until he could almost believe the facade of his own passion was more than a lackluster fabrication. By the time he released her, she was short of breath and suppressing light-headed giggles.
"That's more like it!" she encouraged him brightly. "That nap really did you a world of good, huh?"
"Mm-hm," Isaac agreed, unable to keep the doleful edge out of the low intonation. Sara either ignored it or chose to read it as lingering lethargy.
"So then, you're ready for this camping trip?" she pressed, playing with his fingers idly while her eyes locked to his expectantly.
Isaac pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder wistfully. Somewhere in the school he was preparing to leave behind for the weekend, you were about to fight for your life. Supposedly, of course.
Isaac would have been glad to dismiss your narrative, but he couldn't make himself do it. He had no choice, apparently, but to buy in to your escalating delusions. He looked back down to Sara, took in her anticipation, her oblivious joy at the prospect of dragging him away from it all for a weekend. Campfires and s'mores, fishing with Gomez, stargazing with his girlfriend...
For a second, Isaac wavered, almost unable to walk away from the battle you had begged him to join. Could his conscience really withstand a weekend of innocent fun with something so serious looming in the background? If he left now, he would have no idea whether you survived until he returned Monday.
"Isaac? Isaac! Did I lose you?" Sara wondered, tugging his hands to bring him back down to reality.
He sighed heavily and rekindled his false smile. He squeezed her hands back and turned fully away from Nevermore.
"Yeah, I'm ready," he assured her. "Let's go."
"Cætus!"
Greeves pounced to snap the door shut behind you. Your attacker, it seemed, was taking the torrent harder than you, near paralyzed by the assault that soaked his clothes. You rolled away, pulled easily free of his lax grip to scamper to the far side of the office. A quick dart of your eyes informed you that the way you'd come in was also the only way out. Cætus may have been useless at the moment, but Greeves still stood firm between you and escape. He stooped just far enough to put a helping hand on his friend, to haul him up out of the puddle oppressing him. Cætus stumbled, grateful to be deposited even an inch free of the liquid. He burned hot enough that already, steam curled and coiled off his body in wafting streams.
You were grateful to realize you were drying out just as quickly, but the question remained; could you possibly dry quickly enough to save yourself? Even in this weakened state, did you have enough fight left in you to resist whatever bloody fate Cætus surely had in store for you?
"You were right!" Greeves marveled, almost oblivious with astonishment while Cætus propped himself against a wall.
"Don't sound so surprised," the other phoenix replied. "I know her well."
Greeves, you ventured, had assumed you would run scared. Or perhaps involve authorities. Were you a typical example of the outcast cohort into which you'd been reborn, his guesses would have been reasonable. As it was, you couldn't help but bare your teeth at his underestimation of your willingness to handle your own problems.
Even if Greeves had underestimated you, Cætus had at least attempted to account for your wiles. The emptied bucket swung erratically over the doorway, rigged with cords and ropes attached to a now-triggered mechanism designed to spill the contents when the door was opened. Clever. Intricate. Dependent on your intrepid nature, your refusal to flee.
"We don't have long," Cætus pointed out. His hand slipped from view briefly, only to emerge with a dagger in tow that Greeves sputtered at the sight of.
"Cætus, what-"
"Don't question me now, teach," Cætus chastened him. "She came here to kill you. This only ends one way."
"She didn't bring a weapon!" Greeves protested.
"She is a weapon, until you douse her so she can't incinerate you," Cætus insisted. He advanced and you backed away.
"This isn't what I agreed to!" Greeves persisted. He surged forward - only for Cætus to turn the blade on him. He stopped in his tracks, palms out on instinct.
"Not another step!" Cætus warned. "You stay right there, Thaddeus!"
"I need you to think about what you're doing!" Greeves begged, pleading reason to a man already far beyond the reach of rationality.
You hit a corner and panic closed your throat like a cork in a bottle. You braced your hands against the walls corralling you like a lamb for slaughter while Cætus edged closer, blade still poised in Greeves' direction. He was shaking, you noted. An effect of the water quickly evaporating from his skin? Would his unsteadiness be enough to let you wrestle the knife from him?
It was desperate and you knew it, but you tried to call on the fiery powers that defined you. No embers leapt in the air around you, no flames licked from your fingertips. Steam rose around you in a thin cloud, but your ability was still out of reach. Doom swelled while you cowered in the corner and Cætus finally turned his full attention to you.
"Abigail," he demanded.
Your heart hammered with a perverse mix of excitement and fear. Cætus went on while Greeves listened carefully, captivated by the intensity of Cætus' tone, even through the suffocating tension of situation.
"I know she found you," the other phoenix all but spat. "I've had lifetimes to investigate, lifetimes to gather evidence around her disappearance. I know she was looking for you after I died. I can only imagine she hoped you could help her find me again."
Closer and closer, Cætus was only feet from you now. Greeves took a tentative step forward, only to stop short again when his partner in crime pressed the tip of the dagger to your throat. You held your breath. One wrong answer, one rough inhalation and you would be dead again. Cætus bore down over you like some dread agent of fate, some disburser of punishment ordained by a higher power. The justice of his vendetta almost inspired you to laugh, despite the fact that you were on the receiving end of this retribution. You held back your cackle for fear that it would cause enough motion to drive the blade into your skin.
"Don't deny it!" Cætus hissed. "She came to you for help... tell me what happened! Tell me what you did to her!"
"She did," you admitted. The tremor in your voice was owed more to sick elation at the reminiscence of your crime than any terror for your current predicament. "Smart girl, your Abigail... she knew your reincarnative cycles would be thrown off if she didn't join you in death soon after your demise."
Cætus was shaking harder than you, features alight with pain and anger. The fine edge of the blade sliced through the first few layers of your skin, just deep enough to sting, just enough to draw a line of blood that dripped down your neck to disappear past the collar of your shirt. The fabric was still damp, but no longer clinging. The threads of steam rising from your body were beginning to dissipate, less visible with every passing second while Cætus clung to your words like he'd been waiting to hear them for hundreds of years.
"She wanted to be sure that any death would suffice," you continued. Your lips were smirking, teeth on full display despite any instincts of self-preservation you might have harbored. You couldn't help it. You were too pleased with yourself, too gratuitously, maliciously happy with your own spiteful whims. "Do you want to know what she told me, Cætus?"
The tremble rocking him had planted itself like a permanent guest in his tight-strung muscles. He leaned in close like you were imparting some terrible secret, some forbidden knowledge. The space narrowed between you until you could have been on the cusp of a kiss, but for the blade separating you. He wanted to know, his eyes told you. They burned, backlit with the same orange glow that radiated from your own, no less intense for the water that was almost eliminated from your clothes. Greeves hovered, forgotten in the background, almost as breathless as the phoenixes he watched.
"She told me she was afraid to die," you purred cruelly. "That she thought about jumping from a building right after you died. That seeing your lifeless body hurt her so badly, she was almost able to do it..."
Cætus sucked in a breath harrowed by agony. You drank his suffering with hedonistic indulgence, floated on the high of his desolation.
"Oh yes," you sighed, almost gentle with the satisfaction of tormenting your long lost, one-time brother. "But Abigail was afraid, still. Afraid of death, certainly, as much so as any mortal. They fear it in their very bones and no amount of immortality can ever remedy that sickness. But more than death, she was terrified that she might never see you again. That she might make some mistake, might somehow ruin your gift."
Cætus' eyes brimmed with tears that spilled over. When they sizzled against his searing skin, the steam rose in lonely wisps. His clothes were completely dry by now. Yours were too, but you were enjoying yourself too much to stop. You had almost forgotten how much danger you were in, enraptured as you were by the spell of devastation you wove around your opponent with words alone.
"You're right, that's why she sought me out," you admitted. "Rotten luck, because I think Serali still had his spark back then. Maybe even Kier. But your Abigail found me instead of them."
Cætus already knew what you'd done, you could see it in his eyes. Past the sheen of tears, behind the vengeance of enmity, there was surrender blossoming like a corpse rose in the shifting blaze of his irises.
"You didn't," he mumbled, inarticulate with a grief he must have been denying himself for ages.
"I did," you assured him. "But not before I made sure that she knew what was happening to her. I explained your gift... I told her that your kiss lives in her heart, that as long as she keeps it there, safe, you would always be reunited..."
"No," he choked. "No, no!"
"Then, once she understood, I carved my way to her heart while she was still alive to watch me do it," you grinned.
"No!"
"I burned it to ash before the light left her eyes!" you cackled. "What a treat, the tears she cried! They didn't even have time to stop flowing before she was gone forever, before-"
Cætus gave a forlorn shriek, a cry of loss that drove you back against the wall and sent Greeves stumbling as well. The blade left your skin, raised high while Cætus regarded you with the momentary madness of a man who has lost everything.
You licked your lips, grinned your pleasure and shivered your joy, even staring down a lethal blow.
Delicious. This is worth dying for... oh my love, how sorry I am to lose you... but this delicacy might be experienced once in a thousand years. I'll never have this chance again. If you could remember yourself, you would understand, I'm sure...
You waited a beat for the killing blow, but then you both realized something crucial in the same heartbeat.
Neither of you were damp anymore. Your abilities were dry enough to return.
Cætus thrust the blade into your chest anyway, but the pain was hardly deadly. He tore it free for another meaningless stab, but you intercepted his wrist this time. You bled freely, but the wound was already closing with the dagger removed. You wrestled with your would-be killer. He fought for revenge and you fought for a life you didn't deserve. Staggering, stumbling, you crashed into Greeves' furniture while the Professor dodged to avoid your battle. Neither of you could be hurt by flame, but the heat of your struggle encased you both in an inferno that roared and hissed loud enough to drown out your cries and grunts.
The room couldn't withstand the conflagration. Greeves made for the door as fire leapt and furnishings ignited. Neither you nor Cætus concerned yourself with his flight. You were too embroiled in your fight, too busy clawing for your lives. You traded meaningless blows and warred for control of the dagger that could still prove lethal.
Only if it was used correctly.
After a few minutes, manic mirth overcame you as Cætus buried the blade in your gut once again. His blows were random, undirected, driven by panic and anguish, adrenaline and vindictive impulse. He didn't know what he was doing, you realized. The revelation infused your glee with a victorious high, drove you to fight with renewed vigor to wrest the knife from his hands.
"You don't know how to kill one of our kind without water, do you?!" you demanded viciously.
Cætus was too far gone to even consider a reply. He slashed and tore at your indifference while you took the assault unflinching. Your wounds healed almost the instant the blade left your flesh. You withstood his fury until the vigor began to drain from his attacks, until exhaustion began to take its toll in the wake of his brief, violent outburst.
"I'll teach you how!" you snarled.
You rolled to the floor together, still grappling over the blade. Atop your opponent, you secured the advantage, stunned him into a vital second's worth of inaction with harsh elbow strike. You wrested the dagger from his grip, tongue lathing uncontrollably over your lips as you drew it back in preparation.
"Right here, brother!" you cackled.
The blade sank cruelly into the hollow of his neck. You twisted it savagely while he choked on blood, still unconcerned. Shouldn't this wound heal just as well as any other you could inflict on him?
It would have, but you withdrew the blade with decisive suddenness and tossed it aside carelessly. Cætus' eyes went wide as they followed its path. Then they snapped back to you as your fingers chased the mending puncture, tore with frenzied urgency as you scrambled to outpace his ability's attempts to mend him.
"Old as dirt!" you sneered while he gurgled with your hand distending the flesh of his throat. "And you still have so much to learn, Cætus!"
Both his hands flew to grip your wrist, but your questing fingers had already found what they were looking for. Sharp edges threatened to spill your blood inside your quarry, but you disregarded the pain and closed your fist around what you were looking for. You yanked your hand free, shouted your victory to the ceiling as fire licked and crawled ever higher to consume it. Cætus gaped at your triumphant fist, hands clamping around a wound that refused to close. Robbed of the spark that granted him the most remarkable of his inherited abilities, he was little more than mortal.
Past the panic of losing, he may have realized what you'd taken from him in his dying moments. The glowing light disappeared from his orange eyes, leaving them a pale brown augmented only by the inferno raging around you. The blaze of your battle cast them with a hellish shine while he bled and choked beneath you. He tried to scream in pain, but his throat was far too mangled to accommodate such a sound. The flames dancing around your bodies licked at him eagerly, taking hold with an enthusiasm that suggested they had been waiting for him to lose his immunity to their hunger.
You unfurled your fisted fingers, dripping with your blood and his, to reveal the spoils of your conquest. A small orange gem, brilliant as the fire it provided, rested in your palm. Cætus set eyes on his own spark with disbelief that faded quickly. He slumped beneath you, lax with lifelessness while the inferno of your battle raged on around you.
You clutched the gem close to your heart and laughed helplessly while flame consumed Greeves office and charred the shell beneath you beyond recognition.
Were you the last phoenix in the world, now that Cætus was gone forever? Hard to say, but if any of your brethren remained, you didn't know where to find them.
You rose from the perch of your victory to stride from the blazing disaster, head high, evil euphoria rolling off you in sickening, miasmic waves.
Well my biology class has started and icl, this seems like an intense amount of learning to cram into a single month, so I suspect I’ll be absent for the most part until August 0_0
