TEAR YOU APART — isaac night x f!reader.
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.”
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