synopsis :: isaac tries to stop his obsession over his sister’s best friend; he relentlessly pushes the thoughts and feelings she causes him aside. nothing seems to work, and she continues to dig deeper and deeper under his skin.
idea loosely based on tear you apart by she wants revenge ! word count :: 3.9k
warnings :: 18+ content, masturbation, oral (fem!receiving), slight choking, obsessive and possessive behavior, isaac putting his powers to use, he’s so obsessed he cums in his pants, whoever decided isaac would call his lover ‘dove’, i owe you my life.
notes :: this is literally 3.9k words on the dot. i hate the ending (i hate all of it) but i had to stop somewhere. i have plenty of requests to tend to, but yet again listening to my playlist this song came on and it felt so isaac. if he fell in love and became obsessed, he’d do anything for that person. i mean he gave up saving francoise because she asked him to save tyler. i couldn’t resist writing it. also thank you so much for 100 followers what ? 🖤
Francoise Night doesn’t have many friends.
People are either too scared of her, or pity her. She has a hatred for both. She’s not a monster, and she’s not a child. It’s hard for her to make connections because of this — what if the person’s intentions aren’t as pure as they seem?
But your friendship with her had surprisingly came easily. You were roommates, had classes together, sat side by side in most of them. Naturally you had duo-projects assigned. That’s where it all started.
Francoise guessed living with someone allows you a better glimpse at the real them. You never looked at her like she was a fragile thing in need of saving, you never looked at her like she was a horrid creature that would pluck your eyes out during the smallest fit of rage.
Eventually, and quite quickly, Francoise attached herself to you greatly. There was hardly a moment where you weren’t together. If you were in the library, she was sitting next to you silently. If you were eating lunch, she’d be sat next to you offering the parts of hers she hadn’t touched. And of course, back in your dorm she loved to talk to you. About various things.
How her Hyde side was handling that day, her deep desires for a Normie life. And Isaac noted every bit of it. Of course he did, he’s like his sister’s personal guardian angel and savior all in one. Nothing in her life gets past him, not when they both practically had to raise each other.
So he would follow you, watch you, all intently and judging. He needed to make sure you didn’t have ulterior motives with his sister like most of the students here. Isaac has always been precise in his calculations and research.
You noticed him as well, in other ways. Like when he would check on his sister during lunch or in between classes. You’d notice his unruly, curly hair, his pale skin, thin body, and height along with the expression of madness made him look sickly.
His watching over the years turned from protecting his sister into admiring you from afar. Becoming obsessed. No one truly sees him or his sister, no one gives them the time of day. But you do. Regardless of the fact you’re more his sister’s friend than his — because of his habit of keeping almost everyone at arms length — it caused him to latch on, obsess over you.
He began popping up more. This time you sat in the corner of the library. Your knees were pressed to your chest while you lost yourself in a book on Hyde lore. Another thing Isaac admired, you cared enough to learn about his sister.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor causes you to look up from your book. He had sat down across from you. He doesn’t speak much, simply focusing on his studies. This has been happening since the beginning of your final year at Nevermore. Isaac will show up randomly, sit near you. Just you, silently, until it became a normal thing.
You continue staring over your book, his head is down and buried in his notebook. All you can really see is his messy curls and his slender pale fingers writing away about inventions and discoveries you could hardly imagine.
What you didn’t know? He’s come up with a plan, how to get you to become just as beautifully, sickeningly obsessed with him as he is with you.
It all had to start right. Slow, with you unaware of his ulterior motives. At first, he only showed up when Francoise was also with you. He’d hardly engage in conversation, just sit there and observe you. He would ask his sister about you, personal things. Not out of malice, in an attempt to learn, dissect, figure you out. She quickly realized you were becoming one of his obsessions.
He’d never admit this, though. In fact he hates to face it himself. Despite the amount of times he has been in his lab, mind drifting from his current research onto you. You’ll have to be the one to confess to him, even if he has to bend your feelings to his will.
He keeps a neutral expression, scribbling on pages and taking his time to respond to you. Like you’re something getting in the way of his research, as if he hadn’t chosen to sit here with you. But it’s nothing new to you coming from him.
Oddly enough it’s… quite nice. Maybe it’s the excuse to look at his hauntingly beautiful face while he works. Maybe it’s the comfortable silence, doing your own thing in each other’s presence. Something he wouldn’t do with just anyone. It made you feel special.
For a few minutes you let silence fill the space between you. That is, until curiosity kills the cat and you begin asking questions. What he’s working on, what it means, how close he is to getting the answer he wants. It makes his mechanical heart perhaps tick a bit quicker. Despite realizing you’re a curious, talkative person long ago, he isn’t used to others being truly fascinated, interested by his work.
He’d answer with practiced indifference, though you could see the little smirk fighting to claw its way onto his face. He wasn’t exactly stunned with how intelligent your questions were, but each time you asked him something it caused an even deeper infatuation to dig a hole inside him. He’d happily fall into it.
He can’t help but indiscreetly take in your features as you spoke. He’s known for being thorough in his experiments, so why wouldn’t he be thorough in studying you? You don’t understand what you’re doing to him, how badly he wants to risk all his composure just to grab you right here and kiss you until you forget to breathe.
But that’s when it hits, it always does eventually. While you’re asking him another question he gets hit with a wave of uncertainty. Realization hits, fear sets in. He shows none of it. But his head is swimming, feelings are uncertain. They could lead to weakness, hurt, loss of control.
Isaac Night doesn’t lose control.
He goes stoic, freezing in his seat before gathering his things and leaving without a word. You watch him with furrowed brows, your friend’s brother has always been a weird anomaly, but you thought you were making progress.
Isaac finds himself back in his lab, running a hand over his face. He’s had many interests that have faded, replaced by the next best use for his talents and wonderful mind. You’re going to be just like the rest of those lost obsessions. This infatuation will go away.
He sits down at his desk to busy himself with another project. Perhaps an invention. The thought has his mind traveling to you, what he could create for you.
He lets out a mix of a growl and a yell, slamming his fist down. He doesn’t understand this. He’s an intelligent man, but he can’t wrap his head around how something so simple and trivial as a girl, his sister’s friend, can send him down a spiral.
He doesn’t trust or obsess easily, but when he does, it’s strong. It’s unforgiving, it’s harsh, and it’s beautiful all at once. He’s fully willing to do anything for you. He hasn’t felt this way for anyone but his sister, though for you it’s different.
With you he can’t help but notice what you’re wearing every day. How it fits your body, what it shows off. How you did your hair, your hands when you talk. Your lips when you talk. Your natural kindness towards people, which he quickly realized isn’t a weakness of yours. He’s seen you do a complete turn-around on someone once they start belittling Francoise. Or even him.
He’ll tell you he doesn’t need saving, but the fact you would do it without question intrigued him.
He finds himself having moments like these. Where he’s sitting in his dark tower, candles and dinky lamps and the moon being the only things providing light in the space. And he closes his eyes, just for a moment, trying to push his feelings down.
Instead you keep popping into his head. First it’s just thoughts of you, how you’ve wormed yourself into his and Francoise’s lives. How simplistically kind you were to them. How your bare minimum treatment was so foreign to him he couldn’t help but get unhealthily attached even from afar.
How you smelled when he sat next to you. How you looked at him with so much interest just at him explaining how he adapts when he gets his heart wet, or his newest experiment with reanimating deceased animals. How your lips looked as you spoke.
How it would feel to grab you, feel every inch of you. Hold you impossibly close, pressed against him. And only him.
It’s almost like he can feel your skin against his. He’d rake his hands up and down your body, memorizing it like it’s the only thing he needs to study. The thought of being the one to touch you, to kiss every inch of you causes him to take in a sharp breath.
His breathing picks up just slightly when he feels his pants get tighter. He curses under his breath, at you, for what you do to him. You don’t even know the hold you have over him. It makes him angry, it makes him sick.
But still, he reaches under his waistband. Despite his anger and his desire for control, this isn’t lust. Not purely at least. It’s obsession, infatuation. Every pump of his hand has a meaning behind it. Wanting you, craving you. Wishing he could give you a peek inside his head, so you could see what he could do for you, to you.
He’d let you do what you wanted, he’d let you take control. That angers him even more. The need to be in control has been extremely present since he had to take his life into his own hands. He wants you all to himself, but that’s tonight. By tomorrow he’ll be over it. He refuses to let this obsession take over.
For the next few days you plague his mind. All of a sudden his inventions are centered around you, his eyes drift to you during classes you have together. It seems the world has it out for him, because the two of you always managed to find him. And his brain would short circuit. The way your hair framed your face, the way you looked at him. How your uniform pressed against your body. He didn’t know he could be envious of cloth until now.
He ignores it, buries it deep and focuses on anything but you. Nothing works, you’re not just some silly crush. You’re one of the only people to successfully win over his ticking heart. The only other being his sister, and this feeling he has for you isn’t the same he holds for her.
He wants to ravish you, study you, be at your beck and call. He wants to spend every waking moment with you, because if you’re the only person deemed worthy of his time, why should you ever be out of his sight?
He can’t help himself, he needs to face you, take what’s his. He finds himself writing the words ‘Iago Tower, Midnight” on a piece of paper. Your desk is a bit away from his in your shared class, but with a flick of his wrist it lands right in front of you.
You recognize his handwriting, it’s legible but scratchy. Like he can’t waste time writing but it somehow turns out stunning like everything else about him. You don’t reply, you don’t nod, you just look forward, stuffing the paper in your pocket.
He knew you’d show up, a small smirk finding a way on his face at the sound of the rickety elevator making its way up to his laboratory.
You’ve been here before, existing with him silently while the two of you worked. You, on more trivial things like homework. And him, his never-ending experiments driven by his rock solid god complex.
His head doesn’t lift, but you know he hears the click of your shoes against the rickety flooring.
“I got your note.” You announce, nearing the side of his desk. You lean against it, looking over your shoulder at his work. It’s blueprints drawings. Most likely of the next big Night invention waiting to grace Nevermore.
He doesn’t look up at you, he just simply hums in response. You can’t help but let out a small laugh, ever the mysterious man he was. It almost drove you crazy, in the best way.
You lean down a bit to be more level with his face, “Why did you want me here?”
With a practiced smirk he goes to look at you, freezing a bit at the sight before him. The way you were bent gave him a view right into the top of your shirt. His smirk falls and he takes in a sharp breath.
“Your presence helps me focus.” Your head tilts at his statement. It was stated so matter-of-factly, but it was so oddly intimate for Isaac. You turn your head away from him, nodding to cover up the heat blooming in your chest.
If he could tell his words affected you, which is probably the case, he didn’t show it. He simply went back to his work like you weren’t there. But any time you tried to move away, invisible hands kept you at the edge of his desk.
You looked down, seeing his hand lifted a bit, the one keeping you in place. And a burst of confidence had you placing your hand on top of it. His head tilts at the action, eyes darting to the simple contact.
“I like being here with you. When it’s just the two of us.”
You didn’t need to say anything else, the tone of your voice had his focus moving from your hand to your eyes. He leans back in his chair, looking over you with a stare that told you he was battling with himself internally.
Isaac keeps eye contact, still studying you. Less like a curious scientist and more like a predator to its prey. “You’re the only person I let up here with me.” His voice is softer, but still sharp. In the way it seems like he’s telling you things to get your reaction.
You swallow thickly before shaking your head with a little laugh. “I see you bring Francoise up here.”
“To run tests.” He answers smoothly, watching you turn your head again. His telekinetic grip on your body goes to your chin, moving your gaze back to him. “You’re the one I seek out for my own self-gratification.”
He stands swiftly, stepping in front of you. His hold on your face doesn’t waver, keeping you still in front of him. One of his hands grabs one of yours, holding it and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. He bends slightly, lifting your hand to his lips, eyes remaining on yours. He was pushing you, seeing how far he could go. Testing you even without his fancy equipment.
“And does me being here help you focus on your work? Or something else?” He smirks at that, you playing along. Of course you’re right, he couldn’t focus on a single thing with you around. Everything would just start pointing towards you.
His focus finally falls from your eyes to your nose, to your lips. Taking his time to look over every part of your face. As if he hasn’t studied every bit of you that he could a million times over already.
Then he leans in, still keeping your head in place, and presses his lips against yours. It’s gentle, soft, more of a peck than anything. You didn’t expect such a kiss from him, but it had your heart soaring.
Inside his head he was going crazy. His brain was screaming at him to kiss you like he was claiming you. It took everything in him not to. But then he lets your chin go, and you’re leaning in to kiss him again.
It’s as if all resolve snaps, feeling your lips again ignites a hunger in him. He could have managed with a small, fleeting taste. But you had to break him. All of a sudden one hand is on your waist, the other grabbing your hair. You let out a surprised noise into his mouth that he only swallows greedily.
This obsession, addiction, fuels possession. He leaves dark marks and bites along your neck and collarbone. The sound of his name slipping from your lips, it’s such a sweet sound to him.
That ever-so-present force of his presses your bodies together. You can feel the imprint of him pressing against your thigh, a whimper leaving you in response. His kisses trail down to your chest, hands reaching up your shirt to feel your skin.
He wants to learn every curve of your body, every touch that makes you let out those pretty noises. The ones only he’s allowed to cause and hear. His hands go up until they’re lifting your shirt off, your bra following.
He lays you down onto his desk, the bottom half of your body dangling. He positions himself between your legs, bending down to look over your bare torso. You feel him everywhere, and your mind buzzes with anticipation.
His hand slides up to your neck, admiring the claim he’s put on you. He wraps his fingers around your throat, experimentally squeezing as his eyes stay trained on your face. Your eyes flutter shut and a small whine leaves you, eliciting a satisfied hum from Isaac.
He leans down, lips pressed below your ear, “I want to fucking tear you apart, pretty dove.” You let out a small gasp that he cuts off with a kiss. It’s much harsher this time, less calculated, he’s losing his resolve. It’s all your fault.
You feel his hand squeeze occasionally, his free one going under your skirt. He grips your thigh, nails digging into the skin and ripping more noises out of you. You feel your patience thinning.
Your head falls back, your breathless voice calling out his name. He trails open-mouthed kisses down to your stomach, humming at you. “What is it, dove?” You spread your legs farther apart, hoping he’d get your silent plea. But the smirk on his face and his continuation of kisses tells you he needs you to say it.
You huff, hand going to his hair to force his head up. He looks confused, a bit surprised at the action. But the slight pain of your nails digging into his scalp and the grip you have is delicious. He’s surprised himself that he’s allowing it.
You lead his head between your legs, forcing him onto his knees. He could have stopped you, grabbed your hand, he could have even used his mind. But his need to please you, worship you, watch you lay there and writhe in pleasure he gives you.
It scratches that possessive itch better than anything.
So he indulges you, flipping your skirt up to reveal the pretty sight of you absolutely soaked. All because of him. His lips find your inner thigh, pressing kisses and nipping at the skin. He can’t help but smirk at the sight of your hips rutting into the air, and he’s pushing them down without lifting a finger.
Finally his kisses land where you need them, right against your clit through your panties. It feels gross and lewd and perfect all at the same time. It’s written all over your face, the shameful pleasure. He notices everything.
Teasingly slow, his fingers move your panties to the side. That invisible force pins your hips to the desk as his tongue gives a few little flicks. You whine at the tiniest bit of pleasure, but Isaac wants to take his time with you. Watch you unravel and fall apart beneath him.
The grip you have on his hair tightens and you’re forcing him further into your cunt. He just chuckles against you, the vibrations causing your legs to spasm around his head. He doesn’t speed up, giving the least amount of attention he can to your poor pussy.
As if he’s toying with you, experimenting with your body. Seeing how long you can take it. Hearing the noises he can pull out of you. How many times he can make you chant his name.
He brings one finger to your entrance, circling around it. He’s teasing, drawing it out. You attempt to buck your hips up, but they’re forced down even harder.
Finally he relents, tongue flattening and dragging all the way up before he looks up at you. He sucks on your clit, harsh, his attention zeroing in on the way your face scrunches and your breathing quickens into panting.
Isaac kept your shaky legs apart, gripping them so rough he left crescent-shaped marks. He would remove his mouth from you with an erotic, wet pop sound to kiss the imprints his nails left. His fingers sliding into you to make up for the loss of stimulation.
Your moans and whimpers of his name fill his lab, leading his head into those dark places again. Thinking of drawing those noises from you again, with added begging. Maybe from overstimulation, or maybe from providing you barely enough to keep you pleading for more.
His movements get messier the more lost in thought he gets. He can’t help but bite into the plush of your thigh, relishing in the small cry you let out. His slip of focus causes his unseen grip on you to falter, your hips grinding on his hand in an attempt to ride his fingers.
If he would secure you to his operating table, he wouldn’t need to focus on that at all.
“Isaac-” your voice trembles as you call his name. His eyes snap back to your face, watching it contort with every bit of pleasure he’s providing you.
“It’s fascinating watching you squirm.” His voice sounds crazed. The kind of tone you’d hear when he was dangerously close to succeeding in his scientific endeavors, and was teetering on the edge of obsessed-madness.
His tongue drags from the array of bites on your thigh all the way back to your folds. Voice dipping into something softer, “And how do you taste so good?” Isaac’s practically burying his face in your cunt to get more of your arousal. “You’re fucking addicting.”
It’s as if his words were all you needed to send you over the edge. He continued to lap at you through your orgasm, savoring every bit of you. If anything were to go to waste, what was this even for?
He kisses his way back up your body, head winding up in your neck. You feel his breath hot against your ear and his hips pressing into yours. You felt a wet spot of his pants pressed against you, gasping at the feeling.
Isaac simply chuckles in your ear, shame gone and obsession fully taking over. “Like I said dove, you’re addicting.”
the old dorm’s legendary man is back to life— fortunately for your needy self, he has a mega crush on you. so what do you do? you welcome him with open arms and legs every. single. night.
WARNINGS: MDNI/18+, language, strong power play, bondage, hints of masochism + sadism, impact play, use of clamps + sex toys, praise + degradation kink, cum eating, fingering + cunnilingus, dacryphilia, overstimulation, marking, creampies, drooling, slight exhibitionism,
Isaac knows what he likes. He doesn’t need to do talking stages or courting rituals— once he has his eyes set on something, oh baby, he’s going to be on it. But what’s the relevance? Well, once he wants a partner, he’s going to have one.
Imagine seeing a tragic legend appear at your door, soaked in rain and blood. Of course you help the poor zombie! Night after night he’ll visit, perhaps leaving a gift or two of appreciation. That is, until he started giving other gifts.
I mean, you loved him already when he was fresh from the grave— so obviously you’re head over heels once you see his completely morphed form!
Isaac knows how to please women— teeth, lips, and hands are your main weakness, and he doesn’t even have to use his dick yet before you start becoming a moaning mess. But don’t forget, he’s a man who believes himself god— so he’s sure to have some power play in the room.
Bondages, cuffs, clamps, ever-lasting sex toys— he’s done it all to you. He’s done wicked combinations of nipple clamps as he finger-fucks your soppy pussy, and you’re trembling when the vibrating bullet overstimulates your puffy clit. He’d whisper words of praise;
“You’re doing so well for me.”
“Such a good patient you are.”
“Show me how bad you want to cum.”
He’d push you over the edge with your toys, sometimes humming in content, other times, in distaste when you hold back your sweet melodies. He needs to consider all the effects of his experimentations after all, so this simply won’t do.
You would be bent over his knee, one of his hands rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves, the other, spanking your weeping cunt. It would hurt more when he wore his gloves, but you didn’t complain, not when his filthy words rattled your diminished brain;
“You look so pretty like this, wet and sobbing over my knee.”
“Oh is it too much? That’s too bad, I haven’t even gotten to the best part sweetie.”
“Ah, ah, ah! Lick my gloves first— that’s a good girl.”
Isaac has a strong preference of seeing you below him. He loves seeing you whimper and tremble, begging him to never stop his lustful attempts. He even adores the pitiful way you try to push him, so, so, so weakly.
You would be bent over your bed, being a sweet pillow princess as you held onto the plush as your only leverage. The man would be ramming his cock into your pretty pussy, cooing at you to keep sobbing for him as he fills you up, one hand pushing down the back of your neck, and the other holding your hips in place.
You would always be left with fingerprinted bruises all over your body, and sometimes the occasional hungry bite. They littered your lower body, and if you were unlucky sometimes, your throat. It looked like you fell off a cliff every night, but there was only one difference— falling off a cliff doesn’t make your pussy flutter and drip with milky cum.
The sick man even likes it when you suck his cock; your brows furrowed and your throat erupting in choked air, unable to breathe properly. He would have your hair in a fist, a strong sign of who’s really dominant here.
Oh, and word of advice— don’t ever crawl away from him. It doesn’t matter if you’re trembling or if you’re drooling like some rabid dog, he will get mad. You could be overflowing with creampies, your body slick and dewy as you gasped for a brief break— and he would be very, very, very upset.
“Oh no, no, no! Where do you think you’re going sweetie?”
He’d either grab your neck or your hair— unkindly of course— and press you against your soaked bed once more. His weight is heavy upon you, his bloody breath tickling your ear as he whispered,
“You don’t get to walk out of this— ever. So open that pussy up, or I will.”
So what were you to do? Well, reach south and part your slippery folds of course.
Isaac is definitely a pussy guy. Sure, he’d give your ass an occasional smack or your tits a simple pinch and tug— but it’s not the same as the special thing you have down there.
His new tongue allows him to stretch at least a foot long (not sure? just ask him over…but it’ll come at a price), but he’s at least considerate enough to not shove it all up at you. He’s definitely more of a “lift your ass up as I lay down” kind of guy too, with a preference at keeping your thighs spread far apart for him.
You’d be moaning by the time his tongue slips inside your hole, practically scissoring your gummy walls as his thumb focused on stimulating your clit. Or, he’d definitely eat you out after he’s used your toys on you, being “kind” enough to clean you up internally.
Can’t say that you don’t like it though, because his soft growls vibrate into you— making you clench uncontrollably at the tongue you rode.
He’s also a Da Vinci— so he’s good with his hands. Whether it be having you on his lap as he thrusts his fingers into you slowly, his lips muttering incoherent equations to your head— or simply being unrelenting after your squirming orgasms as punishment— he knows it all.
Definitely not his fault that you couldn’t close your legs properly the other day.
Isaac may be a smart evil scientist, but he’s still a really sloppy guy. Uneven kisses, wet tongues, and even blatant biting— it’s his way of showing his carnal love.
Well, I suppose it depends. When he’s deeply in love, he’s the kind of guy to show it off. So expect to be on Lagos Tower, your tits and tummy pressed again the humid glass as he helps himself to your warm pussy.
Your cum would drip down your inner thighs, passing over healing bites and purple hickies, and then down to the dirty ground. Your lips would create the sweet noises that push him to start licking your dewy body, his hunger strong to simply mark you all over again.
It’s as if he found a purpose again.
“Aw, you like it when I touch you like this?”
His hand would wrap itself in front of you, applying pressure to your abdomen as your cunt squelched with each feverish thrust. You wouldn’t be able to process everything though— not when your knees were practically side to side and your head lolled onto his chest as your fucked-out face drooled down your bobbing throat.
“You have such a bad habit of drooling, now what shall we do about that?”
Clearly, your pretty lips needed to be plugged by his sweet cock once more.
Can I just say, the smut section of those Isaac headcanons had me feeling things I should not be feeling at work 🫠
I am going to very much need you to expand on those when you have the time 🥵 that desk scene in particular
18+ | cannibal
link to headcanons
synopsis: your boyfriend Isaac likes working till late at night, he gets a little hungry and…oh…you’re the closest snack.
warnings: ORAL (DESCRIPTIVE MENTIONS OF BEING ATE OUT), fingering (kinda) , licking, no cannibalism i was being dramatic, p in v, love bites
a/n: AMEN SISTER (or whatever you like being called) the downbadness ive got rn for isaac is insane.
Isaac Night was a genius, who could dispute it? Some called him the greatest DaVinci to ever walk Nevermore, a whole lab had been built to cater to his needs. He spent hours upon hours up there tinkering and testing new inventions, up till the dead of night. It was no wonder he’d get famished, but thank god you were there…his sweet partner that never declined to satiate him.
Issac dragged a long stroke of his tongue over your clothed pussy, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he knelt before you. He would never be caught reverent to anyone else. He lapped at the lace of your panties, as if he was restraining himself to simply smelling the sweetness of your slick, sucking at your clit through the fabric.
“Isaa-I- Isaac,” you breathed out, chest heaving as a warmth ran down your body, pooling at where he was ravenously pressing kisses to.
“shh…don’t…we haven’t even gotten to the good part…” he whispered, glancing up at you.
Isaac moved his hand from your thighs, thumb rubbing up and down your clit before yanking the fabric to the side, taking a moment to watch your wetness flow onto his crafting desk. He wouldn’t condone any mess, so he’d have to clean you up, of course… He licked the fluid up like he was thirsty and you were the only remedy. His tongue was as masterful as his hands with crafts, artfully dipping between the lips into your warmth. Isaac was by no means a quiet eater, more so moaning into your pussy and messily painting his face in your wetness.
You felt the length of his tongue slowly enter your pussy, taking all your willpower not to whine too loudly, instead opting to let quiet whimpers out. He paused, moving to look up at you to your dismay,
“You like that?” He tilted his head innocently at the noises you were making.
“Ye-yeah you bastard- keep going,” you shot him a withering glare. He laughed, a cold, fickle sound that reverberated through the lab before he abruptly stood up, hand clenched as he raised it. You felt your body get pressed down by a force, so that you laid back down against the desk. You watched as Isaac climbed on top of you, with your thighs still spread and pretty cunt still exposed. He shifted, pushing your legs up over his shoulder to fold you into a mean, nasty mating press.
“I’m full,” he whispered in your ear, shrugging as he pulled at his pants, freeing an already erect cock. He looked down at you, getting full view of the whorish expression you made as he pushed his length between your lips. He frowned, groaning a little as your walls immediately clenched around him, “But you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” Isaac smirked, roughly bullying his cock deeper into your hungry cunt. He dipped his head down to nuzzle at your neck, tongue slithering out to lap at your neck and collarbones, sucking to create little love bites. His hips pressed into yours, his motions all rough and apathetic like the only thing he was focused on was making a mess of your guts. Your walls clenched around him one final time, effectively milking his dick for all it was worth, his cock shooting ropes of cum, filling you up. He panted like a madman, slowly moving off you as he pulled his pants back up and tugged at his lab coat. He watched you on the desk, his cum dripping out of your pussy. What a pretty artwork he’d made…
You’ve grown used to the glow of candlelight spilling out from Isaac’s corner of Nevermore’s workshop. It flickers across brass gears, coils of copper wire, and parchment scrawled with frantic notes. He hardly sleeps anymore, eyes sunken but sharp, hands trembling not from weakness but from the relentless pace he sets for himself.
And always, the name on his lips: Francoise.
“Isaac,” you say softly, leaning against the wooden beam of the doorway. “It’s past midnight. Again.”
His head jerks up. Shadows carve sharp lines into his pale face, the hollow of his cheek catching the light. He’s been working for hours, the same mechanism laid out before him: a machine of whirring cogs meant to harness power, meant to strip away Hyde blood, meant to do the impossible.
“I can’t stop now,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse, like gravel dragged across stone. “I’m closer tonight than I’ve ever been.”
You take a step closer, folding your arms over your chest. “You said that last night. And the night before. And the week before that.”
He stiffens. “This time it’s different.”
You can hear the unspoken part: this time, she might be saved.
Your chest aches, torn between admiration and worry. You love him,you’ve never doubted that,but his obsession gnaws at him like rot beneath the skin. And it gnaws at you too, leaving you lonely in the very moments you want to be closest.
“Isaac,” you say, firmer this time, “you need to rest. You’re burning yourself out. What use is saving your sister if you destroy yourself first?”
He freezes, shoulders rising, tension like a drawn bowstring. His dark eyes lock on yours, cold, gleaming. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m not saying stop,” you whisper, reaching for him. “Just… pause. Sleep. Eat. Let me help carry some of this weight.”
For a moment, you think he’ll soften. His lips part, a shadow of your Isaac flickering there, the boy who used to walk with you through Nevermore’s woods, murmuring secrets under the canopy of leaves.
But then the shadow vanishes. His jaw hardens.
“You don’t understand,” he snaps, pulling away from your touch. “None of you do. If I stop,even for a moment,it could mean losing her forever. Do you think I care about sleep? About myself?” His voice rises, sharp enough to cut. “I don’t need your pity, Y/N. I need you to stop distracting me.”
The words slice through you. Your hand drops. You open your mouth, then close it again, because what is there to say when the boy you love looks at you as though you’re standing in his way instead of at his side?
Your throat tightens, eyes burning. You step back from the table, back into the shadows of the workshop. “Fine,” you breathe. “If that’s what you want.”
He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t call after you. The only sound is the relentless clicking of gears as you walk away.
---
You don’t remember how you got back to your dorm. The hours blur into a haze of muffled tears, the sound of your sobs pressed into your pillow so no one will hear. You curl against the cold wall, knees tucked to your chest, and let the grief pour out.
You love him. You’ve given everything you have to stand by him, to hold him steady when the obsession claws at him, to remind him that he’s still human. But tonight, he didn’t want to be held. Tonight, he wanted only the machine.
And for the first time, you wonder if there’s any space left for you in his fractured world.
---
It’s late when you hear the knock. A hesitant, uneven rhythm.
You don’t answer.
The door creaks open anyway.
“Y/N?”
It’s his voice,lower than usual, rough around the edges. You swipe hastily at your face, but your tears have already left streaks. You keep your gaze fixed on the blanket bunched in your lap.
“Go away, Isaac.”
There’s a pause. Then the sound of the door shutting, the shuffle of boots against stone. He doesn’t leave. He crosses the room and sinks to the floor beside your bed, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he whispers. His voice trembles, stripped bare. “I was cruel.”
Your lips press into a thin line. “You think?”
He flinches. But he doesn’t retreat. “I’ve spent so long chasing this dream,saving her,that I forget… I forget I’m not the only one paying the price.” He looks up at you then, eyes glistening with guilt. “I hurt you. And that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”
You finally meet his gaze. He looks exhausted, yes, but there’s something else there too,fear. The kind that comes from realizing you might have pushed too far, from realizing the one person who’s always been in your corner could walk away.
Your voice cracks when you speak. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Isaac. I don’t even need you to stop fighting for her. But I do need you. I need to know I matter to you. Because when you look at me like I’m nothing more than a distraction…” Tears well again, spilling before you can stop them. “It feels like I’m already losing you.”
His breath shudders out. He reaches for your hand, hesitant, as though afraid you’ll pull away. When you don’t, he laces his fingers through yours, gripping tightly.
“You’ll never lose me,” he says fiercely. “Do you hear me? Never. I get lost in my work, in my guilt, in all the ways I failed her,but you… you’re the only thing that pulls me back. You’re the reason I haven’t let the darkness eat me alive.”
Your heart aches at the raw honesty in his words. He leans closer, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have listened. I should have seen how much it was hurting you.”
You brush your free hand through his hair, tangled from long nights bent over schematics. “You’re stubborn, Isaac Night,” you whisper. “But I love you anyway.”
His eyes flutter shut, relief washing over his features. When he looks up again, there’s a fragility in him you rarely see, a boy stripped of all his armor.
“Stay with me,” he pleads softly. “Even if I stumble. Even if I forget to look up from the machine. Remind me when I lose sight of what matters.”
You nod, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. “Always.”
He climbs onto the bed beside you then, curling against you as though afraid you might vanish. You hold him close, your fingers tracing gentle patterns against his back, and for the first time in weeks his body loosens, the tension draining away.
The machine can wait. The world can wait. Tonight, it’s just the two of you, clinging to each other in the quiet heart of Nevermore.
And though the shadows still lurk at the edges of his mind, for now, you are enough to keep them at bay.
Summery -Isaac Night has never wanted anyone like this. The moment he sees Wednesday Addams’ sister, desire and obsession ignite, twisting his thoughts into something dark, dangerous, and utterly consuming.
Tropes-dark obsession| enemies to lovers (kinda)|stalker|First sight obsession 
Ps-after writing for Tyler I just had to write for Isaac. Why are the villains always so fine,pt2 of almost his again is in the works bare with me x
Isaac moved like a shadow across the cobblestone paths of Nevermore Academy, his boots whispering against stone. The campus was quiet at this hour, the lingering chatter of students retreating into dorms fading into an uneasy silence. He thrived in these moments — the gray twilight where the ordinary became almost malleable, bending beneath his will, where the edges of the world softened enough that someone like him could slip through unnoticed.
Isaac’s pale eyes scanned the dimly lit courtyard, not searching for faces or names he recognized. He wasn’t here for gossip or idle curiosity. He was here for the plan. He always had a plan. But even as he moved with purpose, he couldn’t help the way his attention occasionally drifted toward movement, toward life — toward something new, something unexpected.
And that’s when he saw you.
Not Wednesday. Not the girl who was already infamous for her darkness and biting wit the girl who his dark plan was revolved around. You. Standing beside her, speaking in low tones, tilting your head in a way that was entirely unselfconscious yet perfectly deliberate. Everything about you radiated an aura he couldn’t name, but it gripped him immediately, dragging his pulse into a frantic rhythm he hadn’t felt in a long time.
You were beautiful. Too beautiful. Dangerous in a way that wasn’t Wednesday’s calculated menace, but seductive and intoxicating all the same. Isaac froze, rooted in place as his gaze roamed over you like a predator appraising prey. Every motion you made — the slight arch of your brow, the curve of your lips as you whispered something — sent a shiver through him that was entirely physical, entirely primal.
Isaac’s thoughts darkened almost instantly, spiraling into places he knew were wrong, filthy, and yet entirely irresistible. He imagined the soft skin of your neck under his fingertips, the feel of your hair sliding between his hands, tugged just enough to make you whimper. He imagined the curve of your lips opening for him in ways you weren’t meant to, ways that would make your eyes widen with a mixture of fear and pleasure, your body pressed impossibly close to his own.
His breath hitched. He hated that he was already captivated, hated that his mind refused to obey the rules of decency or reason. And yet, the thought of you, so near and so achingly unaware of him, consumed him utterly.
Isaac’s hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to take, to claim. Not violently — not yet — but with the kind of possessiveness that made his stomach knot. He imagined you leaning back into him willingly, your voice low, breathless, murmuring things that would only feed his obsession further. The image alone made his teeth clench, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The plan, the mission he had been so careful to rehearse, fell away entirely. All that remained was you. You, in your effortless beauty, speaking to Wednesday of all people, laughing softly, oblivious to the storm you had just ignited.
Isaac began to move again, silently, deliberately, keeping to the shadows as he followed your steps from a distance. Every gesture you made, every subtle tilt of your head, was cataloged in his mind, filed away and twisted into fantasies that were far too explicit to admit to anyone — even himself. He imagined tracing the line of your jaw with his fingers, tasting the smoothness of your skin, the gasp you’d make if he pressed you up against the nearest wall.
The way you laughed, the way your hair fell just so — everything about you was a siren’s call to him. Isaac’s thoughts grew more unrestrained, slipping into places where desire became hunger and obsession merged with a dangerous kind of worship. He imagined pulling your body close to his, feeling the soft weight of you against him, and hearing the little sounds you would make under his touch. He imagined the heat of your skin, the smell of you, intoxicating and irresistible, and he savored it in his mind like a dark feast.
Isaac’s eyes followed you relentlessly, drinking in every detail. Even when you shifted your gaze briefly toward him, as though sensing a presence — just a flicker of acknowledgment — he froze, heart hammering, not daring to reveal how aware he was. To be noticed, even for a second, was both a thrill and a danger he relished.
He began to calculate possibilities, subtle ways to close the distance without alarming you. Each option made his pulse quicken. He imagined brushing past you in the hallway, his hand grazing yours, watching the shiver run up your arm. He imagined whispering your name in a voice low and possessive, so that only you could hear it, pulling you into his orbit without resistance. His fantasies were explicit, indulgent, obsessive — every one of them spinning a tighter web of control around your image in his mind.
And still, he didn’t move too close. That would be reckless. The thrill was in the slow burn, in the careful, deliberate watching. Isaac thrived on anticipation, on the exquisite tension of what could be if he allowed his desires to stretch just a little further. He imagined you alone in a hallway, the dim light catching the shimmer of your hair, the curve of your body just so, and the thought made him ache. He imagined pressing himself against you from behind, your lips catching the shock of his touch, your body yielding in ways that were incomprehensible and thrilling all at once.
Isaac’s obsession deepened with every step you took. Every motion became a study — every laugh, every glance, every subtle tilt of your head cataloged and twisted into fantasies of intimacy and domination. He imagined cornering you against the cold stone walls of the academy, tracing the line of your body with his hands, tasting the swell of your lips, hearing the soft moans he had already planted in his mind.
And all the while, he never blinked. He never looked away. You were his, in every way that mattered to him — not yet in reality, but in every thought, every fantasy, every dark corner of his mind where you had already succumbed to him.
Isaac Night had always been patient, methodical, and dangerous. But now, with you in his sight, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: a consuming, all-encompassing desire that blurred the lines between obsession and possession. He would wait. He would watch. He would let this hunger simmer until the moment he could finally act.
And when that moment came, you would be his.
Btw please don’t think I’m ignoring your request’s. I promise I’ll get to them eventually. X
