⟡𝒽ℴ𝓃ℯ𝓎⟡

PART TEN

headcanons: slurp/isaac night+y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

I feel sick.

I feel sick.

I think I’m going to throw up.

That was what Y/N kept repeating to herself the whole way back from the greenhouse. Her arm was clutched tightly across her stomach, her breath tearing in uneven bursts, her steps too quick, as though something invisible were chasing her forward. The corridors stretched and twisted ahead of her, the walls swayed, the world fractured into shards she could barely keep together.

And then she hit something solid. Or rather—someone.

Sebastian. Evelynne.

Their eyes locked on hers in that instant—one sharp as steel, the other empty and quiet like water in deep places. Y/N felt her throat close, her stomach heaving violently. She was certain she would spill everything inside her right there on the floor. She pressed her hand to her mouth.

No one spoke. They only stared. Then they simply turned and walked away, leaving her in the hollow corridor alone, like a shadow unworthy of even a glance.

I feel sick.

The words Zahra had spat at her still burned in her ears. They meant more than a thousand needles, more than the buzzing of an entire swarm of wasps. This couldn’t be true. And yet her stomach churned with disgust, and guilt seeped into every nerve. Isaac had been right. And she hadn’t believed him.

Her heart pounded so loudly she thought the sound must rattle the whole campus awake. Her head felt heavy, her vision began to blur, her body swayed like a puppet dangling from frayed strings.

A hand caught her shoulder.

“Are you alright?” A quiet, timid voice.

Françoise.

Y/N flinched instinctively, pulling away. She swallowed, but her throat was dry, her tongue like paper. “I’m fine,” she lied, though her body threatened to collapse.

Françoise steadied her before she could fall, surprising strength in her slight frame. She guided her through the corridor with a gentleness almost maternal, steering her into an empty classroom. Y/N slid down to the floor, while Françoise closed the door behind them.

“We’ll have some peace here,” she whispered.

Y/N just stared ahead, blank and empty. The walls pressed in, the lamp above flickered, its light slipping away like a fleeing breath.

“I come here,” Françoise added, her voice trembling, “when… when I don’t feel like myself.” She shifted from foot to foot, nerves radiating off her.

“I’m fine,” Y/N snapped harsher than she intended. “You didn’t have to bother with me.”

“That word’s too strong,” Françoise answered calmly, though fear lingered in her eyes. “You looked like you might faint any moment.”

“I—”

She didn’t let her finish. “Did you have… blood today?” Her words came cautious, carefully weighed.

“Not for a few days,” Y/N admitted.

“Then maybe you’re in withdrawal. You need to drink.”

Y/N noticed the suspicious, worried way Françoise looked at her and couldn’t help a bitter laugh. “I’ll drink. Don’t worry—not from you.”

She pulled out a tiny vial, hardly more than a mouthful. Her hands shook as she opened it, but she tipped the contents quickly down her throat. The warm tang coated her tongue. A flicker of relief—nothing more.

“Uff.” She sighed, pushing her chestnut hair from her face. “Alright. Now that that’s done—why the hell are you two acting so strange?”

Y/N blinked. “We two?”

“You and my brother.”

And in that moment, heat drenched her skin. Not fear. Guilt. Suffocating, burning guilt. Because she hadn’t believed him. Because Zahra had twisted her. Because she, stupid and naive, had betrayed someone who had stood at her side, who hadn’t abandoned her.

Her head dropped to the desk, eyes shut tight. The rushing in her ears dragged her under.

Françoise’s voice finally broke the silence—soft, hesitant. “You know… Isaac means a lot to me. When I was born, he didn’t have it easy. And when my… difference appeared—”

“Difference?”

“That’s what Isaac called me being a Hyde.” Her gaze drifted to her palms, and for a fleeting second Y/N saw shadows of old pain carved there. “He never treated it as a curse. For him it was a gift. For me, a nightmare. But he never let me feel like a monster.”

Y/N nodded. “He cares about you.”

“And I care about him.” A sad smile touched Françoise’s lips. “He isn’t simple. Sometimes I wonder if he can even still be human. But after what he’s been through… maybe it couldn’t be otherwise.” She touched her chest. “Still, since you appeared, I’ve seen in him a fragment of humanity I thought was gone. Like you woke something in him that had been long dead.”

She stepped closer, knelt beside Y/N, and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, but steady.

“Do you remember where we first met?”

“You were standing by the Skull Tree. Isaac wasn’t exactly calm.”

Françoise laughed, genuinely this time. “Because I caught him working on something other than my difference. Y/N, he never worked on anything else.”

“He does it because he wants to help you.”

“I know. He never wanted to help anyone else. No one. Until you.”

Y/N’s lips pressed tight. “I’m just an experiment.”

“No.” Françoise shook her head firmly. “You’re someone he wants to help. Not for science. But because—for the first time in so long—he feels human empathy again.” Her voice broke, her grip tightened. “Don’t you see? He cares about you. He loves you.”

Y/N felt the world blur. The words cut deep. He loves me. Isaac Night loves me.

“And right now,” Françoise whispered, “he’s the same as when I thought he would die on the operating table.”

Y/N lifted her eyes, heart lodged in her throat, tears clouding her vision. Desperation, regret, and something resembling hope tore her apart from the inside.

“You have to go to him,” Françoise pleaded. “Fix whatever lies between you. I know it isn’t just an experiment. I see you crumbling here, and I see him. Y/N, go to him. Right now.”

Y/N staggered to her feet, knees buckling, but she ran. Through corridors, down staircases, along shadowed walls—Françoise staying behind, a silent guardian of her steps.

And the last thought thundering in her mind was simple and terrifying:

If I’m not fast enough, I’ll never find him again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Finding him wasn’t easy.

It took her hours that dragged like eternity. Each step heavier than the last. A dull pounding clamped her skull, growing sharper with every breath. Maybe from lack of blood, maybe from the shifting air, maybe simply from exhaustion. Hard to tell. Likely all of it combined.

And maybe… maybe it was fear.

Fear of the moment she’d have to face him. To meet his eyes again, to speak aloud the truth she had only managed to swallow.

But she had to. For herself. For Françoise.

Dusk crept in. The sky drew a heavy gray curtain overhead. The forest sank beneath a tide of shadows, alive and shifting—as though each branch turned to a claw, each rustle whispered suspicion.

At last, she pulled off the glasses that had weighed on her face all day, tucking them into her coat. Her eyes narrowed into the dim. The only light came from scattered fireflies blinking among the trees, as if the forest breathed with its own muted glow.

And then she saw it.

The Skull Tree. A colossal form, its twisted branches like petrified hands reaching in silent plea toward the sky. A symbol. The library embodied Isaac’s hunger for knowledge, Iago Tower his dominion of focus and calm—but the Skull Tree? That was where everything dried out. Where the water of his thoughts evaporated, leaving only desert. Desolation. Here he faced. Here he drowned.

She crept closer, heart hammering up into her throat.

And there he was.

Isaac. Sitting at the roots of the tree, back pressed to its rough bark, head tilted slightly. His long coat, black and heavy, fell to his ankles, pooling like dark water across the ground. The high collar shadowed part of his face, yet the deep hollows beneath his eyes were impossible to miss. Circles darker than ever. His face pale, sharpened into a mask of cold stone.

The wind tugged at his hair, restless and unyielding, but he didn’t move. He sat as if carved from marble, resisting time and cold alike. She shivered under her own coat, fingers numb, yet he betrayed no discomfort at all.

It was Isaac as she knew him. And not.

The very air said it: Here is his fall. Here is his confession, even without words.

Y/N stopped, breath held, unable to take another step.

“Well—well, finally had your epiphany?” Isaac spat the moment she neared. His voice carried that revolting mix of sarcasm and wounded pride he now wore like armor. “Who whispered in your ear this time, hm? Who handed you pieces to put together?” He made a movement meant to look like retreat, but it bristled with tension—like he was waiting for her accusation.

Y/N lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to say the name, didn’t want to rip open another wound. She knew what she’d heard in the greenhouse, felt the weight in her chest, the acid taste on her tongue. She knew she now bore guilt—guilt for a trust she had withheld, for doubts she had allowed to grow. “Isaac…” she began softly. “I don’t understand everything. And I’m sorry—if I—” The words caught.

“Sorry?” he cut her off. “Sorry?” he repeated with contempt. “That’s all you’ve got? Sorry, because someone fed you a tale and you turned it against me?” He faced her, rage twisting his features into something exhausted but searing. “Do you know what it’s like?” he barked suddenly, his voice raw. “Do you know what it means to be the one no one believes? To have the person closest to you, instead of even a whisper of faith, throw arguments in your face and say, ‘Well, that makes sense’?”

Y/N clenched her fist. “It’s not that I wanted to… betray you, Isaac. I just want the truth. I don’t want it to be nothing but shadows where we hide everything that happened.”

He rose, dragging a hand down his face so fast the rings scraped audibly. “Truth.” He laughed—a sound more like mockery than amusement. “Truth. Everyone’s grasping at it now. Everyone bold enough to judge me cobbles together fragments and calls it justice.” Pain laced his words; in his eyes was something Y/N had never seen before—raw, ragged fragility cloaked in sarcasm. “Do you know how much damage I had to inflict on myself just to endure? Do you know how many nights I spent making plans from my own damn ruin, just to keep you alive without hurting you worse than I already had?” His voice broke into a shuddering breath.

Y/N felt pressure seize her chest, squeezing her ribs. “Isaac,” she tried to steady her tone, though it trembled, “I let someone I hardly know influence me. And instead of coming to you, I just… believed it.”

He sighed—not amused this time, but drenched in disappointment. “And that’s it, isn’t it? It’s not about what was said. It’s that when someone says something, you take it as truth, and you nail me to the cross. And I—I’m left standing completely alone. The first time it happened, I had to stitch my own heart back together, wrap it in steel, because no one else did. No one reached out and said, ‘I’ll help you.’ I had to master my fear alone. And now, after I tried to save both you and myself, after I sacrificed and risked everything, you just say ‘sorry’ and think it’s done?”

Words scraped her throat raw. “I’m not saying that’s enough. I just… want you to tell me the truth. I want trust between us, the trust I can’t feel. I don’t see it. Every time you take me apart, I feel more like a machine, helpless against your control. My whole life I’ve been punished for something I never chose, never controlled. I’ve never felt whole, safe, or real. You want absolute trust from me—you want me to bare myself to you—but what about you? You never let me see behind your curtain. You never explain why you act the way you do.”

Isaac’s face hardened. “So you expect me to lay everything out on a silver plate? To let you dissect me? You know what—yes, I have secrets. I have reasons I’ll never tell, no matter how much you push. I have things I did to keep myself balanced on the edge of reason. You shouldn’t listen to the whispers. You should know I’m the one who gave you a second chance—not the one who deserved it. But you’ll take words from anyone else and condemn me instantly.”

“I wouldn’t need to, if you’d told me why you locked me up. Why you lied to me—again and again.” Y/N’s voice cracked higher. “You said it was for my good. You said those choices were necessary. But your face betrayed the opposite. Did you act out of anger? Out of revenge? Was it true concern—or were you just manipulating me so your plans could pass unnoticed? How am I supposed to tell the difference?”

“And you really expect me to spell it all out?” he snapped. “To unpack my darkest nightmares so you can sort them into neat equations?” He stood close, so close she felt his cold breath. “You already know the essential thing—that I risked everything to keep you alive. Everything else are nuances that would break you, not help you. I had to become someone who doesn’t whine about justice—because in our cases, justice isn’t a bandage you can stick on. Sometimes you have to hurt to protect. But to those who never stood on the other side, it just looks like tyranny.”

Tears stung her eyes—not just from anger, but from the helpless agony of loving someone who carried a burden too heavy to show. “And who was supposed to help you, Isaac? Who should’ve told you to do it differently? Who was supposed to give you compassion, when you insist on carrying it all alone?”

His gaze darkened. For a moment his face blanched, then reset into cold detachment. “No one. No one. And that’s exactly why I did it. When hard things have to be done, I’m the one who does them. Because no one else has the courage. No one else has the will. When you lay in ruins, I held you. Even when it hurt more than I can describe. Even when it was unbearable torment, even when I doubted you could be saved—I stayed. I watched you slowly improve, believed in progress. Believed in you, and in myself. And now—when you condemn me because someone served you a neat little story to get revenge—it shatters me more than anything time has ever done.”

Y/N stepped closer, her finger pressing against his chest, feeling the tension under her hand. “I don’t want this to destroy you,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to feel alone either. But I can’t keep living beneath you, when you decide everything for me. That’s not love, Isaac. That’s prison, no matter how many arguments you dress it in.”

He closed his eyes, a shimmer of wetness glinting at the corners—maybe regret, maybe something weaker. When he spoke, his voice carried a fragility Y/N had never heard before. “Maybe you’re right.” Silence stretched. “Maybe it is a prison. But I taught myself to be that prison, because you were so fragile I feared the world would crush you. And when it turned out someone accused me—and you believed it—it broke me inside. Because I thought you, of all people, would be different. That you would understand me.”

Her lips trembled. “Understand? How am I supposed to understand you locking me up, forcing me to drink blood when I begged you not to? How do I understand that was ‘necessity,’ when it scarred me?” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t move.

Isaac stared at her, storms raging across his face, then did the one thing Y/N hadn’t expected—he lowered his head. “If you’d been in my place, having to choose between leaving you as an outsider forever, hated by everyone… or changing you into something you weren’t before, at a price you’d have to pay—what would you have done?” His voice was quiet, stripped of sarcasm.

Y/N had no clear answer. Memories flashed—days of weakness, nights of shame, the hand that held her firm. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe I’d… fight. Maybe I’d beg for another way. But—”

“But what?” he pressed, a hint of plea in his touch.

“But I don’t ever want to be forced again to choose between life and losing myself,” she said firmly. “I don’t want our ‘protection’ to be the price I pay just to breathe.”

He pulled back, standing long in the dark beneath the tree, night wind curling around him. When he spoke, exhaustion coated every word: “Then we’ll have to find another way.” Something in it sounded like a promise—and a warning. “I don’t want everything to break. But I won’t accept you condemning me on whispers. If you want this to end—it ends. But remember—I pulled you from the bottom. And I’m closer to solving the problem than you can imagine.”

Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder. A small, fragile, gentle gesture. “Isaac, I don’t want it to end. But I can’t live in uncertainty. I need the pieces that show me why you did what you did. I need you to stop controlling me by giving me only halves. And I need you to promise—that what we had wasn’t just an illusion to keep me tethered.”

He stared at her a long time, weighing each word. At last he nodded—slowly, heavily. “Alright,” he said, voice low. “I will try.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Hey guyyys. I hope u did not forget about me.

I am dealing with personal stuff and I cant force myself to write anything. I still dont feel very well but I didnt want you to wait for long.

Thanks for understanding. Sorry that its a short chapter.

Till next time xx

🤍Taglist:

@savvyisss @helaenabugmom @analovesmarvel @tfamidoingwithmylife @venustheplanette @vixenxlovesxyou

@devinitysann @oscarisdaddy69

@ilovekazz @slutt4siriusblack

@pa1nfullyalive @webs-02

@simiinthemirror

@lok59v @aramea205

@optimus-fake-cake

@iweirdthingsblog @sam—sara @speakercosplays @kadeszs @kitchoruuu @slytherinroyalty16 @dionisim0 @littlerabbitwithwings @anastasia0614 @thedeadlynights

@aradevil @gordorio @flirtysnakes @ohhh-boo-tiful @sunset18rose @supernaturalwriter

PART NINE

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“No way!” Yasmin squeaked, throwing her arms up theatrically as Y/N stepped out from behind the screen.

“What?” Y/N froze, self-consciously smoothing down the white lace dress she had just put on.

“I thought you said you liked it?” she added uncertainly.

“They’re nice,” Yasmin smirked, “but not for a double date, girl.”

Shuhua, sprawled across the bed with an apple in hand, nodded. Her eyes scanned Y/N up and down critically. “It looks… ceremonial. Like you’re about to pose for a wedding invitation, not go to dinner with a pair of gothic weirdos.”

“Weirdos?” Y/N repeated, offended, though her lips twitched despite herself.

“Maybe she means Zahra,” Yasmin muttered dryly, and the room fell briefly silent.

On her way back from Isaac’s room, Y/N hadn’t been able to hold it in — she told the girls what happened. Zahra’s sharp words still echoed in her head. As much as she wanted to trust Isaac, something about it all didn’t sit right. Yasmin and Shuhua had heard of Zahra before — fragments, nothing solid, but the name wasn’t unfamiliar. Shuhua immediately offered to casually ask Ezra if he knew more. But Y/N begged them not to spread it around. Especially not to Isaac. She already felt guilty enough for even doubting him — and yet the unease only kept growing.

“So what now?” Y/N groaned, holding up two dresses on hangers. “I swear my brain is melting from all this deciding.”

On one side, long wine-red ruffled dresses, elegant and almost formal. On the other, short black dresses with a cobweb-like pattern and long sleeves — striking, dark, mysterious.

“Red,” Shuhua said immediately.

“Black,” Yasmin countered. “Less flashy. More elegant.”

“But boring!” Shuhua shot back.

Y/N tipped her head back dramatically. “You two are seriously NO help at all! And I have, like, two minutes before Isaac shows up. The last thing I need is him waiting on me.”

“Too late for that,” a dry voice said from the doorway.

All three girls jumped.

“Your two minutes are already gone,” Isaac added, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “So move it, because I’d really like to get this dinner over with before I turn to dust.”

“How long has he been standing there?!” Shuhua squeaked, clutching her apple to her chest like a shield.

“Long enough to feel my brain cells dying from your endless debating.”

Yasmin muttered under her breath, “The guy’s got bat ears or something.”

“Not just that,” Y/N sighed, snatching the wine-red dress. “I’m wearing this. And you two — not. one. word.”

She changed quickly while Yasmin braided a strand of her hair and Shuhua smoothed the last wrinkles in the fabric. When Y/N finally stepped out, Isaac’s eyes ran from her head to her toes.

“About time,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He’d only swapped his pants — his hair was still messy, which somehow made him look even more effortlessly attractive.

“Sorry,” Y/N mumbled. “It got a little… chaotic.”

“You don’t say,” he smirked. “And tell your friends that not only do I hear perfectly well, but their taste is atrocious. I’m glad you went with the color that actually suits you.”

Y/N flushed faintly. The slim wine-red dress had straps dotted with tiny gems, and even though both Yasmin and Shuhua had called it inappropriate, she felt confident — and sexy. And right now, she needed that.

Isaac held out his hand. She hesitated only a moment before taking it. But even as warmth fluttered in her chest, her thoughts drifted back to Zahra’s warning.

They walked the corridor in silence until Y/N spoke softly. “You don’t have to be mean to them. They’re just… excited. It’s the first time they’ve really experienced something like this with me. Before, I didn’t talk much. Didn’t do much.”

“I’m not mean,” Isaac replied calmly. “I’m honest. I’m not going to sugarcoat it — I don’t like your friends.”

“Honesty without kindness is just cruelty,” Y/N argued.

“And kindness without honesty is manipulation,” Isaac shot back, his voice suddenly sharper. “Call it what you want. I’m not stopping you from being with them, but don’t force me to like them.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as she met his gaze. “I don’t need you to like them. Just… tolerate them.”

Isaac gave a dismissive shrug, as if closing the subject. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s move. They’re already waiting.”

His hand was still gripping hers firmly, almost too firmly. Butterflies swirled in her stomach — yet deep down, a small crack lingered. A shadow that refused to disappear.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

As it turned out, Morticia Frump was no ordinary student — she came from a very wealthy family. That became obvious the moment their ride arrived in front of the school. It wasn’t just a car, but a long, pitch-black limousine with mirrored windows and a uniformed driver at the wheel.

The principal had let them go on the strict condition that they be back no later than eleven. But when two children of influential families wanted to leave, there was little he could do to stop them. He simply waved them off, though the distaste in his eyes was hard to miss.

The drive felt endless. The limousine’s interior was luxurious, but the atmosphere heavy — Y/N and Isaac sat together on one side, while Morticia and Gomez occupied the other. The silence was stifling, broken only by the occasional squeal of the tires against the road or one of Gomez’s morbid jokes — the kind most people wouldn’t dare say out loud.

It was impossible not to notice how close Morticia and Gomez were. And when Y/N thought close, she meant really close. Their hands were constantly intertwined, they leaned into each other, whispering sweet nothings with unwavering devotion.

Y/N, on the other hand, felt like an unwanted extra. She threw a sideways glance at Isaac. He was sitting farther from her than she expected, not once meeting her eyes. He’d held the door for her, but that felt more like courtesy than a gesture from a boy who had invited her on a date. Clearly, he was still brooding over their earlier spat in the hallway. Ridiculous. But Y/N was too stubborn to make the first move at reconciliation, so she sat back and ignored him in return.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Morticia’s voice suddenly cut through the silence, smooth and melodic in a strangely chilling way, “have you ever imagined your own funeral? I think it’s important to know what it should look like.”

Isaac stiffened, his brow furrowing.

Y/N swallowed. “Uh… not really.”

“You should,” Morticia replied with complete seriousness, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. “I, for example, want to be laid in an open casket surrounded by white lilies. At night, of course. Daylight is far too… cheerful.”

“I’d like violins,” Gomez chimed in eagerly, as if planning a party rather than a burial. “Preferably in a minor key. And the guests should cry so much they’d need to be handed tissues by the funeral service.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s… very detailed.”

“And you?” Morticia’s dark eyes fixed on her with unsettling curiosity. “Would you prefer fire? Or silence and emptiness?”

“I… don’t really know,” Y/N admitted awkwardly. It felt as though she had stumbled into a world that wasn’t hers.

Morticia’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “That’s fine. Death will find you before you make up your mind anyway.”

Isaac shifted and cleared his throat quietly.

“Nervous, Night?” Gomez teased, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Or do you simply dislike pondering your own mortality?”

Isaac’s answering smile was icy. “I’d rather focus on things I can still control.”

“Such as?” Gomez drawled.

“Such as who sits next to me,” Isaac replied, flicking his gaze briefly toward Y/N.

Her heart skipped. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she quickly turned her face to the window to hide it.

Thankfully, the limousine soon came to a halt. Outside stood a lonely cabin at the edge of the woods. Its wood was weathered, the windows partly boarded up, and the grass around it overgrown.

“No one’s lived here in years,” Morticia explained calmly, as if it were the most natural place for a dinner. “That’s why the empty walls hold more romance.”

Inside, however, was a surprise. The cabin might have been decayed and abandoned, but in the main room stood a table set for four, tall candlesticks casting flickering light across white linen. Two waiters in black uniforms stood at attention, ready to serve.

“Shall we?” Gomez announced with theatrical flair, pulling out Morticia’s chair.

Isaac silently held Y/N’s for her. When she sat, their eyes finally met again. His gaze was unreadable — a blend of defiance and something… dangerous.

And Y/N couldn’t tell whether the shiver running down her spine was born of fascination or fear.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The room where the table stood looked like something out of another world. The walls were lined with cracked plaster, cobwebs clung to the corners, and yet, at the center, a table gleamed with white linen, polished silver plates, crystal glasses, and tall flickering candles. The air carried the scent of melted wax and something sweetly spiced.

“Home is where the cobwebs hang,” Morticia remarked with a faint smile as she sat down. Gomez immediately pulled out her chair and then took his place across from Y/N.

Isaac, stiff and silent, seated Y/N beside him. Their knees brushed, but none of the usual sparks ignited. She noticed the tension in his hands resting on the table, knuckles pale from how hard he pressed his fingers together.

The waiters began serving the first course — a dark crimson soup, thick and glossy, that looked unsettlingly like blood. Yet when Y/N tasted it, it reminded her faintly of radish. That illusion broke the moment she fished out a floating eyeball. She quietly set her spoon down.

“To love,” Gomez toasted, raising his glass toward Morticia, “and to desserts that are only slightly poisoned.”

Morticia’s low, melodic laugh filled the room. “Oh, Gomez, you always know how to pick the perfect ingredient.”

Y/N smiled uncertainly, still trying to place herself in this strange dynamic. Isaac, on the other hand, looked ready to crush his glass in his hand.

Conversation soon spun out, thanks to Gomez’s boundless energy. He spoke of everything — teachers, pranks, even how Morticia once accidentally burned a spell parchment and claimed it smelled like “the finest incense in the world.” Then, inevitably, his focus shifted to Isaac.

“And here we have Isaac,” Gomez declared theatrically, gesturing with his spoon. “My solemn friend, always so serious, so… reserved. But believe me, he has his secrets. Remember when we caught you trying to sneak off with that—”

“Enough,” Isaac cut him off sharply, not lifting his eyes from the bowl.

“Oh, come now!” Gomez laughed. “It was harmless. We’ve all done stupid things. And then there was that one student—”

Y/N froze. Student?

Isaac carefully set his spoon down. “Gomez.”

“What was her name again?” Gomez pressed a finger to his temple, pretending to think. “Ah, yes. The one who practically stalked you through the halls, eyes wide, circling you like a vulture around fresh prey. How did that end?”

“I said enough,” Isaac snapped, louder now, a warning edge in his tone.

Y/N’s stomach tightened. That couldn’t be coincidence. Zahra. Were they talking about Zahra?

Morticia tilted her head, lips curling into a smile. “I believe her name was Zahra Al-Abbas, wasn’t it?”

The scrape of Isaac’s chair echoed like a thunderclap as he stood abruptly. “This topic is closed.”

The room fell silent. Gomez blinked in surprise, Morticia only looked delighted, like a spectator enjoying her favorite play.

Y/N’s chest tightened, her thoughts racing. Isaac’s words about Zahra before had sounded too smooth — rehearsed, almost. And now? His fury told another story.

“Isaac?” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the ticking of a clock and the crackle of candle flames. “Why does it upset you so much?”

“Because it’s nonsense,” he bit out, refusing to meet her eyes.

“That’s not what it looked like,” Gomez chuckled nervously, trying to ease the tension. “I clearly recall that girl had you wrapped around her little finger. You were so rattled you couldn’t even focus on—”

“SHUT UP!” Isaac’s voice roared, deep and violent, shaking the air. The waiters flinched. Morticia blinked slowly, fascinated.

Isaac trembled where he stood, eyes burning with a darkness Y/N had never seen in him before.

“This is your last warning,” he growled, every word like a blade. “Never speak of it again.”

Finally, Gomez raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Not another word.”

Y/N’s pulse hammered in her ears. Isaac sank back into his chair, but the space between them felt like a chasm.

His story about Zahra — the carefully crafted version he’d given her before — crumbled in her mind. This wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just a crush. There was something deeper, something he was desperate to bury.

And the more he tried to hide it, the more Y/N felt she had to uncover the truth.

The dinner dragged on, tasteless and heavy. Isaac hardly spoke. Morticia and Gomez murmured to each other, exchanging secretive smiles, while Y/N sat in suffocating silence, her thoughts clawing at her.

By the time they left the cabin, the weight of the night pressed down harder than ever. The limousine cut through the darkness, headlights slicing the black road ahead. Gomez tried cracking a joke or two, Morticia gave him her soft, indulgent smiles — but no one laughed.

When they pulled up to the school gates, Isaac bolted out without a word. His coat swirled behind him like a shadow, his steps fast and furious.

“I… thank you,” Y/N said awkwardly, turning to Morticia and Gomez, her face warm with embarrassment. “I appreciate you taking me along. It was… unusual, but your hospitality can’t be denied.”

Morticia gave her a strangely sympathetic smile. Gomez bowed with a flourish. “It was our honor, mi amiga.”

Y/N forced a small smile, thanked them again, then hurried after Isaac. She didn’t need to guess where he’d gone. His footsteps drew her straight toward the tower.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The door creaked as Y/N stepped inside. The air was cold, heavy with the scent of metal and old parchment. Isaac prowled from table to table like a caged predator. Ink-filled glasses on his desk trembled every time he brushed against them.

“Isaac?” she called cautiously, taking off her coat. “I just wanted—”

“What?” he snapped, not looking at her. His footsteps echoed sharply across the wooden floor.

“Listen, Isaac…” she began softly, trying to wrap her words in gentleness.

Suddenly, he grabbed a metal container from a nearby table and hurled it against the wall. A sharp crash rang out, ink splattering across the stone.

Y/N flinched. “Are you crazy?!”

He spun toward her, eyes blazing. “Crazy? Me? No—you’re crazy! All day, Y/N, all day I hear nothing but Zahra, Zahra, Zahra. Like nothing else exists. I’ve had enough!”

“Maybe because I care!” she snapped, her voice trembling despite her effort. “You told me a story, and then I hear a completely different version. What am I supposed to think?!”

“That you don’t trust me,” he growled. “After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve risked. One word from a girl you barely know, and you look at me like I’m going to hurt you.”

“Because you’re never trustworthy!” Y/N shouted, stepping closer and pressing a finger into his chest. “You always play the genius, the all-knowing, but you can never be honest. Only half-truths, loopholes, and secrets. You think you know best—but you know what? You’re nothing but an egoistic idiot, drunk on everyone’s admiration!”

Isaac’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a menacing whisper. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be alive today. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be writhing in pain, unable to get out of bed. Try telling me one more time that I’m useless to you.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Y/N cried, tears stinging her eyes. “You twist everything so that I’m the one who owes you! But you know what? I owe you nothing. My life isn’t a coin you bought with a few experiments.”

He laughed—short, darkly. “Experiments? You have no idea what I had to do so you could walk around looking brave. You don’t even have a clue what I sacrificed for you.”

“And you know why?” she interrupted, refusing to let him speak. “Because you’ll never lower yourself to open up. Because you’re scared that if I saw the real you, I’d run. And maybe you’re right.”

“Then go!” he barked. “If you don’t trust me, if you’d rather listen to Zahra than me, then there’s nothing left between us worth keeping. It’s over, Y/N. Not just us—your treatment too. Everything.”

The air in the tower thickened; the lamp light seemed darker.

Y/N stood frozen, heart hammering. “So that’s it? The moment someone stands up to you, you push them away? Bravo, Isaac. Much easier than facing the truth yourself.”

He leaned toward her, eyes icy. “The truth is, I trusted you more than anyone else. And you flushed it all away over one lie you wanted to believe.”

The words stung, but Y/N lifted her chin, hands trembling. “Maybe I thought I knew you. But now I see I don’t. And maybe I don’t even want to.”

She turned, hand gripping the door handle tightly. Before she left, she added quietly but sharply: “I hope your pride keeps you company. Because nothing else will.”

The door slammed behind her, the echo lingering through the tower. Isaac remained, staring at the splattered ink on the stone.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Rain pounded against the glass panes, the light fading faster than usual. Y/N sat propped against her bedframe, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, watching the gray clouds gather over campus. Since she last drank Isaac’s blood, she felt the change—her hands trembled, control over her body weakened, her strength diminished. The reserve vials lay unopened on her nightstand, saved for emergencies. Yet she hadn’t touched them. She didn’t want or need to. Thoughts of regular blood gnawed at her, but she resisted—she knew it wouldn’t help, only disrupt her control.

Yasmin leaned closer, gently tapping her shoulder. “That guy’s an idiot, Y/N. Seriously. He doesn’t deserve your attention.”

Shuhua nodded. “Yeah, and it’s not your fault. He’s… selfish. You’ve got so many things, projects, interests. Don’t waste your energy on him.”

Y/N stared out the window as raindrops streaked the glass, reflecting the gray light. “I know… but something inside me… still bites. Like my choices… could hurt him somehow.”

“Look,” Yasmin said, leaning in, her voice soft but firm, “if you want, you can face him. But right now, you need support. Someone to guide you before you step into the battlefield again… maybe… Zahra?”

Y/N stiffened, hugging her knees tighter. “Maybe… maybe you’re right. I should probably talk to her.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

After putting it off for far too long, Y/N finally mustered the courage to go to Zahra. She had been gathering it for hours, even days, but she knew that if she waited any longer, she risked a complete breakdown. Coupled with not drinking blood, she was dangerously close to losing control.

She had to know. She couldn’t relive that evening with only half-truths — she needed the whole story. She needed to know if there was someone else involved, and most importantly, whether she had done the right thing by demanding the truth instead of blindly forgiving.

She slipped into the greenhouse quietly, as though afraid someone might hear her. Ezra left the key under an empty flowerpot next to a wilted sunflower, as usual; Y/N retrieved it without a sound. Inside, the air was damp, scented with soil and greenery. A faint rustle came from the corner — leaves, the quiet work of hands. Her instinct told her this was the person she had come for.

Zahra stood with her back to her, bending over a small crate of plants, gently transplanting what looked like tiny, poisonous purple bellflowers. Her muscles were tense, focused, giving her an icy calm — a stark contrast to the fiery girl Y/N remembered from before.

Y/N cleared her throat. Zahra didn’t even look up.

“If you’re here to question our last conversation again, I’m not in the mood, Ezra. Dry soil is better for bellflowers anyway,” she muttered absentmindedly.

“You should actually leave them in damp soil — that’s how they grow in mountainous regions,” Y/N said from the shadows.

“Oh, it’s you. Go away. I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Y/N said firmly, losing patience.

“That’s not going to happen?” Zahra stood, tossing aside her gloves and apron. Y/N noticed a necklace hanging around her neck she hadn’t seen before — a golden shell, more ornate than the one Shuhua wore. It was a siren’s protective necklace, preventing them from using a siren song.

“I don’t care if it won’t happen. Either I make you talk with my voice, or I bury your body under these plants.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. “You owe me this.”

“Owe you what exactly?! I’m not your servant,” Zahra snapped venomously.

Y/N stepped closer, voice hard, not calm. “Tell me everything. I don’t want pieces. I want it in order. What happened between you and Isaac?”

Pain flickered in Zahra’s eyes. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if weighing her words. She shifted nervously from foot to foot.

She lowered her head, her hand dragging heavily over a bracelet. Then she began, and Y/N listened intently, refusing to let a single word slip by.

“We were paired for a project. It was supposed to be fifty-fifty. But working with Isaac… it’s different. You can imagine, I’m sure.” Y/N nodded immediately.

“He was… so cold. Arrogant. Difficult. He acted like I wasn’t even there. Ignored my comments, my changes, even my better calculations or theories. He brushed me off constantly — his attitude was like… he lacked nothing. And yet, it mattered so much to me. He could easily get by, but I needed to improve my GPA, even though I was already slightly above average. Professors liked me, but Isaac… he’s a different league. It hurt. I envied him.” She nearly whispered the last part.

So, one jealous student. Makes sense. Innocent enough. Classic academic rivalry.

Zahra continued, “His behavior infuriated me. And yet, somehow, I fell for him. Complete nonsense. He showed no interest in me — obviously. But at the same time, I felt envy. I hated him. And yet, in a repulsive way, he attracted me.” She straightened, steeling herself. “I tried to get closer. The more I tried, the more he pushed me away. Even when I confessed my feelings to his face and he brushed me off, I kept trying relentlessly.”

She took a breath. So Isaac hadn’t lied about her obsession. Clear. It still didn’t explain his extreme reaction, but Y/N had to admit she could understand it to some extent. Isaac was, in his own strange way, charismatic. Rejection, especially from him, could drive anyone to frustration.

“Isaac found a way to make me stop chasing him once and for all,” Zahra continued after a pause. “The day before we were to submit the project, he spoke to the professor about how I was constantly bothering him while he worked, going into his tower without permission.”

“He has a lab there,” Y/N nodded. “Generally, he doesn’t like letting anyone in.”

“I know,” Zahra hissed. “We never went there. We worked in the library. It was a clear lie, just so I’d be punished. Nothing serious. The project was supposed to be presented by him alone; I would only get half the points because, according to him, I refused to cooperate. But I, the fool, decided on the stupidest idea possible.”

Zahra paused, fingers gripping the chain around her neck again. The greenhouse air was heavy, the raindrops against the glass keeping a steady rhythm, like a metronome measuring past and present.

“That night, I thought I could fix it,” Zahra whispered. “I wanted to show him that he could be vulnerable too. I was angry. Furious. Before he submitted the project, I tampered with it — added my own errors. I wanted him to look like a complete idiot. He caught me in the act,” she hesitated, “I wanted him to understand that he couldn’t act like the world belonged to him. I wanted to knock him off his pedestal. I wanted him to see how much he’d hurt me.”

Y/N felt her stomach tighten.

“He didn’t report me. But he said terrible, unforgettable things.” Zahra’s gaze drifted into the distance. “He had every right to be angry. Twice I refused to respect his kindness. But I lost control. My heart was broken, my academic work trampled. In that moment, I used my siren song on him.”

Y/N felt a flash of sympathy, immediately replaced by another, stronger emotion. “You… what did you do?”

Zahra didn’t flinch. “I used my voice. Left pieces of myself there. I… broke him.”

“What do you mean, broke him?”

A dark shadow flickered in her mind. “His body.”

Y/N exhaled in disbelief. She couldn’t take any more. “You lied to me,” she spat.

Zahra, clearly angry, raised her voice. “And what would you have done? Humiliated, broken?”

“Definitely not something so vile!”

“You don’t know what it felt like!” Zahra defended herself.

“No, but that doesn’t justify what you did!” Y/N shouted.

Zahra blinked back tears. “It doesn’t justify anything. I didn’t want him to ignore me. I wanted acknowledgment. I believed that if I showed him he could be vulnerable, he’d change. Instead, I let anger consume me.”

“But the next morning, everything came to light. I don’t know how — maybe someone was in the library, maybe it was my handwriting that didn’t match the rest. They almost expelled me, but my parents spoke up for me. Since then, I’ve been avoiding Latin and him as best I can.” She finished, and a tomb-like silence filled the room.

Y/N stared at her in disbelief, ears ringing. She trembled, fighting not to faint. “You’re trash.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Y/N met her eyes coldly. “Fate has been too fair to you.”

Tears streamed down Zahra’s face. “You wanted the truth. Now you have it. You can hop back to your boyfriend.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. Y/N spun and slammed the door behind her, just hearing Zahra collapse into stifled sobs on the other side.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Good news for you guys — Crimson Circuit won’t be ending with part ten, because I still have more to add to the story! Eyyy, hope you’re happy! :))

I hope you like this chapter. I know it might have felt a little too dark, but everything I write has its reason. Please remember that. I tried to approach it as respectfully as I could.

SA is nothing that should ever be romanticized, and as someone who is dealing with that kind of trauma, writing about it was both really hard but also a bit relieving. Still, I always try to handle these topics with as much respect as I can — both for myself and for others.

This subject will be explored more in the next chapter, but don’t worry — I’ll put a proper TW there!

Cya!

🤍Taglist:

@savvyisss @helaenabugmom @analovesmarvel @tfamidoingwithmylife @venustheplanette @vixenxlovesxyou

@devinitysann @oscarisdaddy69

@ilovekazz @slutt4siriusblack

@pa1nfullyalive @webs-02

@simiinthemirror

@lok59v @aramea205

@optimus-fake-cake

@iweirdthingsblog @sam—sara @speakercosplays @kadeszs @kitchoruuu @slytherinroyalty16 @dionisim0 @littlerabbitwithwings @anastasia0614 @thedeadlynights

@aradevil @gordorio @flirtysnakes @ohhh-boo-tiful @sunset18rose @supernaturalwriter

I can’t wait to read more of it, so could I please be added to your taglist ?? Thank you so much, good luck for next chapters !! 💗

Awww, thank you for ur kind respond! Im so glad, you like the story sm! Listening to Lana was a really good choice! 🩷 and ofc i will tag you!

PART EIGHT

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: the following chapter contains explicit sexual and gore descriptions not suitable for those under 18 or sensitive. The exact description of triggers is written above.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The room was unusually quiet. Yasmin had left earlier in the afternoon – probably lingering somewhere with Quinn – and Y/N was alone for the first time in ages. There was no laughter, no constant buzzing presence. Just a window thrown wide open, and a curtain swaying to the rhythm of the evening breeze.

Small items were scattered across the bedside table: mascara, a perfume bottle, her mother’s ring that she had never worn. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, staring ahead. Her heart was beating faster than she wanted to admit.

This wasn’t a chance encounter. She wouldn’t appear in the tower or shadows, dragged out of trouble unexpectedly. Today, he had invited her. Today was a date.

Her fingers brushed the white skirt she had laid beside her. She still couldn’t decide what to wear. She wanted to look beautiful, but not desperate. Stylish, but not childish. For a moment, she thought of Yasmin, imagining her standing over her, directing every choice. “Not that one, the other. Lower neckline. More shine. You need to catch his eyes before he opens his mouth.”

But Yasmin wasn’t here. And for the first time, Y/N had to make the decision herself.

The ball replayed in her mind. A week had passed, but every detail remained sharp. The chaos of the hallways, Yasmin’s sparkling laughter, Quinn’s bow tie… and then him. How he had emerged from the crowd like an unexpected spark, how he led her to the tower and kissed her for the first time differently – gently, sincerely.

She replayed that kiss over and over. Every time her heart skipped a beat as she realized it wasn’t a moment of weakness or a game. It was a moment when he let her get close.

Yet – among those beautiful memories, her father’s face always intruded. Stern, hard, unyielding. She saw him on the staircase, standing against Isaac, the hatred reflected in his eyes. She saw herself between them, feeling as if both were trying to pull her to their side.

Her father would never understand. In his world, Isaac wasn’t a partner – he was a threat. And perhaps that was why it was so hard to believe – that Isaac now wanted Francoise to know about them. That he wanted their relationship to exist outside the hidden corners and hallways.

Y/N got up and looked in the mirror again. Nervous excitement flickered in her eyes alongside joy. Isaac was unpredictable, often driving her insane, but today – today he seemed different. Sincere. And she was thrilled. So thrilled that butterflies spun in her stomach, making her laugh at herself.

She picked up a comb and slowly brushed her hair. Each stroke calmed her slightly. She dabbed a little perfume on her wrist, pressed it to her neck, and closed her eyes. She imagined how he would look at her when he opened the door. Would he smile, or just raise his eyebrow in that superior way of his?

No matter what, she knew one thing: today wouldn’t be a coincidence. Today would be the start of something that might not be taken back.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N finally made her choice. The burgundy suede dress hugged her figure, the balloon sleeves giving it a peculiar elegance. The skirt ended just above her knees, making her legs look even longer in the tall leather boots with fur trim. Over her shoulders, she draped a coal-black coat, sliding around her thighs like a dark veil as she walked.

When she opened the door, Isaac was already waiting in the hallway. Leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest – yet something was different.

His hair was neatly combed, no messy strands falling over his forehead. His sand-colored shirt contrasted sharply with his dark skin and the stitching on his shoulders. He looked… almost civilized.

For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

“Well,” he drawled, his gaze sweeping from her boots to her collarbones, “this is the first time someone else has taken my breath away.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You could have said that normally.”

“Normal wouldn’t have been this unforgettable,” he replied, extending his hand.

She hesitated before taking it. His palm was cold, yet firm, with long, almost disturbingly confident fingers. It wasn’t a touch meant to control her – it was guiding her, as if he were completely certain that this place was meant just for her.

Together, they walked down the long hallway and exited Nevermore. The school loomed behind them like a shadow, and ahead stretched the forest. Outside, there was silence. True, raw silence.

The sky was overcast, not black but grayish, like soot, through which a faint hint of sunlight filtered. A cold wind swept through the trees, rattling the dry leaves like hundreds of whispering voices.

Isaac still held her hand. His palm was cold, almost sharp, yet it radiated a strange certainty. Every time Y/N stumbled over a root or stone, it was the gentle pressure of his hand that steadied her.

“You’ve got ridiculously cold hands,” she finally remarked, feeling tingling in her fingertips.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said teasingly. “Besides, isn’t it a sign of character when your partner gives you goosebumps?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she realized it gave her a sense of security – as if through that icy palm, she was connected to him.

The path slowly changed from gravel to a narrow forest trail. Trees bent low overhead, and Y/N had to duck occasionally. Isaac reluctantly moved branches out of the way so they wouldn’t scratch her face.

“If you’re leading me to my death, at least do it in style,” she remarked as thicker mist surrounded them.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d get more warnings. And I’d probably let you go first so you would have time to run.”

“That makes sense,” she snorted, though her lips twitched.

“Where exactly are we going?” Y/N asked as the path narrowed further.

“If I told you now, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he replied with a smirk. “And… I take a cruel pleasure in letting you guess.”

“That sounds terribly romantic,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why you like me.”

The air was raw, smelling of wet soil and moss. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted; a stream splashed somewhere beneath the roots.

The walk took longer than expected. Her boots slipped on the damp earth, and the coat clung to her body in every gust. And yet – the longer they walked, the more she felt the rhythm of his grip. If he let go, she would feel lost in this forest.

“Are we close?” she dared ask as they passed a fallen log.

“Your impatience is adorable,” Isaac replied. “But don’t worry. Not far now. And I promise, it’s worth it.”

“I hope so. Because if not…”

“Because not?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll bite your hand off,” she snapped.

“I might enjoy that,” he grinned. “Just target the one I can use my telekinesis with.”

She laughed, shaking her head. It was typical – Isaac and his ill-timed humor, bringing light even into the cold evening.

When the trees finally parted, she saw it. A stone structure, overgrown with ivy, rising on a small hill. It looked ancient, lost, almost forgotten. Y/N paused, her breath catching.

“A crypt?” she whispered.

“Technically,” Isaac nodded calmly, as if it were the most natural choice for a date. “But wait until you see inside.”

“You’re kidding,” she breathed, seeing the heavy doors with a carved relief.

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to bury you. At least not today.”

For a moment, her stomach fluttered – dark doors, stone carvings, the feeling of a place where time had stopped. But then she felt his hand squeeze hers. It wasn’t cold or distant. It was a signal: trust me. He released her hand and gestured toward the doors. They creaked open.

And surprisingly, she trusted him.

Inside, it wasn’t dark, but warm with the glow of dozens of candles. The flickering light on the walls made it feel more like a sanctuary than a tomb. Several woolen blankets were spread on the stone floor, forming a cozy circle. In the center, a wicker basket peeked out, filled with red strawberries and wrapped sandwiches.

“So… a crypt. But in a romantic package,” Y/N breathed.

Isaac smirked. “Call it what you want. I call it ‘the cheapest restaurant around.’”

She sat down on the blanket, letting her fingers glide along its edge. It was soft and warm, not strange at all. Isaac sat beside her and handed her the first strawberry.

“So… this was your plan?” she asked, a little incredulously.

“Of course. Do you think I’d bother getting all dressed up just for you?”

She laughed, took a bite of the strawberry, and felt the tension slowly melt away. In the crypt, where she had expected cold and fear, she felt strangely safe. Maybe it wasn’t the place. Maybe it was him.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “if anyone needs to know about what’s between us, it should be Françoise. I don’t want her hearing it from anyone else.”

Y/N looked at him. The words sounded heavy—almost foreign coming from his mouth. And yet she felt her heart tighten with gratitude.

“That’s… a big step from you,” she whispered.

“I am a man of grand gestures,” he replied, taking another strawberry. “Few people organize a romantic session in a crypt.”

“Definitely few,” she nodded, smiling.

Isaac watched her from the corner of his eye, his smile lingering longer than usual. And at that moment, she realized that no matter how much his words hid behind sarcasm, tonight meant more to him than he would ever admit.

She removed her coat, settled on one of the blankets, and reached for her glasses, which sat firmly on her nose. Getting used to them hadn’t been easy—the frame was heavy and the dark lenses tinted everything orange.

Isaac watched her for a moment. “Still hurting your eyes?” he asked as she carefully took them off.

She blinked. The harsh candlelight stung her eyes at first. She had to shield them with her palm before adjusting. “A little,” she admitted. “But I can handle it.”

“I told you,” he began, calmly this time, without his usual sarcasm, “your body is changing. The blood you drink shifts your limits. It’s natural—the more it becomes part of you, the more you’ll react like other vampires. Daylight, skin, eyes… everything needs to find a new balance.”

“So this is… what? The path to becoming a full vampire?”

Isaac shrugged. “Maybe. Or at least a step toward not having the world burn your eyes every time you step outside without glasses.” He smirked, but this time without cruelty. “You just need time. Everything adapts slowly.”

Y/N placed her glasses beside her again and stared into the flickering light, carefully. Her eyes still stung, but she knew he was right. Somehow, it all made sense—whether she resisted it or not.

For a while, silence filled the space, interrupted only by the crackling candles. Y/N picked up another strawberry and smiled lightly. “Next time, you could bring wine. To match the mood.”

“Believe it or not, I thought of it,” he replied, “but then I realized you’re already dangerously close to biting distance. I didn’t need to make it easier.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You and your paranoia.”

“Says the one who’d sniff around my tower all the time,” he countered.

“Fine,” she raised her hands in surrender. “Point for you.”

They enjoyed the calm for a while. Then her thoughts drifted back to the thing that had been bothering her earlier. “When do you think the machine will be ready?”

Isaac lifted his gaze from the sandwich he was unwrapping. “If the guy in Jericho didn’t lie, within a week. But…” He leaned toward her, his eyes narrowing again. “Are you sure you want to pay for it? That you want to risk it? What about your father?”

Her stomach tightened. Her father’s name brought an unpleasant weight to her chest, like cold water falling. She remembered his cold gaze, his disinterest, calling her a spoiled child.

For a moment, the pain swirled inside her—but then she looked at Isaac. She didn’t want to ruin the night. Not today.

Without answering, she leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He was firm, steady, and even though his familiar cold aura radiated from him, he felt paradoxically like the safest place in the world.

Isaac paused, but didn’t move a muscle. Then—almost shyly—he lifted his hand and ran his fingers through her hair. Gentle, long strokes, uncharacteristically tender.

Y/N closed her eyes. Everything weighing on her dissolved in that simple gesture. His palm, her breath, the shared silence in a place where she should have felt the chill of death—yet instead, she felt life.

“I’ll figure out somehow,” she murmured, almost like promising herself.

Before Isaac could respond, she leaned in and kissed him. At first lightly, just testing his reaction. Isaac froze—but only for a moment. Then he pressed closer, their breaths mingling, the kiss deepening. It was hungry, reflecting both her impatience and his restrained desire.

His hand rose, initially hesitantly, as if confirming this was really happening, then swept over her face, thumb brushing the corner of her lips as he drew her closer.

Y/N didn’t pull away. On the contrary. She slid onto his lap, knees pressing into the blanket, pressing her weight against his chest. Their kisses alternated—sometimes soft, sometimes sudden and eager, as if she finally realized how much she wanted this.

Isaac let it happen. His hands descended to her thighs. At first firm, holding her in place, then slowly, exploratively. Y/N felt his fingers move—deliberately slow, teasing along the fabric of her dress, from knees upward. Every touch careful, yet intentional, as if testing her.

Her heart raced, her breath caught. Isaac, usually distant, now opened himself in raw closeness, his hands speaking more than words.

Y/N pressed closer, her face against his collar, inhaling his scent—a mixture of wood and something metallic, unmistakably him. It was a mix of unease and safety, just like he was.

His fingers paused just under the hem of her dress, not moving further—waiting for permission. But the pressure of his palms on her skin made it clear he could. That he wanted to.

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder, exhaling against him, warmth flooding her body. Her fingers threaded into his neat hair, tousling it back into their familiar chaos.

She sank her teeth lightly into him. Playfully. Gently. She couldn’t help it, feeling his closeness and scent made it automatic. She pulled back to wipe the blood at her mouth.

His hands slid along her thighs, thumbs pressing through the thin fabric, then moving slowly upward to her waist. Y/N shivered, breath broken, feeling every inch of him.

His lips were still wet from kisses as he held her firmly on his lap. Her breath came in short, staggered gasps, the tension in his body mirrored in hers.

Y/N pressed herself closer, cheek brushing his shirt, sensing the heat and hardness, her breath uneven. His fingers traced under her dress, exploring curves of her thighs and hips, stopping just at the edge of her underwear. She felt her whole body tremble in anticipation.

Instead of continuing, Isaac shifted differently—gently lifting her, laying her on the soft blankets, and lowered himself between her thighs. Y/N’s eyes widened, but his gaze pinned her.

“Relax,” he said with dry sarcasm, though his voice was deeper than usual. “Let me do my job.”

Before she could answer, he lifted the fabric of her dress, hands holding her steady at her thighs. His breath mingled with the cold air of the crypt as he leaned lower. First, a slow, deliberate kiss along the inner thigh—careful, intentional, sending warmth rushing through her. Then another, closer. And another, right at the fabric separating them.

Y/N gasped softly as his tongue finally found its way. Heat flooded her body, making her grip the blanket to stay upright. Isaac was patient, meticulous—alternating slow, gentle touches with more urgent strokes, simultaneously tormenting and rewarding her.

“Isaac…” she exhaled, barely audible.

His eyes darkened, half-lidded, burning. He drew her closer with each movement, making her arch against him, offering herself more.

His fingers climbed under her dress, sliding along her hips and sides, until reaching her waist, gripping the fabric. One smooth motion—and it was pulled high enough to get even closer. Y/N felt him press hard against her, breath catching.

“Isaac…” she whispered again, this time not a plea, just his name, holding the world together.

He leaned in, kissing her—first soft, then hungrier. His hands moved along her hips, pulling her underwear aside, the only barrier between them. His touch was confident, not rushed, making her feel every second, every tension.

Then he paused, eyes meeting hers, seeking permission.

Y/N nodded, speechless, trembling, pulling him closer.

The first penetration was slow, deliberate. Isaac gritted his jaw to suppress a hiss; Y/N clutched the blanket, fingers taut. She felt him within her—warmth, sharp, overwhelming. They froze briefly, syncing, taking it in.

Then he moved. Slowly, thoroughly, step by step. Her breath shifted to short gasps, then moans, rhythm quickening. Isaac held her tight, one hand on her thigh, the other on her side, setting the pace. Every movement precise, intended, imprinting every moment in her memory.

Y/N arched, whispering his name, sometimes exhaling only, unable to form words. At one point, he held her neck, thumb stroking beneath her chin, kissing her so hungrily her head spun.

“Look at me,” he hissed, hoarse, broken.

She obeyed. And that connection—her eyes in his, bodies pressed together—was overwhelming, stronger than the act itself. For that instant, nothing existed but the two of them.

His movements grew faster, harder, urgent, breaths mingling. Y/N felt herself nearing the edge, body taut as a bow. Isaac didn’t release her—holding firmly until her last cry of ecstasy, a wave washing through her entirely.

Then he followed, holding her tight, nearly suffocating, with a deep, broken sigh.

They stayed that way—body to body, breath to breath. Still trembling, speechless. Only the silence of the crypt, flickering candles, and their rapid heartbeats.

Isaac brushed her cheek with his thumb, surprisingly gentle, almost tender. “I should forbid myself this,” he murmured.

Y/N smiled wearily, resting her forehead against his. “And I should let you… but I won’t.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N swung the strap of her equipment bag over her shoulder and adjusted her gloves. The greenhouse was at the far end of the campus, and as she approached, she could already see the glass panes glistening with dew from afar.

When she opened the door, the familiar damp scent hit her—a mix of soil, flowers, and greenery. In the center, Ezra was bent over a flowerbed, and a few younger students hovered nearby, eyes nervously fixed on buckets full of weeds.

“Alright, everyone, you’ve worked enough today,” Ezra raised his hands and clapped theatrically. “Enjoy the rest of the afternoon—go slack off or whatever you do.”

The younger students immediately scattered without waiting for a second prompt. Y/N had to laugh at that.

“Well, Mr. President of the Gardening Club,” she teased as she approached him. “That was authority—I almost felt like saluting.”

Ezra glanced over his shoulder at her, a grin playing on his lips. “Finally, someone acknowledges my majesty. I was starting to think I’d never hear that.”

“Majesty?” she rolled her eyes, setting her bag down on the bench. “More like ego in a flowerpot.”

“Hey,” he raised a warning finger, “before you start putting me down, remember I’m the only one who knows how to take care of your favorite cactus. That little spiky guy doesn’t like you.”

“Mutual feeling,” Y/N chuckled, beginning to untangle the hose.

For a while, they worked in silence, punctuated only by the occasional splash of water. Then Ezra leaned against the worktable, arms crossed, and tilted toward her.

“So, tell me… what’s new? How’ve you been? And most importantly—how was the dance?”

“Good,” she said vaguely, her cheeks warming slightly.

Of course, Ezra noticed. “Good? Just good? I swear I saw Night whisking you away somewhere.”

She hesitated for a moment, then the corners of her lips curved into a wide smile. “Well… kind of, we’re together.”

Ezra’s jaw dropped. “You. Are. Kidding.”

Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh too loudly—but failed.

Ezra waved his arms theatrically, turning toward the nearest palm. “Hear that, Zahra? Y/N actually managed to bag that crazy scientist! Everyone, calm down—the apocalypse is here!”

“Stop it,” she pushed him, but her laughter vibrated in her voice.

Ezra returned to her, raising an eyebrow, his tone softer now, sincere. “I don’t get how you did it… but if it makes you happy, I’m all for it. Even if it’s a little scary.”

“I don’t understand it either,” she replied, plunging her trowel into the soil. She missed these moments here and was glad to be back.

Y/N laughed at Ezra’s last words when a girl she hadn’t seen before appeared in the doorway. Her steps were calm, movements fluid, and her face neutral. She carried a large container full of soil.

“So, what were you yelling about earlier, Ezra? You know I can hear absolutely nothing back there,” she said, brushing a front strand of hair from her face. She must have incredible strength to hold that so effortlessly for so long.

Ezra waved a hand. “Ah. My dear friend Y/N is dating that weird Isaac Night. You know, the genius.”

At that moment, another student ran in, urgently pulling Ezra out of the greenhouse—apparently someone was looking for him.

An awkward silence followed. Zahra stared at Y/N with wide eyes. “You’re dating Night?!” Y/N reluctantly nodded.

Zahra suddenly dropped the soil. Y/N rushed to help her.

“Don’t touch it!” Zahra snapped, her voice sharp, almost vicious. Y/N froze, unsure how to respond.

“What… what’s happening?” she stammered, bending to carefully pick up the spilled soil.

“Listen carefully,” Zahra hissed, stepping closer, hands gripping her hips. “Night isn’t who you think he is. You don’t understand everything he’s capable of.”

Y/N felt the tension, but tried not to back down. Confusion was replaced by anger. “What the hell is your problem? Are you even listening? Isaac would never hurt me.”

“Oh?” Zahra leaned closer, eyes glowing with warning. “Trust me, not everyone is what they seem. And he… he’ll use you if you’re not careful.”

“That’s not true!” Y/N raised her voice, trying to stand firm. “I know what I’m doing. I trust him.”

“Can I guess?” Zahra stepped even closer, her voice sharp as a knife. “You went to him because of a problem, thinking he’d fix it. But this isn’t simple. He’s not an ordinary student. He’ll use you if you’re not cautious.”

Y/N stood tall, meeting her gaze. “So according to you, I shouldn’t trust him?”

“Don’t ask me if you should trust him. Just prepare yourself—he’s not who you think he is. And when the time comes… you’ll understand why I warned you.”

Y/N stared at her in disbelief. She threw her gloves toward Zahra. “Maybe you’ve had a bad experience with Isaac. I get it. He’s not an easy person. But he’s never intentionally hurt me. And if it comes to that, I know how to take care of myself.”

She let the words hang in the air. Turning on her heel, she slammed the greenhouse door behind her with a crack, making the whole building tremble.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N lay close to Isaac in his bed. Gómez was gone, and Isaac had decided to take advantage of it. Her head rested on his shoulder, her body entwined with his, yet a gnawing uncertainty lingered inside her. The room was quiet, only the soft light of a lamp casting shadows across the walls. Isaac tried to set a lighthearted mood—he told a childhood story about teaching Françoise to ride a bike. His voice was calm, sometimes laughing, but Y/N could no longer keep her attention. Zahra’s sharp, warning words echoed in her mind, blending with his story.

“…and then I told her that if she fell again, she’d have to wash all the bikes in the yard,” he finished with a slight smile. Y/N squinted her eyes, body pressed to his, but her mind was elsewhere.

Isaac noticed she wasn’t looking at him, not responding, and gently squeezed her hand. “Y/N… are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with irritation.

Y/N swallowed, trying to focus, but Zahra’s question pulsed in her thoughts: What did she mean? Why is she telling me not to trust him?

Y/N leaned closer to him so her voice would be near. “Do you… know anyone named Zahra?”

Isaac answered without much interest. “No, doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you ask?” His tone was firm, convincing.

Y/N nodded, trying to remain calm. “Just wanted to know if you’d heard of her.”

He nodded and suggested a change of topic: “Dinner with Gómez and Motricia still on tonight? If I cancel a second time, I have a bad feeling my friend’s going to throw a plugged-in hairdryer into the tub.”

But Y/N couldn’t shake thoughts of Zahra. “But… you really don’t know her?” she blurted, voice trembling.

Isaac sighed, watching her for a moment. “Why are we suddenly circling around Zahra Al-Abbas?!”

“So… you know her?” Y/N couldn’t believe it.

Irritated, he cleared his throat and suddenly jumped out of bed to get dressed. “Yeah. And what of it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it means nothing!” he shouted suddenly. She hadn’t seen him this angry since he defended her in the library.

She swallowed. “We said we’d be honest with each other.”

He slowed and inhaled, closing his eyes as if recalling something unpleasant. He sat back down beside her and took her hand. “You’re right,” he nodded. “You’re right, Y/N.”

She waited, tense, gazing into his eyes.

“Zahra was my partner on a project two years ago. The professor at the time insisted that working with other students would benefit me. She paired me with Zahra, who was supposedly on track for a promising biology career, so we could form a good team.” He paused to breathe.

“What the project was about isn’t important. During it, we spent a lot of time together. And probably during that, she developed feelings beyond just professional ones.”

“Time went on. She became increasingly bold. I repeatedly told her that I wasn’t looking for that kind of bond, that it made me uncomfortable, and that we were strictly colleagues. When it crossed a line, I asked the professor to pair me with someone else. She threw a scene and hasn’t looked at me since.” He finished.

Y/N felt her body stiffen. The room was silent, only the soft light and the beat of their hearts.

She stammered. “I-I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I guess she might have seen us together and gotten jealous?”

“I actually ran into her in the greenhouse,” she whispered. “She said I shouldn’t trust you. That you’re using me.”

He sighed. “Exactly why I wanted to keep this quiet. Y/N, Zahra’s a manipulative nightmare. She always was. People don’t change that much.”

Her throat burned. Her cheeks flushed with shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you to be prepared for her. Chin up—maybe something worse awaits us. You don’t even want to know where Gómez is taking us.”

Y/N had to smile. “I guess I should wear something better than your shirt.”

As she stood, Isaac grabbed her by the waist. “You should. It’ll suit you, and you’ll style it perfectly to look even better. Though… I like this. It gets me exactly where I want.” And he leaned down to kiss her neck.

Even with butterflies in her stomach that every kiss from Isaac brought, Y/N couldn’t fully relax. His words carried a hint of something… unspoken. The story he told sounded natural, almost too smooth—and that gave her an uncomfortable feeling. Something didn’t fit, something was lost between the lines.

Her mind kept drifting back to Zahra—to her cold, explosive presence, to the warnings Y/N couldn’t easily dismiss. She felt caught between two worlds: the safety Isaac offered and the shadow of suspicion that still haunted her.

Y/N needed space. Space to figure out who she could truly trust and who she had to guard herself against. So she rested against his shoulder and let her thoughts wander freely—her body relaxed, but her mind remained taut, as if waiting for the secrets to finally reveal themselves.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything in a while—karate training can be really intense sometimes. Thank you so much to everyone for your support and all the lovely comments!

See u soon in next part! 😮‍💨🩷

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@analovesmarvel @tfamidoingwithmylife @venustheplanette

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@star-girl-interlud3 @arxliilyz @doorknobhater

I am aware that I can argue with myself until it hurts in a kind of elegant way. When I look in the mirror I see neither heroine nor victim — I see a woman who has learned to be both, because endurance is, after all, subtler than a definite ending. Not because of grand gestures, more because I don’t know how to do the small ones. Maybe that sounds like an excuse; maybe it’s true. I hold selected gray evenings in my hand like paper boats that will never reach their destination. Instead of the waves dissolving them into meaningless mush, they take on color and burn.

Sometimes I play a song in my head and let it speak for me. The song is rough and honest — and that is its grace. I listen and admit things to myself that I wouldn’t say aloud if I were trying to keep up appearances. In those moments I feel simultaneously ridiculous and important.

Till the heavens are on fire

and my head won’t die,

I guess I’m lying because I want to.

I guess I’m lying because I don’t.

Because I just feel so tired,

as if I needed something to bring me back to life.

She said to me: “This isn’t you when you act like this.

This isn’t you — what did you do?”

And I said: “That’s exactly the point.”

In this I’m awkward: I play with truth like a shard of glass — I hold it to my heart even though it pricks. When a friend or anyone else tells me I’m not myself, I think perhaps I have chosen, on purpose, to be different. I never wanted to belong to clean lines. Rather to the scars that bleed in the night. Because being different is my defense and my acting role at once. I’d rather be complicated than transparent.

You don’t know how to let go.

Who said it has to be all or nothing?

But I’m still lost in the past,

and you’ll never find out.

No, I can’t tell you anything.

According to encyclopedias, honesty is a virtue; in practice it’s an expensive commodity. I have a warehouse of lies — small, shiny, well-packed — lies are for me a way to keep a pulse. When the world is too sharp I forget to breathe — so I breathe with words that aren’t mine. I lie so I won’t begin to give others the kind of medicine that would destroy me. Not because I’m evil; rather because I’ve been trained to survive. I appease. I dull the truth. And sometimes I’m surprised it works.

Because sometimes I really don’t know what’s happening to me,

but I can still be anything you wanted,

it’s not, however, what you needed,

especially when you truly needed me.

Because inside I’m a fucked-up mess,

and I’ll say things I don’t mean seriously,

just because I wanted to,

or maybe because I need it.

I swear, lying is the only rush I need.

Sometimes I wish someone would force me out of this game with myself. But no one calls. The words cannot be separated — they are like maps of my mistakes: street names that lead to dead ends. I would like to be what someone needs; paradoxically, most often I offer what someone wants to hear. My gift is exactly this: I can adapt to desire, not to necessity. And there lies the gap, the cracked bridge that no one can cross unscathed. And when I’m asked who I am, I answer messily, because that messiness is what keeps me alive.

Sometimes I imagine a day will come when someone will say to me, “Enough.” But that voice does not exist. We are alone with our songs, with our improvisations, with our lies — and yet there is something indeterminately beautiful in it: that we keep the right to be incomplete. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s a lie I tell myself so I can go on. But when the world finally burns me to ash, I want there to be at least sparks. I want it to have been worth it — even if it’s only a miracle that lasts an hour and is then forever extinguished by the waves of the ocean.

AUTHOR’S NOTICE knowing honey

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The planned chapter of Crimson Circuit will not be released today. I woke up with an unbearable monthly cycle and my head and belly are splitting, so I’ll be resting. Thank you for your understanding.

I’d also like to thank you for yesterday’s feedback on CC!

I’m really glad you’re enjoying the story! The planned fanfiction for the Wednesday universe will be released sometime at the end of next week.

Below, I’m also including the promised fan cast for my OC characters from CC!

Take care for now!

P.S. A little potential spoiler: I’m introducing a character you’ll meet in the next part! Her name is Zahra, and she’s going to play an important role. :) That’s all I can say for now!

QUINN played by Jacob Bertrand

YASMIN played by Whitney Peak

LEO played by Xolo Maridueña

SHUHUA played by Elizabeth Yu

EVELYNNE played by Katie Douglas

SEBASTIAN played by Benjamin Wadsworth

MIRABELLA played by Isabela Merced

DIMITRI played by Lucas Jade Zumann

ZAHRA played by Ariela Barer

EZRA played by Lyon Daniels

═════════════════════

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@aradevil @gordorio @flirtysnakes @ohhh-boo-tiful @sunset18rose @supernaturalwriter

PART SEVEN

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

October slowly but surely slipped into November—cold, rainy, and unrelenting, as it always was. Students whispered excitedly in the hallways, because the long-awaited Nevermore Foundation Ball was drawing near. Every year it carried a different theme, which also meant a strict dress code. Sponsors of the academy flocked in as well, and often with them came parents of students—and Y/N’s stomach clenched at the thought that someone from her own family might show up.

“For heaven’s sake, I cannot wait to go shopping, Y/N!” squealed Yasmin, who was in the middle of peeling the last flakes of blue polish off her nails. She was so focused, tongue sticking slightly out, as if she were performing open-heart surgery. “Remind me—what exactly was the theme again?”

Y/N lazily flipped a page of the fashion magazine she’d borrowed. “The Midnight Pearls,” she mumbled, though she wasn’t paying much attention to the words.

“The Midnight Pearls?” Yasmin rolled her eyes dramatically. “What’s that supposed to mean? Mermaids from a black lagoon? Or like… a pearl necklace on the gallows? Why do I feel like the sirens came up with this?”

“Probably all of the above,” Y/N replied dryly.

“Well that’s helpful as hell!” Yasmin slapped her forehead. “And the ball is only two days away! How are we supposed to manage homework, activities, and finding dresses? It makes zero sense.”

“Hmmm.” Y/N grunted, eyes still glued to the pages, not absorbing a thing.

“And hair! And make-up!” Yasmin went on, apparently not noticing her friend’s wandering mind. “Sofia was supposed to do mine, but then Annabeth stole her. And I booked her first!”

“I think you’ll survive without braids,” Y/N answered calmly.

“No, I won’t. It’ll be a disaster!” Yasmin rolled her eyes, then flashed a grin. “So, do you think I should go with blue nail polish, or maybe pearly? The theme demands pearls.”

“Both would work.”

“But what if they don’t match my dress?”

“Then… don’t paint them yet.”

“But if I don’t do it now, tomorrow I won’t have time!”

“Then… do paint them?”

Yasmin collapsed into the pillows like a dying heroine. “You’re the worst assistant ever! That’s not how a true friend acts.”

Y/N smirked slightly. “You’ll look amazing even in a trash bag.”

“Appreciated,” Yasmin grinned, “but I’d rather not have Quinn embarrassed of me.”

“Quinn?” Y/N repeated.

“Yeah! The psychic who dyes his mohawk with the seasons.”

“Ah, right.” Y/N nodded. “Gotta admire the consistency. You two suit each other.”

Yasmin let out a self-satisfied sigh. “Speaking of partners… what about you and your genius? Has he asked you yet?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “First of all, he’s not my genius. Our work is strictly professional.”

“Some people would disagree with that,” Yasmin murmured, amusement sparkling in her voice.

“Second of all,” Y/N went on, ignoring the heat creeping into her cheeks, “can you actually picture Isaac Night at a ball? Like really?”

“Okay, fair point,” Yasmin admitted. “But you still didn’t answer. Has he asked you?”

“No.”

“And would you ask him?”

A pause. Y/N swallowed. “No.”

“But you’ve thought about it,” Yasmin grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Like I said… it’s purely professional,” Y/N lied, though she knew Yasmin had already seen through her.

The past month really had been nothing but a rollercoaster. They no longer met every night, but they still found each other—in empty hallways, in the library, in the woods, sometimes even in each other’s rooms when the chance arose. And, of course, in Iago Tower, where all masks and clothes fell away. There, skin to skin, they lived through what both of them kept trying to deny—only to return to it again and again.

Every drop of blood gave her a rush of strength, intoxicating and new. The sun still hurt, but her eyes gleamed with sharper clarity. Her body reacted faster, moved lighter, healed quicker. Food still tasted bland, but no longer sat heavy on her tongue. And when it came to physical training—she was suddenly ahead of everyone. People noticed. Even Evellyne’s gang, after the library incident, backed off. It was as if they finally decided she wasn’t worth provoking anymore.

Y/N felt… freer. Stronger. She wasn’t sure if it was right, but for the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid to meet people’s eyes.

And Isaac? They weren’t together, but they weren’t apart either. There was no definition—no promise, no title, no “us.” And yet, every time she was alone, she instinctively expected him to appear. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his breath on her skin. He was her addiction and her comfort—both forbidden and unstoppable.

Y/N kept telling herself their connection was nothing more than an experiment, just work, just blood. But deep down she knew—they’d already crossed the line of no return.

She shook her head, trying not to dwell on the thought.

“…And third: I’m only going because I promised you. To soak up the atmosphere, dance with you. And then I’m out.” Y/N shut the magazine and sprawled on the bed as if to end the topic for good.

Yasmin studied her. “Out? From what?”

“From who, more like.” Y/N hugged a pillow tight against her chest, as if it could shield her. “There’s a chance my father might show up.”

“You think? You’re on his blacklist right now,” Yasmin raised a brow. “But honestly, it’d be worth seeing. Maybe that’s where you got your grumpy aura.”

“Haha,” Y/N shot back, no trace of humor in her voice. “It’s not funny. If he comes, it’ll be a disaster. And he will come, because he’s one of the main sponsors of Nevermore Academy.”

Yasmin propped herself on her elbows, her face softening. “Then tell me. I get that he’s not the model parent, but you never really talk about him. Always vague. Like you don’t want me asking. Is it really that bad?”

Y/N stayed silent. Inside, everything churned. She wanted to open up, but the thought scared her. “He’s not someone you’d ever want to know deeper,” she said quietly. “He’s strict. Unyielding. Everything is about duty, discipline. If you make a mistake, you don’t deserve a second chance.”

“So, like a general?” Yasmin tried to lighten the mood.

“Worse.” Y/N lowered her gaze. “He always expected me to be exactly what he imagined. I could never just… be me. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

Silence stretched before Yasmin reached out and touched her shoulder gently. “And if he does come? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“That he’ll see me. Recognize me,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “That he’ll find out what I am. What I’ve become. He wouldn’t understand. He never would.”

Yasmin watched her for a long moment, then sighed. “You know you can be a total drama queen sometimes, right? But… I get it. Still, Y/N, this isn’t about him. This ball is about us. About you finally putting on something sparkly and dancing with me. Your dad? He can show up if he wants. I don’t care what he thinks. I know who you are. And that’s what matters.”

For the first time in a while, Y/N smiled, tired but genuine. “Thanks, Yas.”

“Come on. Besides, your little experiments with Isaac are clearly working—otherwise you wouldn’t be walking around without sunglasses and looking healthier than ever. Maybe your dad will end up begging him for help.”

Y/N groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me,” Yasmin grinned, tossing a pillow at her.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

On Saturday morning the girls got up early and headed to the front gates, where the bus was waiting. The air was sharp, morning fog still clung to the trees, and their breath came out in little clouds. Their thin jackets had been swapped for warmer coats, but even so, it wasn’t enough against the chill. Y/N pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, hoping the trip into town wouldn’t drag out longer than necessary.

“If I don’t find a decent dress, I’m not going to the ball at all,” Yasmin muttered, already complaining that her fingers were freezing.

“Worst case, we’ll duck into that café for something warm,” Y/N nodded.

Before they could continue, footsteps joined them. A couple Y/N only knew from stories appeared. Shuhua—a siren with hair as white as fresh snow, who’d won this year’s Poe Cup and was rumored to be able to throw even the toughest opponents off balance with her song. Beside her was Leo, a gorgon, tall and quiet, always with a cap pulled low over his brow—for safety, since his gaze could turn people to stone, though he liked to joke about it.

“Hey, there you are!” Yasmin waved brightly. “Shu, Leo—this is Y/N. I guess you only know her in passing, right?”

Y/N gave a small, hesitant smile. “Yeah, we’ve passed each other in the halls.”

Shuhua extended her hand, her grip warm and firm. “Then let’s fix that. Besides, Yas never shuts up about you, so I’m curious if you’re really the stick-in-the-mud she says you are.”

“Hey!” Yasmin protested, but Shuhua just laughed, winking at her.

Leo nodded in greeting. “Glad to finally meet you. Don’t worry,” he added with a deadpan expression, “I’m in a good mood, so I won’t turn you to stone.”

Y/N gave a small smile, uncertain if it was a joke. “That’s a relief. Shopping would be tricky if I were a statue.”

“Well, you’d make a great mannequin,” Shuhua teased, and Leo chuckled.

The conversation drifted toward the ball, dresses, and Shuhua’s insistence that she still hadn’t found shoes because everything looked “too basic.” Y/N listened, trying to chime in, but it felt more like Yasmin’s circle—she was just a visitor.

Suddenly, behind her: “Boo!”

Yasmin jumped so violently that she instinctively disappeared—vanished into thin air.

“Wow!” Shuhua gasped. “She actually does that in reflex!”

“Quinn, you idiot!” Yasmin’s voice snapped from nowhere.

“Hey, it was cute!” came a laughing voice. Quinn—Yasmin’s extroverted psychic, the one she’d told Y/N about but she hadn’t properly met until now. The rumors were true—his mohawk was currently ink-blue, perfectly matched to the ball’s theme.

“Not funny,” Yasmin muttered when she reappeared, her face flushed red.

But Quinn just leaned close, slung an arm around her shoulders, and whispered, “Don’t worry. I promise next time I’ll scare you better.” He flashed that boyish grin, the kind that made it impossible to stay mad.

Laughter rippled through the group again, playful and light. Leo leaned over to kiss Shuhua’s silver hair, making her smile and squeeze his hand. Yasmin reached back to Quinn, like he’d belonged to her all along.

And Y/N’s heart ached. So that’s what it would be like, if she and Isaac were a real couple. They could tease, hold each other without hesitation, show affection through small, effortless gestures. They could go into town not as “allies in blood,” but as two people who simply belonged together. Walk into the ball side by side, dance, laugh.

But they weren’t a normal couple. They weren’t really a couple at all. And yet, her heart longed for it. Was it selfish to want? Maybe. But at that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The bus honked, and students began filing in. The group slipped among the others, their laughter carrying all the way to the driver. Y/N took a seat by the window, Yasmin right in front of her, immediately turning to Quinn beside her. Shuhua and Leo slid into seats further back, still holding hands.

The doors were already closing when someone rushed inside—Isaac Night, breathless. His coat was unbuttoned, hair messy, eyes dark. Y/N’s breath caught—there was an empty seat beside her. But Isaac didn’t look her way. He strode straight down the aisle, past her like she was invisible, and sank into the very back row, where Morticia and Gomez already sat.

Yasmin shot her a quick glance—questioning, almost reproachful—before turning back to her conversation with Quinn.

Y/N stared out the window, throat tight, breath shallow. The bus lurched forward, and she felt Isaac’s presence behind her. He hadn’t looked at her. But still, he was there—too close to ignore, too far to reach.

The engine hummed, voices rose around her, but Y/N pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Outside, bare trees, fog-draped meadows, crooked rooftops of tiny villages passed by. And yet, she was hyperaware of every motion behind her. She didn’t need to turn—she knew Isaac was there, silent, sunk in the shadows.

“Y/N?” Yasmin nudged her. “Are you listening?”

“Hm? Yeah, sorry.” She startled, as if caught doing something forbidden.

“I said Shu wants to check out a boutique by the square first.”

“Right. Sure,” Y/N nodded absently. She sneaked another glance at the glass, trying to catch Isaac’s reflection. But the angle, the play of light swallowed him whole.

He was there. But untouchable.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They arrived in Jericho around noon. It wasn’t a large town, but it pulsed with life—streets lined with old houses bearing shop signs, cafés smelling of coffee and cinnamon, tucked-away boutiques offering everything from ball gowns to bizarre costume collections.

The group headed straight into the first shop. Yasmin and Shuhua eagerly dove among the racks, Leo sat on a chair by the mirrors, feigning suffering, but every time Shuhua called to him, he smiled and praised her without hesitation. Quinn tried on ties, striking poses in front of the mirror, making Yasmin shake her head in amusement.

Y/N moved quietly between the hangers, brushing her fingers over delicate fabrics, but nothing caught her eye. Either it seemed too tacky, or too far from what she imagined. She left each boutique empty-handed, while the others emerged with bags—Yasmin with a beautiful dress adorned with pearls, Shuhua with golden sandals, and Leo with a black blazer that fit him perfectly.

“Alright, café?” Quinn suggested as they left the third shop. “I’m starving like a werewolf.”

“Sure!” Yasmin nodded.

But Y/N hesitated. “Hey, you guys go ahead. I’ll check a bit further down, maybe I’ll find something that fits me.”

“Want me to come with you?” Yasmin asked, but Y/N shook her head.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

The group disappeared into the crowd, and Y/N slipped into a quieter part of town. The alleys here were narrower, quieter, paved with old cobblestones, with small shops tucked between buildings, bearing weathered signs. She found it odd that she hadn’t glimpsed Isaac at all since the bus ride. Not on the street, not in the boutiques. Where had he gone? What was he doing here?

Her steps halted in front of an antique shop with a chipped sign. The door had a metal handle, the window display filled with dust and scattered books, jewelry, and candlesticks. She hesitated briefly, then pushed the door open.

A bell chimed above her, immediately hitting her with a peculiar smell—a mix of dust, metal, and something musty, almost acrid.

The aisles between the shelves were narrow and shadowed. She browsed the items until she came across a book on carnivorous plants. She opened it, letting her fingers trace the carefully drawn illustrations. It reminded her of the gardening club, which now in winter had moved to the school greenhouse. The only activity that ever brought her peace—there, among the soil and plants, she could forget for a moment the ridicule and bullying. But this year she had barely gone once.

“I don’t remember you ever failing at botany,” a voice said behind her.

Y/N jerked her head around. Ezra stood there.

His light hair stuck out in all directions, eyes sharp—vampire as it should be—but without the arrogant chill she knew from others. He was different. He had never pushed her away, never looked down on her. She had rarely seen him, as he was a year ahead and many of their classes were at different times. He looked good—actually better than when he was muddy from work. She often saw him training with Shuhua, since they were on the same Poe Cup team.

“Ezra?” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled, shrugging. “Let’s say I like old things. Sometimes I find something for the club.”

“That makes sense.” She closed the book and gave a timid smile, embarrassed that she hadn’t visited their club even once. “I… just saw this on carnivorous plants. It reminded me of the gardening club.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We missed you there. You were usually buried in work and didn’t notice much else. But you had a knack for it. I think the plants liked you.”

“Or maybe I liked them,” she replied quietly.

“Same difference,” he smiled. He watched her a moment, then added, “Will you come visit us sometime? You know the door is always open for you.”

Y/N froze. Words she hadn’t expected to hear from him.

“I…” she cleared her throat to mask her embarrassment. “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

“I figured,” he said simply. “But it’s nice to see you again, Y/N.”

His voice wasn’t artificially encouraging. It was calm, genuine, almost quiet—as if he didn’t need to show off. And for the first time that day, Y/N felt truly seen. She smiled and lightly tapped his shoulder.

“And you, looking for something for yourself? Or your partner?” she teased, finally relaxing for the first time that day.

“Ouch,” he feigned, “you want me to say yes, don’t you? All the ladies unfortunately turned me down. Score: zero for me.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“Believe it. Gardeners apparently get paid poorly, and girls go for rich boys.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. If I hire you, you’ll be in for a treat.” Now she made him laugh.

Ezra gestured toward the door. “You know what? I can walk with you to a few more shops. At least I’ll hold your bag if you find something.”

“I won’t find anything. I’ve given up.”

“Then I’ll hold your mood,” he said lightly, smiling.

They exited the antique shop together from the opposite side onto the street. Y/N’s eyes drifted to a display window beside them, and her breath caught. On the mannequin stood a dress—dark indigo, with a few light yellow camellias sewn in that shimmered under the light. High waist, slightly dropped bodice, long skirt that would flow like water in motion. Exactly what she had dreamed of, yet never imagined finding.

“Wow,” Ezra said, noticing her gaze. “Those will fit you before you even try them on.”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. But before she could answer, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Interesting choice. I’d say… tacky, for desperate princesses.”

Y/N spun around. Isaac stood there, breathless, holding a large box. His hair was tousled, face shadowed—but his eyes shone coldly.

Ezra looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t know Night went shopping.”

Isaac measured him head to toe, corners of his mouth curling into a frosty smile. “And I didn’t know Y/N kept such interesting company. How much did she offer you to guard her on this little trip?”

There was an edge in his voice that Ezra ignored. He simply nodded slightly and said calmly, “A few kisses on the cheek and an invitation to the ball.”

What on earth is he doing? Y/N thought in alarm, watching Isaac’s reaction with wide eyes. Isaac just smirked.

“I think that dress would suit her,” Ezra continued.

“But not everyone looks good being ridiculous,” Isaac retorted without hesitation.

Y/N felt the tension between them. Ezra straightened, composed, unaffected. “Alright, I’ll go find a tie—preferably one that won’t look silly. Y/N, it was nice seeing you. Good luck with your choice.”

His voice was warm, naturally kind, and Y/N watched him leave a moment longer than she should have. When he departed, she was left alone with Isaac, who shifted the box to one hand and slowly approached her.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed.

“Looking for something for my sister,” he replied simply, offering no explanation.

“For Françoise?” she asked cautiously.

Isaac looked at her in a way that made her spine shiver. He was silent—and that silence was worse than any answer. Whenever it came to his sister, he shut himself off like a book no one could read.

“And why isn’t she getting it herself?” she finally blurted.

Isaac smirked—that typical grin that felt more like a knife than a smile. “Because I have better taste.”

His gaze returned to the window, where her dream dress stood. Then, as if nothing, he added, “Although… that one is a bit tacky.”

Y/N felt her stomach clench. Because he was lying. She knew it. And yet it hurt—because she liked it. And in that moment, his comment felt like a direct hit.

“That’s fine,” she said finally, dryly, her own voice betraying her. “Because I don’t like it anyway.”

But Isaac’s barely-there smile told her he knew she was lying.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The hallways buzzed with life—heels clacking, fabrics rustling, laughter and nervous exclamations. The girls borrowed curling irons and jewelry from each other, bedroom doors opened and closed in a constant race, and the air was thick with perfumes, hairspray, and anticipation. It was that peculiar mix of chaos and excitement that always accompanied a ball night.

Yasmin stood in front of the mirror, turning from side to side. Her black dress with a deep neckline fit so perfectly it seemed as if it had been made just for her. The delicate sparkles caught the candlelight, and the waves of fabric blended seamlessly with her dark skin. She looked… phenomenal.

Meanwhile, Y/N had put on her white lace dress that she had brought from home. It was nice, certainly—festive, light, with a subtle sheen. But next to Yasmin’s, it looked ordinary. Lacking that spark. Missing the sensual touch she longed for.

“I really don’t get why you didn’t pick them,” Yasmin sighed, brushing the final touches of eyeshadow around her own eyes. “The ones in the window were perfect.”

Y/N swallowed, lowering her gaze. “I told you, I didn’t like them that much.”

The words sounded harsh in her ears, like sand scraping between teeth.

“Sure,” Yasmin smirked, raising an eyebrow. “If you say so.” She pulled back and theatrically waved her hand. “Anyway—the makeup’s done. Tadaaa!”

Y/N looked into the mirror. Soft smoky eyes, subtly highlighted cheeks, and lips shaded a pinkish-red. Yasmin had left her natural, but added a flair that gave her an entirely new spark. For a moment, Y/N hardly recognized herself.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Yasmin rushed to open it—and there stood Quinn. His tailored jacket was sleek and dark, but what stood out most was the bow tie: pastel blue, matching Yasmin’s nails perfectly.

“You look…” Yasmin gasped, and Quinn only smiled, slightly shy. “Like someone who’s very lucky,” he added, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe.

They hugged—naturally, lightly—and Y/N, at that moment, knew they needed a moment for themselves.

“We’ll go ahead, okay?” Yasmin turned to her with an apologetic smile. “But we’ll meet you there, I promise.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Y/N nodded, though a small sting of solitude pricked her—not envy, but loneliness.

The door closed, and she was left alone in the room. The girls downstairs had already gathered; music played, someone laughed hysterically, another rushed around with smudged makeup. And she… thought.

Maybe she shouldn’t go. Maybe her father really would be there—and what if he didn’t even greet her? What if he did what he always did—look at her, but not really see her?

Another knock.

Y/N rolled her eyes—surely Yasmin had forgotten something. After all, her handbags were capable of swallowing half a wardrobe.

But when she opened the door, no one stood there. Only a large, carefully tied box. It sat right at the threshold, with a silk ribbon.

Y/N dragged it inside, slightly out of breath, and carefully untied the bow. The lid lifted—and she saw what was inside.

Her lips curved into a smile on their own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They were a bit tighter than she expected, but nothing she couldn’t endure. She simply wasn’t used to corsets—it constricted her chest, every breath shallowly stifled, as if reminding her that beauty came at a cost. The fabric lightly scratched her ribs, but when she looked in the mirror, she had to admit it was worth it. The material hugged her body like a dark ocean, the translucent patterns on her shoulders giving an illusion of fragility, while the tightly cinched waist gave her a shape she had never had before. She felt different—not like the Y/N the world usually saw, but like someone who could easily belong to that illustrious line she seemed destined for. Yet the constriction pricked her, like every tightened knot of the lacing.

She stepped out of the room and, with the other students, made her way to the main hall. From a distance, she could already hear the music—dark violins weaving through piano notes, the rhythm of a waltz mixed with a modern undertone. Once she passed through the doors, she froze.

The hall had been transformed beyond recognition. Dozens of crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, strings of pearls dripping from them, glinting like stars submerged in midnight. Every table was adorned with bowls containing shells, inside of which sat pearly white candles. Projections of ocean depths undulated across the walls—dark, hypnotic, with the occasional flash of a glowing jellyfish. The entire space smelled of a mixture of perfumes, roses, freshly polished wood, and alcohol secretly poured into the punch by students.

Dresses rustled, laughter mingled with music, some were already dancing, while others lingered in small groups, whispering about who had come with whom. It was perfect, almost like a fairy tale.

And then she saw him.

Her father.

He stood near the main table, a glass of wine in hand. His hair, already streaked with gray, was tied back in a loose ponytail, strands lazily escaping around his face. He wore black trousers, a simple shirt, and a deep crimson vest that practically shouted he was deliberately ignoring the dress code. As if to show everyone that rules never applied to him. He was the one who paid the school and its troublemakers to keep her secret, and she knew he was fully aware of that.

Just seeing him enraged Y/N. That familiar cold face, those eyes that had never softened, not even when she was small. Memories rose unbidden: how he would look away when she couldn’t swallow even a drop of blood; how he stayed silent while her mother excused her weakness; how he moved around her as if she were a mistake. And now he stood there, confident, upright, as if the purest example of his lineage.

A burning, suffocating anger swelled in her chest. She pressed her lips into a thin line before sharply turning and heading to the punch table.

She poured herself a glass and lifted it to her lips. The ice-cold drink immediately cooled her inflamed throat. It shimmered with pearly white hues and smelled faintly of coconut. It was a moment of calm, a pleasant contrast to the fire still burning inside her. She needed something to keep herself together—or she might shatter.

Y/N tried to appear indifferent to the crowd around her, but her eyes kept drifting back to the dance floor. Yasmin twirled in Quinn’s arms, laughing with him, their lightness contagious. Shuhua let Leo lead her, his hand gently resting on her back, and even through his cap, which hid his snake-like hair, he radiated confidence and calm.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Francoise—her hair intricately braided, tied with a ribbon that sparkled like liquid sapphire in the light. Dressed in a gown that made her look like a princess, she laughed carefreely with her friends. She was so different from Isaac. There was a resemblance in her eyes, but while Isaac was quiet, biting, reserved—Francoise bloomed in full light, clearly savoring every moment. Y/N swallowed the remainder of her drink with a bitter edge.

“Hey, careful there, or you’ll spill it,” a voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Ezra.

He was in a black suit that fit him perfectly. His collar casually unbuttoned and his slightly tousled hair added a charm accentuated by his relaxed smile.

“Good to see you again,” Y/N said sincerely.

“Likewise,” he smiled, holding out a glass to her. “If you want some alcohol, I can top it up. The punch is weak.”

“Why not,” she shrugged, tilting the cup. A drop of red wine mingled with the white punch, forming a slowly swirling spiral.

Ezra glanced at her sideways, casually, but the question slipped out directly: “So… Night’s still upset about last time, when he ambushed you like that? Because otherwise, I really can’t imagine his style.”

Y/N swallowed. She knew someone would eventually bring it up. “No,” she shook her head, “we… we’re working on a project together.”

“Project?” he raised an eyebrow.

“A secret one,” she smirked mischievously, though tension tightened inside her. “He wasn’t exactly happy to see you either.”

Ezra shrugged. “Maybe I once slightly erased some of his notes by accident. From lunch, of course.” She rolled her eyes but chuckled. Ezra measured her glance, but eventually let it go. “I really like your dress.”

Her eyes shimmered briefly. “Oh, thank you. Someone… mysteriously delivered it to me.”

“That would really interest me,” Ezra chuckled, leaning slightly toward her, as if to add something more.

But at that moment, her stomach twisted. She felt a cold breath at her back, and a shiver ran down her spine. That voice—she recognized it immediately before he even spoke:

“Y/N.”

She froze. She turned—and there he stood. Her father.

“If you’ll allow,” he said to Ezra with a cold courtesy, “I’d like to speak with my daughter alone.”

Ezra glanced briefly at Y/N as if asking her if she wanted this, but she only nodded timidly. She had no strength to resist. Ezra, with a reluctant smile, stepped aside.

Her father led her aside, away from the main event, into an empty hallway beside the hall. His step was decisive, firm, his presence heavy.

“I’ve heard,” he began sharply, “that you attacked some students. Is that true?”

Y/N felt her blood rush to her face. “What?! That’s not true! They attacked me!” she blurted, her voice trembling with anger.

Her father’s eyes, behind red glasses, pierced her without revealing a thing. He was silent.

“They bullied me,” Y/N continued, her voice breaking. “For months. And no one did anything. No one. I… I couldn’t go on anymore!”

Silence. Then, calmly, almost indifferently: “I know about it.”

She froze. “What?”

“I knew it was happening,” he repeated as if it were a simple fact.

It struck her like a punch. “And… and why? Why didn’t you do anything?!”

His face didn’t move; his eyes remained hard. No answer.

“You… you let them…” Y/N’s voice cracked. “You knew they were destroying me and you let them!”

“Because you’re not a vampire,” he finally said softly, the same phrase, but colder.

“That’s not true,” she countered. “I just… I have it harder. But I’m like you!”

“If you were half like me, we’d never have this conversation,” he shook his head. “I see no proof. Just an angry child.”

Each word tore her heart to pieces. She felt the ground fall away beneath her. Every word from her father cut deep into her chest, as if his voice alone proved she would never be enough. Her blood froze in her veins, her breath caught, and her temples throbbed. How could he know what had happened and not lift a finger? And why, now, amidst all these people, remind her that in his eyes she would never be anything but a failure?

She leaned against the cold stone wall, fists clenched, trying to suppress the heat in her eyes. Music still rang, laughter, the clinking of glasses—but it didn’t reach her, as if she were sealed under a bell jar. Everyone below danced, laughed, Yasmin chuckled at Quinn’s jokes… and she felt as if she stood at the edge of the world, alone, cut off.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She couldn’t let her father break her. Not today, not in front of so many people. She lifted her head, determined to remain calm outwardly.

And at that very moment, while her heart still trembled with anger and despair, she saw him. Isaac.

He emerged from the crowd slowly, step by step, and it was as if even the music momentarily lost its rhythm. Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. He looked unnaturally perfect—tailored suit, dark tie, a sharp, confident gaze. All the emotions her father had stirred in her now rearranged themselves—into tension, anticipation, something she couldn’t name.

He really was like a valiant knight. How could he always appear in the right place at the right time?! she thought, but this time she silently thanked every god she knew when she saw him.

When he caught her gaze, he moved directly toward her. Up close, she examined him carefully. He wore a black suit, cut exactly to fit. The jacket had a subtle velvet sheen, and against it, a dark blue tie gleamed, tied neatly—almost too perfectly—as if to prove to the world that he could also partake in a formal evening. His shoes were polished to reflect the flickering lights above the dance floor. But worst—or perhaps best, depending on the perspective—were his eyes. Cold, calculating, piercing. Like the night just before a storm.

Her father straightened immediately, his entire body rigid. “Who are you, to have the audacity to barge in here?” he barked.

Isaac merely smiled, and that audacity in his posture was so calm, it bordered on insulting. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

He reached under his shirt and produced a small glass vial hanging from a cord. Inside shimmered a dark red liquid. Without hesitation, he handed it to Y/N.

She held her breath. She looked at Isaac, who simply nodded calmly, and took the vial. The liquid tasted strange, heavy, almost metallic—but she recognized it instantly. It was his blood. Isaac’s.

She swallowed. And this time, nothing happened. No convulsions, no pain, no nausea. Just a rush of warmth, a gentle tremble in her fingertips, and then a feeling as if a light had been switched on inside her body.

Her father stared at her, incredulous, expecting her to collapse. “That’s a trick,” he growled.

“You’re welcome to verify,” Isaac replied, offering the vial back. A single drop remained inside.

Her father tasted it, immediately grimacing. But nothing else. He only shot Isaac a look of pure hatred, then at his daughter—and left silently, with a warning: “We will settle this later.” He realized they weren’t making fools of him. It was blood. And his daughter had drunk it.

They stood like that for a long moment, half in shock. Y/N felt her cheeks burn.

“Nice dress,” Isaac said dryly.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” she breathed, her voice more wounded than intended. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I said it looked ridiculous on the mannequin, that’s different,” he corrected, his gaze softening for a brief instant. “Your friend warned me as soon as I entered the hall. I knew my intellect and pure courage would be needed to get you out of this situation.” Then he raised the empty vial. “I carry this for emergencies. Today was one of them.”

It clicked. Her heart skipped a beat. “So… you wanted to make sure I didn’t look ridiculous in the dress, and that I wasn’t in danger?”

A small shrug. “Maybe.”

It was him. Of course it was him. No one else.

Y/N stared at him, unable to comprehend his dual nature—sarcastic, biting, and then suddenly the one who delivers the dress of her dreams.

“Why did you come to the ball?” she asked softly. “You don’t want to be here.”

He looked at her long enough to send shivers down her spine. No answer. He only extended his hand. “Come with me.”

She was confused but placed her hand in his. She expected him to lead her onto the dance floor. But Isaac moved through the crowd, between pillars and decorated tables, to the back corridors. In the labyrinth of dark hallways she barely knew by rumor, he stopped in front of an old painting.

“What…?” she wanted to ask, but Isaac only pressed lightly. The painting shifted open, revealing a hidden passage.

How could he know about this?

He led her up narrow, ancient stairs that creaked beneath their steps. And then—the tower.

Y/N gasped. It was unrecognizable. Instead of cold emptiness, dark floral garlands hung, candles cast golden reflections, and a gramophone sat on a small table. Isaac gestured, and from a distance, the record began to turn. The room filled with slow, velvety music, evoking another time, another world.

Isaac stood before her, in that perfect suit, in a tower transformed beyond recognition—and Y/N felt as though she had stepped into a foreign dream.

The gramophone crackled as the needle touched the record. It wasn’t the hall’s music—no cheerful waltz, no pompous orchestra. It was slow, smooth, almost intimate.

Isaac wordlessly offered his hand. His fingers were cold, but the grip was firm and decisive. Y/N hesitated for a moment—then placed her hand in his, letting herself be drawn closer. He placed his other hand on her waist, just above the corset line.

The corset constricted her, keeping her from breathing fully, but now she didn’t even notice the discomfort. Every touch from him was louder than any protest of her body.

They began to move. Slowly, almost timidly. He led, she followed—but it wasn’t the dance they had learned in lessons. It wasn’t about steps. It was about tension, about the space between them shrinking with every step.

She felt the dress brush against his trousers. How his chest brushed her shoulder with every movement. How her breath shortened as he leaned just a little closer, until she could hear his exhale.

Candlelight cast their silhouettes on the stone wall. The music, the crackling record, and their quiet steps—that was all the world contained.

In her mind, Y/N thought: if this isn’t a dance, she didn’t know what was. There was something heavy, indescribable in his eyes, and she wished this moment would never end. That their bodies could continue spinning in that small, forgotten world.

His gaze fell on her again. There was something in his eyes that pierced her skin—it was an intensity she could barely bear. As if he didn’t just see her from the outside, but from within.

Then his voice cut through the silence. Low, trembling, unexpectedly serious:

“I need your help.”

And the spell shattered. She stepped back, letting go of his hand. The sudden emptiness stabbed at her.

“What’s happening?” she asked. He didn’t understand and stopped the music with a wave of his hand.

She stayed silent for a moment. Isaac took a deep breath, and Y/N couldn’t hold back. “What’s going on? I really don’t know, Isaac! I don’t understand you, I don’t understand us. One moment you’re… so close, I feel like you’d move heaven for me, and the next you’re an icy wall I’ll never climb. I don’t want to always be on this rollercoaster.”

“Do you think you haven’t climbed that wall?” he whispered.

“I don’t see it that way,” she replied. “Maybe it all happened fast, but… sometimes I don’t feel warmth. Only effort. And cold.”

Something in his gaze broke. “Do you think this is all about you? Day and night I try to understand why your body endures what no other does. If it can be understood, healed. And you complain I don’t give you enough attention?”

“I just want,” she blurted, “for you to open up to me more. Even just a little.”

“And the fact I let you bite me, that’s not enough?” he snapped.

“It’s not about the blood!” her voice trembled. “It’s that sometimes you act like you won’t let me near you at all. And I don’t know where I stand.”

Isaac froze for a moment. Then it burst out, raw and unprepared: “You want the truth? I hate that I have to lie. I hate that I have to work day and night like a horse just to find no answers. But it’s not true that I hate normies. I actually wish my sister were one. Because then she wouldn’t have to live like Hyde.”

The words dissipated in the tower like smoke. Y/N stood, breath caught in her throat. “Your sister… is Hyde?”

“Yes,” he swallowed. And this time, for the first time, she saw his eyes glisten. “Hydes die young. Women live longer than men, but they never reach old age. And I—” he faltered, his voice breaking, “I mustn’t lose her.”

“You want to figure out how not to awaken it in her?” she asked quietly.

“It’s too late for that,” he shook his head. “I want to erase it completely from her.”

Y/N shivered. It was insane. Impossible, even. You can’t erase the fact that someone was born a certain way. Once an outcast, always an outcast. And yet… she knew he would do anything for her. That he would overcome even this impossibility.

“If I don’t figure it out soon,” he gasped, “I’ll lose her.” He rubbed his eyes sharply, as if to hide tears.

Y/N reached out, caressing his face. “How can I help you?”

Isaac took a deep breath. “I found someone in the city today who can build a machine. But it costs a fortune. And I need it fast. Can you get me enough money?”

“Fine,” she nodded without hesitation. “But I don’t have that much. I’ll have to ask my father—and I doubt he’ll give me anything. If not… I’ll take it myself.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m doing this for your sister,” she said.

Isaac extended his hand, fingers tentative at first, as if unsure whether he could. Y/N felt her heart race—the slightest movement stirred a bigger storm than all their previous clashes. When his hand finally clasped hers, it was firm but not hard. He guided her a step closer, until there was no space left between them.

Then he moved again—slowly, carefully. He raised a hand, fingertips brushing her face. His touch was cold, but surprisingly gentle. His thumb traced her cheekbone, as if wanting to know her again, this time without rush, without fear. His eyes were suddenly different—shadowed, but open, without the usual mask of sarcasm.

Y/N realized she had stopped breathing. Everything in the room went silent—the gramophone played, but she didn’t notice it, only the unexpected, tender pressure of his hand on her face.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t the hungry, urgent kiss she knew from him—when he pressed her to madness, when it seemed they both fell into the abyss of desire and fury. This one was different. Gentle. Trembling. Almost restrained. As if he kissed her not to claim her, but because he had to—because otherwise, he couldn’t bear it.

His lips barely touched hers, hesitant, fragile, yet it felt as if the world had stopped. There was no anger, no desperate need. There was truth.

Y/N felt her chest tighten, but this time not with pain. For the first time, it didn’t feel like a struggle, but calm. That she was being kissed not by the man who drove her to madness, but by the one who showed her what he would never say aloud.

And that’s why it was stronger than ever before. For the first time in a long while, she felt relief.

Isaac stayed close, with a slight smile, whispering: “Be careful. Your father’s a real pain in the ass.”

“The worst,” she smiled back. And for a moment, the world shrank to just the tower—and just the two of them.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Guys this chapter is so long, took me whole day to write it down! Comments and likes will be appreciated! Thank you again for ur support!! Love u sm yall<333

I have 3 questions to ask you:

1. I have an idea for wednesday ff with multiple canon characters x ocs, would you be interested about it?

2. I have some face claims for some characters on this ff, should i post them? One thing about me is that i suck at describing characters haha!

3. Once i finish crimson circuit and one shots that were requested i wanna also deep dive in my original story. Is it a good idea posting it here tho?

Lemme know!

🤍Taglist:

@savvyisss

@helaenabugmom

@analovesmarvel @tfamidoingwithmylife @venustheplanette

@vixenxlovesxyou

@devinitysann

@oscarisdaddy69

@ilovekazz

@slutt4siriusblack

@pa1nfullyalive

@webs-02

@simiinthemirror

@lok59v @aramea205

@optimus-fake-cake

@iweirdthingsblog @sam—sara @speakercosplays @kadeszs @kitchoruuu @slytherinroyalty16 @dionisim0 @littlerabbitwithwings @anastasia0614 @thedeadlynights

@aradevil @gordorio @flirtysnakes @ohhh-boo-tiful @sunset18rose @supernaturalwriter

but i have a smut request because i really enjoy ur writing

it is sub isaac night and i dunno if you do that

could you do sub isaac on a leash where he gets embarressed and overstimulated but reader calls him a good boy and he blushes really hard? it can be headcanons or short i just love this concept

PART SIX

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: the following chapter contains explicit sexual and gore descriptions not suitable for those under 18 or sensitive. The exact description of triggers is written above.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

She didn’t even know what time she had returned to her room, but she was grateful to all the saints that Yasmin slept so soundly. Every little thing she touched seemed to fall, every door slammed, every floorboard creaked under her like a siren—but Yasmin kept sleeping.

At an ungodly hour, she collapsed into bed—still in her clothes, shoes on, unwashed. She simply draped the blanket over herself and closed her eyes. Tomorrow… maybe I’ll figure something out tomorrow, she whispered to herself. Explaining it now would be impossible.

She fell asleep almost instantly. Yet her mind found no peace. Dreams blended with memories. She heard Isaac’s voice again, felt his breath on her skin again, felt the chill of metal and the warmth of blood. Everything was far too vivid. The scent of menthol, iron, his body. His name whispered in her dreams, over and over, like an echo that refused to fade.

Waking was cruel. Sunlight pierced through the parted curtains, stabbing her eyes. Yet her prayers were answered in one way—Yasmin was gone. “Of course… it’s Sunday,” Y/N thought, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She must have gone with the Vanishers to Jericho, as planned, to buy something for Parents Week.

Y/N rose from bed, stretched, and with a faint smile approached the mirror. But the smile vanished instantly.

Her heart skipped a beat. Actually, more than that.

She recognized herself. Yet at the same time, she didn’t.

Her hair was tangled, knotted into unruly strands, as if she had slept in the forest. Her lips—swollen, red, bruised from kisses. And then the dark marks: dried blood on her skin, on her neck, her chin. Bruises, scratches… and hickeys. Bite marks. On her arms, chest, even her sides. Rolling up her shirt, she discovered more marks, purple and red, ones she didn’t even remember getting

“By all the saints,” she breathed aloud. Her hand flew to her mouth. “I was with Isaac…” The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t say it. Yet the truth pressed itself through.

She closed her eyes, her heart hammering. Memories tangled with guilt. Yes—she drank his blood. A lot of it. Too much. Isaac went down first, and she didn’t blame him. Control was gone. Her hunger had taken over, and she had let it. Was it wrong?

Maybe.

But she didn’t regret it.

And that was the worst part. She should feel guilt, but all she felt was hunger and a strange satisfaction. She shouldn’t have liked it. She shouldn’t want it again. Yet… she did.

Finally, she sighed and brushed her fingers over her face. “Technically, it’s his fault,” she muttered. “He locked me in that cage. He forced me. What did he expect?”

Still, the excuse tasted bitter.

A quick shower washed away the blood and the scent of guilt, but not her thoughts. She dressed in a turtleneck to cover all the marks on her skin. Looking in the mirror, she thought that no one would believe what had happened anyway. She grabbed her jacket and the prepared sum of money—double what she’d brought last time. If Isaac truly demanded “payment,” she would be ready.

On the table, she left Yasmin a brief note: I’m fine. Went for a walk. The last thing she wanted was to stir suspicion.

Her first steps led her to Iago Tower. He had to be there. He was always there—huddled among books, bending metals in the workshop. But the tower was dark. Candles unlit, lamps out, the room cold. Not a trace of him.

She moved toward the cage, touched the cold bars, and shivered. A thrill ran through her body. Memories of the previous night flooded her so strongly her breath quickened. She couldn’t explain it, but something in the feeling was… right. As if she’d tasted, for the first time, what it meant to be a vampire. No wonder the others always took it for granted.

But Isaac wasn’t there. She didn’t waste time and moved on.

Next stop—the Skull Tree. The journey felt longer than yesterday. At every turn, she looked for him, but neither on the quad she passed nor by the tree was there any sign. Just the silence of the forest.

Nervousness crept in. She returned to the academy, checking classroom by classroom. Professor Orloff—empty. Other rooms—also nothing. No tools, no trace that he had been there.

The nervousness grew into dread. Despite trying to calm herself rationally—Isaac was stubborn enough to survive anything—the thought kept creeping back: He lost so much blood. What if something happened? What if he was somewhere, unable to rise or call for help, because of me?

She stopped at a window, gripping the sill. “Why the hell did I leave?” she whispered. The answer was clear, though she didn’t fully recall it yet.

He had pushed her out. Himself. That realization brought a chill.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment the initial energy of their act had faded, Isaac collapsed beside her without a word. Weary, with telekinesis, he pulled the blanket Y/N had brought in her backpack and draped it over them both. Once more, he shifted sharply, as if expelling the last traces of tension, then landed back on the floor. His breath was short, shallow, trying to catch up with his exhaustion.

Y/N lay with eyes wide open. Sleep hadn’t come—not with all the energy coursing through her, her heart racing, her blood flowing light and free. She turned to him, and in the soft glow of a few candles, she could see him with surprising clarity. Every detail, every shadow on his face, as if a brighter light had surrounded them.

She had never seen Isaac do something so ordinary, so human, as lie and breathe. Always tense, closed off, with that constant expression of arrogance and irony. But now—he looked younger. Calmer. Almost harmless. So ordinary he could blend in with the students on the quad. Yet here he was, with her. In pieces, he looked like a wounded animal, yet never had he looked better.

She reached out slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him. Her fingers traced his face as if mapping a foreign land she wanted to remember forever. Over his eyebrows, across his lashes, down the bridge of his nose, along his jawline. She paused at his lips—bitten, just like hers. A quiet reminder of what had happened between them.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t stop. It was more than a touch—it was confession. And when he opened his eyes, she just looked at him. Their gazes met. In that moment, she felt no need to apologize, to hide, to feign ignorance. What they shared was too intense to deny.

And that’s when he spoke.

“You should go,” he said.

No emotion. The same expression, the same tone as always. A stark contrast to what they had just shared.

She froze. Her heart leapt—this time with pain. “What?” she breathed, barely audible.

Isaac didn’t smile, didn’t look guilty. He just continued. “And don’t leave your things here. I’d throw them in the trash.”

Goosebumps ran down her arms. The air between them thickened; the candles seemed to dim. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Isaac—” she started, voice breaking.

“What, you thought you’d spend the night here?” he cut her off sharply. He didn’t let her finish. His tone was relentless, cold, almost cruel.

“I… I thought—” she stammered, unsure what to say. What she felt, she couldn’t put into words.

“Or did you want me to magically carry you back to your room again?” His irony stabbed deeper than any blade. “Yeah, dream on.”

“Isaac, I—” she tried again, but her voice broke. This time, he silenced her for good.

“I said: get out.”

For a moment, she just sat there, stunned. His words carved into her heart like icy needles. Then—without explanation—she grabbed her backpack and, hands trembling, rushed to the elevator.

As soon as the doors shut, the silence of the tower was pierced by her own tears streaming down her face.

It was absurd. Just hours ago, he had touched her with passion, as if he couldn’t let go. And now he was throwing her out, like she was a stranger. Insignificant. Replaceable.

She choked on her tears with the same intensity as she had just an hour ago, choking on the taste of his body.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N stopped only in the hall, leaning against the cold wall. She needed to breathe. Everything that came back to her pressed against her chest, suffocating. Her stomach felt squeezed in a steel grip. She felt ill—but part of her mind understood why Isaac had acted as he did.

It was unexpected. For both of them. Neither had planned it, and no one was prepared. And Isaac, eternally closed off and in control… she had to admit that maybe he simply didn’t know how to act any other way. Yet it stung. Every cold tone of his still echoed in her mind.

She had to find him. Not to yell, not to demand anything. But to explain that it hadn’t been a test, a trick, or a trap. That it had simply been. And that if he didn’t want it, that was okay. Perhaps she had crossed a boundary of his trust, perhaps the whole thing had been “unprofessional.” Yet her feelings were a tangled chaos. If someone asked her now what she felt for him, she wouldn’t be able to answer.

Yes, there was still the part of her that saw him as the arrogant, self-satisfied nerd. But another part wasn’t sure whether what she felt was… admiration? Desire? Or something she still couldn’t name? She wanted to strangle herself for feeling it, because it broke every rule. And yet—if he were here, she would tell him. Damn it, she would tell him everything. If only he would show up.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

She went through every place Isaac could be hiding. In the best-case scenario, she told herself, he had ended up in the infirmary. She rushed there, almost running, but the nurse just shook her head.

“No one by that name has shown up,” she said briefly, immediately returning to her paperwork.

It hit her gut like a punch. Her heart raced for a moment, then began an awkward stutter. Isaac wasn’t anywhere to be found. And if he hadn’t sought help in the infirmary… where could he be?

Holding her breath, growing more uneasy by the second, she headed to the boys’ dorms. She wasn’t entirely sure where exactly, but she had a rough idea of which direction to go. The hallways were quiet, almost too quiet, and the old wood smelled of dust, mildew, and the disinfectant from the floors. From every corner came the creak and rustle of pipes, amplifying her nerves.

When she finally reached the door, she knocked. She expected a moment of silence—maybe footsteps, maybe a shuffling. Instead, the door opened immediately. And there stood Gomez.

His expression froze her. A nervous glance, as if he already knew what she was about to ask. His arms were crossed, but his fingers twitched anxiously along his forearms.

“Isaac’s not here,” he blurted, way too quickly. “Try the library.”

“He can’t be in the library,” Y/N snapped, almost desperately. “I already checked. He’s not there.”

“Then I can’t help you,” Gomez repeated, this time more irritably. He shot her a brief look—nothing but hostility and fear—and before she could say anything else, the door slammed in her face. The sound of old wood echoed down the hall, striking her ears like a blow.

Y/N just stood there for a moment. Her eyes were wide, breathing too fast, as if she’d just run a marathon. Something tightened in her throat—anger, uncertainty, maybe even humiliation.

Then, with trembling fingers, she reached into her jacket. She pulled out folded bills. She knew this was the only way to break through Gomez’s barrier. It wasn’t the first time she had extracted information from him this way.

She knocked again, more quietly this time. After a moment, the door cracked open. Gomez stared at her blankly, almost bored, as if he had been expecting her.

Wordlessly, she handed him the bills. “For him,” she croaked. There was no trace of pleading or anger—just exhaustion.

He took them. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t even glance at her. No thanks. No explanation. Silently, he closed the door again.

She remained in the hallway alone. Only the ticking of old clocks on the wall filled the silence. The money was gone, Isaac was gone—and with every step, she felt her certainty vanish, the certainty of knowing exactly what she was entangled in.

The following week was pure torment. Not just because of the grueling lectures, but mainly because she hadn’t seen Isaac anywhere. Not once. He wasn’t in any class, didn’t appear in the library, on the hallways—nowhere.

Her mind felt like a broken wheel, spinning endlessly in circles. Maybe nothing was seriously wrong with him—otherwise, word would have spread across Nevermore immediately. But where was he then? Why was he hiding? Avoiding her? Or everyone? She had tried to talk to Gomez again and again, but he was always with that strange girl, Morticia. And, as if on purpose, he never seemed to notice her, or he got lost in the crowd of students before she could stop him. She had even considered asking his sister, Françoise, but wasn’t sure if she would reveal anything. And if she didn’t know his condition, Y/N didn’t want to alarm her. She certainly didn’t expect her to know about the experiments her brother was conducting.

The only positive thing was the changes she was starting to feel in herself. After that night—after so much consumed blood—it wasn’t just fatigue or lethargy. It was something else.

She first noticed it on Monday morning when she had to reach for her special sunglasses. She hadn’t needed them so often before—sunlight weakened vampires, yes, but Y/N had never been particularly sensitive. Now? Even with an overcast sky, even in the rain, the sun’s rays burned her eyes. Without the glasses, an allergic reaction was inevitable.

Food—still tasted terrible. But it no longer stuck to her palate as much. It was bearable. And physical activity? She had transformed completely.

During training, she excelled. Every movement was faster, sharper, stronger. And most importantly—she didn’t feel tired. It was as if the blood in her veins flowed differently—sharper, purer. The professor noticed immediately.

“Excellent, Miss Impaler,” she remarked, and this time it wasn’t just a dry comment, but genuine praise. “I hope this energy doesn’t fade.”

Y/N’s mood lifted unexpectedly. Even though Isaac’s disappearance weighed on her, the strength she now felt was intoxicating. It was as if the world had finally unlocked doors that had long remained closed.

As Y/N stepped out of the locker room, Yasmin came running down the hallway with a bright expression. She was waving from afar, making a few students turn their heads.

“For the upcoming Parents Week, you have to help me pick a killer outfit!” she exclaimed, barely stopping in front of Y/N. Her eyes sparkled, as always, whenever she had good news. “I can’t wait! My little sister is coming for the first time, and I finally get to show her the school and everything. I even have a list of places I’m taking her!”

Y/N froze, as if someone had shoved her. Parents Week. She had completely forgotten about it. Again. Her stomach tightened, and a chill ran over her body.

“Oh… right,” she mumbled. “Parents Week.”

Yasmin noticed immediately. “What’s wrong? You don’t exactly look thrilled.”

“Because…” Y/N bit her lip, trying to find the right words. “Maybe no one will come. At best, my butler. He’ll bring some gifts my mother sent from her last trips around Europe. But… my family stopped coming. It’ll be the third year.”

There was a moment of silence. Yasmin bit her lip, then reached out and lightly touched her arm.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know things are different at your place… but still, it must hurt.”

Y/N just shrugged, but it was clear it affected her. “It’s… just a habit. For them, maintaining their reputation at home is more important than coming here. And I don’t really blame them. It’s just… when I see others with their parents, siblings…” Her voice faded. “It’s a strange feeling.”

But Yasmin didn’t let her falter. “Hey, if it doesn’t work out, you’ll be with us,” she said firmly. “My parents like you, and my sister already adores you, even though she knows you only from stories. So no wallowing in loneliness, okay?”

Y/N had to smile faintly. “You always know how to make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is simple,” Yasmin smiled back and lightly nudged her shoulder. “And hey, maybe you’ll be surprised. Maybe your mother or father will show up after all.”

But Y/N knew better. In the corner of her mind, she pictured her mother in expensive dresses, her father’s cold stare, their clipped words. If they came, it wouldn’t be comforting. Quite the opposite.

“We’ll see,” she muttered, trying to change the subject. “So… have you already planned your sister’s schedule?”

Yasmin immediately launched into it enthusiastically: “Of course! I’ll take her to Jericho, to the café I love, then on a quad ride, maybe even to the lake… I want her to see that Nevermore isn’t just a spooky castle full of lunatics. I can’t wait for her to start here next year.”

Y/N listened, thinking she’d love to have that same carefree spirit. But despite the weight on her heart, Yasmin’s energy reminded her that she wasn’t completely alone.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The library was unusually empty at this hour. Silence stretched between the shelves, and Y/N had the feeling that nobody had bothered to come over the weekend—everyone was waiting at the gates for their parents, with gifts and hugs—while she had decided to camp out among the dusty books. She picked up a volume on the history of a vampire lineage and tried to focus on the words, but her eyes slid across the lines without retaining a single thought.

The emptiness was fragile—and it soon shattered.

First, she heard a malicious giggle. Then a circle closed in around her—Evelynne and her loyal entourage. Mirabella by the door, the brothers Sebastian and Lucien at her sides. Their shadows blocked the candlelight. Y/N thought it had been calm for a while, but she hadn’t missed this group in the slightest.

“I don’t know what you’re pretending,” Evie murmured before Y/N could react. She snatched Y/N’s glasses off her face and tossed them to the floor. “You didn’t need these until recently. Do you think we’ll believe you belong with us?”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “Screw you, Evie.”

Sebastian lifted her from the chair like a ragdoll and threw her to the floor. She let out a groan as she tried to get up, completely forgetting how brutal it could be. She wasn’t fast enough—maybe because she hadn’t expected such a sudden attack, or perhaps most of her energy from the last blood intake had simply run out.

They forced her to her knees. Sebastian held her right hand, Lucien her left, their fingers like iron clamps.

“I saw you,” Evie grinned and stepped closer, “asking about Isaac this week. Looking for your lover? Bad news. He’s not here to save you this time.” Then, with a theatrical inhale, she screamed: “Hey, Isaac! Your girl needs help!”

The group laughed. Y/N felt a wave of rage surge through her—hot, sharp, muscles taut beneath her skin. And then it came: claws sprouted, fangs glinted. With a furious jerk, she broke free from the brothers, swung her hand, and slashed Evelynne across the face. Blood streaked over her porcelain skin.

Evelynne screamed. The laughter that had filled the room moments before dissolved into chaotic shrieks. Y/N felt her body tense, muscles ready to react, but against such numbers it was only a moment… and then Sebastian brutally slammed her back onto the floor, onto her back. The fall hit hard, winded her, and the impact from the hard floor reverberated through her entire body. Lucien immediately pinned her legs, immobilizing her, while Sebastian started punching—ribs, stomach, face. Each blow landed with a dull thud, embedding itself into her bones. It was as if asteroids were falling on her—her body shook from pain, her brain buzzed, yet she didn’t pass out.

“Look at her laughing,” Evie hissed, pressing her hands to her own face, her eyes filled with both delight and anxiety.

And Y/N was laughing. She didn’t know if it was madness, despair, or merely a reflex after weeks without blood, when her mind had somewhat disconnected from reality. Blood trickled down her lips, her eyes still blazing. “You’ll remember on your face that it was me who did this to you,” she spat, her voice harsh and resolute. She wouldn’t submit to them. Not anymore.

Evelynne reached into her coat—and pulled out a dagger. Pure silver. Its gleam reflected off the blade, and Y/N immediately felt the burning cold spreading over her skin from just the sight.

“Hold her,” Evie commanded. Sebastian gripped her hands firmly, Lucien immobilized her legs. “Maybe we can use this?” Sebastian sneered, his hand sliding dangerously under her skirt.

“Ewww, you don’t want to sleep with the impure,” Evelynne smirked. “Besides, your girl’s guarding the door, livestock.”

Sebastian laughed, his ears tinged slightly red. “As if it bothered you back then when we enjoyed ourselves together, Evie.”

They all laughed, roughly, recklessly. Y/N felt her body tremble. It wasn’t fear—it was a mix of disgust, exhaustion, and fury. Hot, salty tears ran down her face. She hadn’t drunk blood in a week; all her energy had been drained in training and on the previous playground. Strength was slipping away, and her body was rebelling.

Evelynne pressed the silver blade against her neck. Just a light brush—and Y/N felt a rash spreading across her skin, the venom of silver burning and corroding.

“So? Eyes first? Or mouth?” Evelynne whispered, pressing the blade against her lips. “Want to send one last kiss to your lover boy?”

Y/N spat a bloody spray directly into Evie’s face. It was a desperate gesture of defiance, revolt, and disdain.

“Fine,” Evelynne growled, visibly enraged, “then we’ll start with the mouth.”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” a calm, biting voice cut through the chaos. “I’d never stoop that low.”

Time seemed to pause for a moment. Everyone turned, and Y/N felt her heart leap into her throat. Isaac stood there, exactly where she hadn’t expected him, his expression icy, silent, and impossibly firm. Behind him, Mirabella writhed, held tightly by her hair. If he could, he would have torn it from her head—the force with which he held her was terrifying. Her glasses were broken, so he must have hit her.

Isaac broke the silence first.

“I spoke with her father,” he said coldly, “and he was not at all pleased that you’re bullying someone he’s collaborating with on a project. Her family also funds me, you know.”

Y/N flinched. My father? She was certain it was a lie. Her father would never appear here—at most, he’d send his butler with a package of gifts. They had stopped coming years ago, and if anyone actually cared, it was her mother, not him. It was absurd that Isaac would speak with her father. Yet… Evie and the brothers froze.

“Don’t lie,” Evelynne hissed, her uncertainty leaking through her voice.

“Try me,” Isaac interrupted. “I know who to talk to, and believe me—he wouldn’t be pleased to learn what his ‘daughter’ has had to endure.”

A shiver ran through Y/N’s chest. Daughter. Her father had barely ever called her by her name. Why was Isaac using it against them? And why did a part of her want to believe there was at least a kernel of truth in it?

Evelynne clenched her jaw, clearly searching for a way to defy him. But seeing Mirabella still under Isaac’s control broke her. She finally sheathed the dagger, though her eyes blazed with fury. “Fine. But this isn’t over.” She averted her gaze, muttered something under her breath, and waved at the brothers. They released their hold, though Y/N’s eyes flicked over them maliciously—as if to say this wasn’t the end. Isaac let go of Mirabella and shoved her aside like a worthless rag. She whimpered, ignored by everyone.

The room fell silent. A heavy, suffocating silence, where everyone waited to see who would speak first.

Y/N’s gaze darted between Evie and Isaac, but the longer she stared at him, the more her anger swelled. Again. He appeared again, like some kind of savior. As if she were the weak one, incapable of fighting on her own.

As the gang retreated and the door nearly closed, Y/N lunged at Sebastian, who hadn’t moved fast enough. Rage exploded within her. She kicked him from behind, snapping his knee, and when he bent over, she drove her shoe into his face with full force. Bones cracked, and blood spurted from his mouth.

Y/N lifted her head, eyes sharp as a blade. Fear vanished from her face, replaced by fury that grew with every word.

“Try sticking your hands where they don’t belong, and I assure you, you’ll be praying you never cross my path again.” Her voice echoed through the hall, bouncing off the walls, leaving the rest of the group wide-eyed in disbelief.

“That goes for the rest of you too,” she continued, her voice growing stronger. “My family funds your foolish brains out of the goodness of our hearts because you wouldn’t be taken anywhere else safe. If you think for a moment you can humiliate me just because I’m not a fully-fledged vampire, you’re gravely mistaken. I have you in my grip, not the other way around. My line is above yours. At home, I face such humiliation constantly, but here, it ends. Otherwise, the flow of money stops—and so does your future. And let me remind you—my family will continue to thrive, because we are a direct line of Dracula. You are mere scrap, which will rust over time, covered by the dust of ages.”

Each word landed like a blow, every sentence piercing deeper than the smallest fist. The others froze, helpless. Even Isaac frowned briefly. Y/N felt, for the first time, that her voice had become a weapon as powerful as any other.

In the chaos that followed, Y/N caught only a fleeting glimpse of Evelynne reaching for her dagger. But Isaac’s telekinesis was swift and precise—the dagger flew from Evie’s hands and landed softly on the ground. Its leather-wrapped handle ensured Y/N wasn’t burned for even a moment during the catch. The dagger now lay out of reach, and the chaos she had ignited dissipated.

Evelynne swallowed hard and was the first to flee. She wasn’t foolish enough to cross paths with Isaac. The others quickly followed her lead.

When they had all disappeared, leaving only the two of them in the room, Y/N spun around to him sharply.

“What was that supposed to be?” she snapped.

Isaac raised an eyebrow, his expression daring: Are you really asking me that?

“I saved your neck. Literally,” he said calmly, without a trace of sarcasm.

“I don’t want any knight!” Y/N shouted, her voice breaking, but her anger gave her strength. “You can’t just show up at the last moment and pretend you know what’s best for me.”

Isaac stepped closer, his eyes dark, deep, the shadows beneath them evidence of sleepless nights. Yet he stood firm, the energy around him palpable, insurmountable.

“And what were you planning to do?” he asked softly, every tone a strike. “Let them tear you apart? Did you see that dagger?” He leaned close enough that she felt his breath on her face. “This wasn’t a game, Y/N.”

For a moment, she froze. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she held them back.

“So what? Should I thank you? Kneel at your feet because you’re my savior?”

Isaac smirked—ironically, almost painfully.

“No. But I expected you’d at least understand why I… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” she repeated, her breath hitching. “You hid for a week. Vanished. I searched everywhere! I thought you…” Her voice cracked. “…that you just gave up. That you erased me.”

“I didn’t erase you,” he shook his head, and suddenly all sarcasm vanished from his voice. “I was scared.”

Y/N stood in shock. “You…?”

He nodded, then stepped even closer. “You don’t know what you do to me. No one ever…” His voice broke, perhaps for the first time genuinely. “And when you drank… when you took all of me… I had no control. And I… I never lose control.”

The words hit her chest like a blade, sharp and merciless. Suddenly she realized that the chaos, their clashes, and her despair—it wasn’t only her fault. It was his panic, his fear, his own struggle to maintain control.

“Isaac…” she whispered.

He looked at her, his gaze so searing her knees buckled. “No more words,” he murmured, pressing her back against one of the tall shelves. The wooden structure creaked, a few books toppled, but neither of them noticed. His mouth was everywhere—on her lips, her neck, her jaw—as if he needed to mark every spot he had claimed that night.

His hands were firm as he gripped her hips, lifting her, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. The kisses were wet, brutally intense, between them moans escaped, and his tongue tasted of iron—a return to that night, that blood, to what they both wanted to deny but couldn’t.

The shelf behind them groaned as Isaac lifted her, firmly, almost roughly, and settled her on a narrow ledge between the shelves. The fabric of her skirt rode up, his hips pressed between her thighs, and all she could feel was the pressure, the heat, and the burning need consuming her.

Suddenly he stopped, breathing fast and deep.

“We don’t have to go further. Not here,” Y/N said, though she wanted the opposite.

“Tell me you hate me,” he whispered. “Say it.”

“I can’t,” she exhaled, almost desperately. It wouldn’t have been true.

He kissed her again, this time gentler. “Please,” his breath mingling with hers. “Say you don’t want me. That you don’t need my blood.”

Instead of speaking, she slowly bit him, this time the other side. A shudder of pleasure spread through the library. She continued, slower, to savor him longer.

That was the final spark. Isaac gripped her tighter, pressing his hips hard against hers, and she gave in—heat flooding her, her whole body tensing, and she cried out his name so loudly it echoed between the shelves.

A few more forceful movements, and Isaac collapsed as well, heavy, breathless, face buried in her neck. For a moment, they only heard each other’s breathing, both panting hard, surrounded by scattered books, the library bearing the traces of their forbidden act.

They stayed pressed together, afraid to move. Then Isaac looked at her—eyes wide, dark circles beneath them, but his expression unusually calm.

“You know you’re going to kill me one day?” he whispered, smiling.

Y/N only smiled back, still gasping for air. “Maybe,” she whispered. “But it will be worth it.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Well, that was a ride. Thank you all so much for the lovely words on the previous chapter and the incredible support!

I also want to apologize for the chapter coming out late—I wasn’t satisfied with it and rewrote it several times. And then, just when I was happy with the story’s development, half the chapter got deleted for no reason.

Even so, I hope you’ll enjoy it (even if I’m not proud of it).

Take care, and I’m off to sleep!

🤍Taglist:

@savvyisss

@helaenabugmom

@analovesmarvel

@tfamidoingwithmylife

@venustheplanette

@vixenxlovesxyou

@devinitysann

@oscarisdaddy69

@ilovekazz

@slutt4siriusblack

@pa1nfullyalive

@webs-02

@simiinthemirror

@lok59v @aramea205

@optimus-fake-cake

@iweirdthingsblog

@sam—sara

@speakercosplays

@kadeszs

@kitchoruuu @slytherinroyalty16 @dionisim0 @littlerabbitwithwings @anastasia0614 @thedeadlynightshade

PART FIVE

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: the following chapter contains explicit sexual and gore descriptions not suitable for those under 18 or sensitive. The exact description of triggers is written above.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

With a promise, reassurance, and a long hug, Y/N said goodbye to Yasmin that evening. She had to at least outline, in rough strokes, what Isaac had told her so her friend would have some idea of the plans being made. Of course, she left out the events of last night—she didn’t want Yasmin to lose sleep and gnaw at her worries.

Once Y/N had firmly tightened the straps of her backpack, she emphasized again that if by chance any of the teachers showed up and started checking rooms, Yasmin had to cover for her and provide an unbreakable alibi. And if, improbably, Yasmin herself grew suspicious and decided to search for her (very unlikely, Y/N thought with a faint smile), the only option would be to go straight to Gomez Addams. The exact location of Night’s laboratory, however, remained a secret—some things had to stay locked away.

When she stepped out of the door, her movements were silent, graceful, like a shadow. Isaac had been right—she did feel better, though the effect of the morning’s events had somewhat faded. She couldn’t comprehend how he had figured it out so quickly, what dozens of experts hadn’t in years. Like it or not, Y/N had to admit that Isaac Night had earned his title of genius—and it wasn’t surprising that he so often looked down on others.

Only a few hours had passed since the conversation under the Skull Tree, yet her mind still swirled with questions. Isaac had a sister—Francoise—who needed his help. And to do that, he needed money… which made sense. But why would his sister need to be “treated”? She didn’t appear ill. Or was it something else entirely? And then—his mechanical heart…

“I was sick,” she remembered his voice as he stripped off his shirt without hesitation and revealed his handcrafted replacement, pulsing in his chest.

Her eyes traced the metallic lines of the strange device, over his body like a knife over butter. They slid lower and lower… and in that moment, it was no longer just a cold machine, but a man revealing something intimate, fragile. She held her breath. What she felt wasn’t mere curiosity. It was raw, unsettling desire. A craving she was startled by.

She immediately scolded herself. Fool! This was so typical. He didn’t belong on any crush list. To Isaac, she was nothing more than a walking cash register for his research, a puppet to toy with.

She got to Iago Tower quickly, but deep down, she knew he had been waiting.

“You’re late.” He didn’t even lift his head from the book. Stray strands fell over his forehead, and a crease suggested he was deeply absorbed.

“I’m right on time,” Y/N retorted, a corner of her mouth tugging up. “And if I’m not mistaken, maybe I was a little late on purpose. To return the favor.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow slightly but kept the same dry tone. “You see me clapping?”

Y/N leaned closer, spotting the drawing of a Slavic bat demon on the page. “Since when do you care about vampire legends?” she remarked—but before she could finish, Isaac snapped the book shut.

“That’s none of your business,” he said firmly.

“What’s with all the secrecy?” Y/N pressed.

“What’s with your sniffing around?” he mimicked her tone eerily precisely. “Honestly, Y/N, you seem more like a bloodhound than a vampire.”

“I’m just trying to understand you a little. See? I answered you—and it didn’t hurt.” She smirked.

Isaac shot her a glance, amusement flickering, but quickly shifted the focus. “So you’re moving straight into my tower? I haven’t given permission, sweetheart.”

Y/N adjusted her backpack. “I just brought a few things. In case I need to change.”

“Hopefully you didn’t pack the entire wardrobe,” he said dryly.

“There are a few cookies in there. And I’m definitely not sharing those with you. Also water, a blanket, and a stake with a hammer.”

“If you want to kill yourself, we could have done this faster than you can say cobbler,” he smirked. “Though I’d normally take the cookies later. I like those.”

“The stake is for you,” Y/N exhaled.

Isaac leaned closer, eyes glittering. “No way… could it be that little vampire Y/N has finally grown up?” His voice was soft, teasing. He bent until they were eye-to-eye. “What’s next, Miss Draculova? Are you going to bare your fangs at me again?”

His closeness burned her. That scent—metal and mint—was intoxicating, invasive, suffocating.

“Remind me how your neck is doing,” she said casually, glancing at the bandaged spot.

“Remind me where my payment for yesterday is,” he shot back, and with that, the cold wall returned.

Y/N growled, reached into her bag, and pulled out a thick stack of bills. Isaac snatched them immediately, tucking them into his pocket as if afraid she’d change her mind. Without a word, he gestured for her to follow him into the elevator.

The journey was silent. The metallic cabin rose, only distant mechanical creaks breaking the quiet. Y/N thought it fitting—the silence was his natural language. Only once they arrived in the laboratory did he break it.

“Myths, fables, legends…” he began, fingers brushing the spine of a book, “…most people treat them as children’s tales. But sometimes there’s more than you think. I searched them for answers about your condition.”

“And did you find them?” Y/N asked cautiously, almost in a whisper.

He shook his head. “Not yet. I need more time.”

“Of course,” Y/N nodded, smiling unexpectedly. “But since you figured out in a single night what others struggled with for years… I don’t doubt you’ll get it soon.”

Isaac looked at her, brows raised slightly. He hadn’t expected genuine praise instead of sarcasm or barbs—and for a moment, his eyes softened.

Y/N set her backpack against the wall. She expected a moment to breathe, but a series of tests followed. Isaac was relentless: measuring strength, speed, endurance. Her numbers rose slightly, enough to satisfy him—every detail mattered. Meanwhile, he quizzed her about her life: childhood among aristocratic vampires, first attempts at drinking blood, family rituals… he gathered it all, sorted, analyzed.

“That’s enough, I need a break,” she declared, stretching. “If I start talking about one more hunting story from Romania and I swear I’ll use the stake sooner than planned.”

Surprisingly, Isaac didn’t protest. “Five minutes. Then we return to the first doctor you visited.”

She muttered, opened her backpack, and pulled out a pack of cocoa cookies. She bit into one with visible delight.

“I thought you couldn’t taste food,” he said curiously, leaning against a beam.

“These are different. So sweet, it would kill you. At least I don’t feel that much this awful empty taste.”

Isaac studied her silently. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That they’re this sweet. Technologically impossible. The dough wouldn’t work—”

“Fine,” she interrupted. “Then taste them.”

He hesitated briefly, then took a piece. Hardly chewed, he spat it onto the floor. “What the hell did you put in this?!”

Feigning thought, she said, “Hm… sugar, nutmeg, cocoa, lots of caramel, little coconut. No Indian spices, definitely.”

For the first time, he lost control.

“You… what did you—?!”

She blinked. “Maybe your ego needed some self-reflection.”

“What—”

“In other words,” she stepped closer. “You fell for it, Isaac Night. It’s called the hustle, sweetheart.”

Her triumph didn’t last.

Isaac leaned in, and she felt his breath. Metal, mint, and something unnameable intoxicated her. This time she really looked at him—brown eyes in dim light appearing black, hair falling over his forehead, a small mark beneath his lips. Those lips seemed closer, closer… irresistible.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he whispered.

She faltered. Just briefly. She felt the cold wall between them shift. “You said I stick my nose where I shouldn’t.”

A fleeting smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed hard. “I did.”

“Then I see no reason to stop.”

She lifted slightly, hands resting on his chest—cold metal beneath, mechanical heartbeat steady. He didn’t move, only watched. She moved closer, lips like a moth to light…

And then—the sharp sting. A needle in her arm came and went in an instant.

A sudden weakness surged through her, the world spinning. She stared at him in shock.

“Never say you’ve caught someone,” his voice was calm, “until you’re sure they’re standing.”

She swayed against the table.

“Checkmate.”

The last words she heard before losing consciousness.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

She awoke to loud, repeated knocks. Eyes snapping open, she saw Isaac leaning against the cage frame, amused. Only now did she realize what had woken her—her hammer striking the metal bars in rhythmic thuds.

Y/N lunged at him, fingers outstretched, but Isaac dodged.

“Such a fighter,” he said, eyes glinting. “And who’s fault is that?”

“How did you—”

“You slept beautifully for two hours,” he interrupted. “Meanwhile, I built this… temporary prison for naughty girls.”

“If this is about the prank with cookies—”

He waved dismissively. “Quiet. Listen. Every legend holds a kernel of truth. The rest—stories, myths, fiction—changes with time and area. But the core is real. You must uncover it. Never stop at fiction.”

Y/N’s heart pounded, confused.

Isaac continued: “You know some werewolves fail to ‘wolf out’ early? Rare, but it happens. Nature doesn’t favor all outcasts equally. Yet these werewolves have a higher chance of becoming alphas. Advantages and drawbacks—but at heart, it’s a gift.”

He paused, then fixed her with an unyielding gaze.

“What I mean… maybe there’s something similar in the vampire line. An alpha. And that could be you.”

Y/N’s muscles tensed. The word—alpha—stirred something ancient, uneasy. “But that still doesn’t explain,” she snorted, “why the hell you lock me in a cage like a… rat!”

“Alpha werewolves can be dangerously aggressive until they embrace their role,” he explained calmly. “This is just a precaution if you lose control.”

“I swear I’ll behave,” she breathed, hating how pleading her voice sounded.

Isaac smiled. He liked the begging.

“Please,” Y/N said softly, stubbornly. “Let me out. I promise I’ll follow everything you say.”

“Finally talking with all senses,” he said, pulling the key and unlocking the cage. But when the door opened, Y/N didn’t leap out. She yanked him in with her, knocking him onto his back. She pressed him down, wrists pinned, blocking any telekinetic escape.

“Now listen,” she growled. “If you ever put me in a cage against my will again, three minutes will be enough to tear you apart. Your guts will decorate a Christmas tree… and your head will be a gift for your sister.”

He wriggled beneath her, but her grip was firm. He wasn’t scared. Instead, there was something she knew too well—hunger. Insatiable desire for something beyond control. The same craving she now felt.

“Go ahead,” he breathed, unexpectedly. “We’ll have to repeat it anyway.”

Y/N leaned down, her breath mingling with his, hot and eager. Her fingers gently touched the cloth around his neck—the bandage that protected him. She felt Isaac’s body stiffen beneath her, as if he knew what was coming. Before he could speak, she pulled the piece of cloth aside. The skin beneath her was taut, red-marked from her last bite, still fresh, glistening like the most expensive wine. Isaac didn’t even have time to raise an eyebrow—her lips were already pressed against his.

“Y/N…” he breathed, but it was more of a plea than a prohibition.

She brought her lips closer to his throat. At first she just brushed her teeth over the sensitive skin, then she squeezed gently. The moment she broke through his skin, Isaac gasped—and instead of pain, a moan came out, so raw and satisfying that it sent a chill down her spine.

She was sucking. Gently, but relentlessly. A metallic taste spread across her tongue, sharp as a knife and sweet as sin. She swallowed hard, her breath hitching. What she thought would impossible to do was now even smoother than breathing. Isaac exhaled in ragged breaths, as if the touch itself was burning him. His hands were free, her weight loosening his grip, but his fingers instinctively tightened around her hips. “Fuck, Y/N…” he moaned, and then he just tilted his head back, letting her suck, shivering under her every move.

Her every breath turned into a rhythm—up, down, squeeze, pull. Their breaths mingled, his loud moans and her deep swallows merging into a single suffocating symphony that would have terrified anyone who dared to look.

She was on top of him, kneeling astride his hips, her body pressed against his. She felt his hands on her hips tighten, pulling her closer, tighter, more crushing. She was trapped—and yet it excited her to the core. She swayed over him, moaning into his blood, and each movement she made down his pelvis was slower, more conscious, cruelly sweet.

Isaac’s heart—mechanical yet rhythmic—thumped right under her hands. Every beat was like a gunshot, every pulse of blood beneath her lips burning her deeper. In that moment, she didn’t know if she was drinking him or loving him. Or both.

When she pulled away for a moment, her chin was red. Drops of blood ran down her skin to her neck, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes wide as if consumed by ecstasy. Isaac looked at her—red too, his pupils so dilated that the color in his eyes had completely disappeared. He looked like an animal. And like a God.

“You know you’re killing me?” he gasped, but the smile on his lips was dark, triumphant.

“And you know I can’t stop it,” she hissed back, her voice shaking with desire.

At that moment, he rose. Quickly. He grabbed her and spun her under him in a single twist. He landed hard on her, pinning her arms above her head, and she gasped—surprised, excited, at his mercy. She felt his knees clamp her thighs, his body press against hers until she could hardly breathe.

“Did you think you were going to be in charge?” he growled in her ear, his hot breath fanning her face. “You don’t even know what you can do to me yet.”

Y/N tilted her head back, exposing her throat as if inviting him to attack. “Then show me,” she breathed.

Isaac leaned toward her, his lips brushing her cheek, her neck, her chin stained with his own blood. He licked her from the corner of her mouth with his tongue, slowly, obscenely. But then the kiss deepened. He opened her mouth with his tongue, and she accepted him, their breaths mingling, the blood on their tongues tasting like a forbidden elixir. The kisses were slow, wet, hungry—no tenderness, just pure, devastating desire.

Isaac kissed her chin, then her jawline, back to her mouth again, sucking in as if he wanted to suck her in as much as she sucked him in. Y/N moaned, her lips quivering, her hands gripping his hair as he kissed her neck, her collarbones, moving back up again, as if he could never get enough of her.

His hands were no longer obedient. They slid down her hips, over her thighs, and then back up again—too close, too possessive. Isaac stared at her, his pupils dilated, his breath harsh. “Tell me you want it,” he whispered.

“I want it,” she breathed out without hesitation, her voice broken with desire.

“Isaac—” she breathed out, her throat catching.

“Say it again,” he demanded, or rather commanded, as he pushed her against him so hard she screamed.

His fingers slowly slid under the hem of her trousers. Gently at first, as if he wanted to torment her. He stroked her through the fabric, just touching lightly, but even the slightest movement sent a current through her body. Y/N gasped, her hips rising to meet his hand.

Isaac pressed against her again, his kisses faster now, more urgent. His hand slid even deeper, under the fabric, right to her. His fingers found what they were looking for, and she cried out, breaking the kiss, her head tilted back to catch her breath.

“Isaac—” she moaned, cheeks red, lips covered in blood and kisses.

“Shh,” he soothed her, even though his movements were anything but calm. His fingers were hard, sure, teasing her exactly where she needed them, while his other hand held her tightly against him, preventing her from escaping. Her fangs sank into his throat again, the whole world disappeared.

Every moan she made was getting him fired up. He kissed her again, crushing her with his mouth until she couldn't tell the difference between her own taste and the taste of his blood. She pressed her hips against his hand, caressed his back, pressed him to her as if she were afraid he would disappear.

It was rough, messy, dirty—and yet it felt like the only thing she had ever experienced that was truly alive.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

you guys are incredible! we are halfway through of this fanfiction and i can't stop thanking you for your support! love you sm! I hope you liked todays chapter! I defo had fun writting it while my boss was walking around, haha :p (yes, the line “its called a hustle, sweetheart” is rly from zootopia, i couldnt help not adding it, forgive me that cringe xd)

Lmk if u wanna be tagged! Sorry if i added someone incorrectly/didnt add at all, im lowkey losing the track xD🥲🩷

PART FOUR

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

I slowly sink into an endless sea of tears, which wrap me in cold, black ink. My body is rigid, limp, carried by waves that pull me ever further. And the deeper I descend, the more clearly I see my tears turning into pearls—radiant, beautiful, their glow piercing the darkness like moonlight hidden beneath the surface.

Suddenly, though, they start to weigh me down, suffocating me, until the water around me churns in shades of red, mingled with my breath, which I can no longer control. I want to scream for help, but my voice betrays me; only soft, indistinct echoes of his whisper drift around me, repeating something I cannot understand.

Breath fades, silence thickens… and then I see him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N jolted awake, gasping for air. Her lungs burned, as if someone had poured acid into them, and the first moments made no sense at all. Lace curtains filtered the sleepy rays of the morning sun, lazily casting irregular patterns across the wall. The scent of the darkened room was heavy, mingled with sweat and something faintly metallic that pricked her awareness instantly.

She was in her room. Truly in her room. Not in the tower. Not in the lab. Not in blood.

Next to the bed, Yasmin curled up on a chair, sleeping with her head resting on its edge, face framed by tangled strands of hair, breathing steadily, as if she had been keeping watch all night.

“What the—” Y/N croaked, but her voice betrayed her. Her throat was dry, cracked, as if sand had been rubbed across it all night. Carefully, so as not to wake Yasmin, she pushed aside the blanket and slipped into her slippers. Her steps were shaky; the world around her seemed to blur, as if one foot still hovered in a dream.

On the desk stood a glass of water. Next to it, neatly folded clothes, a small plate of cookies… and a letter.

She grabbed the glass and drank it so fast that some dribbled down her chin and soaked into her already sweat-drenched shirt. Her eyes then caught the letter. Neat handwriting, with only a three-digit number. Just one glance—and she understood.

She crumpled the paper and flung it against the wall.

“Whoa… you’re up already,” a sleepy voice said behind her. Yasmin rubbed her eyes but jumped to her feet in the next moment, fully awake. “What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?!”

Y/N spun around sharply. “What?”

“Last night!” Yasmin approached, her voice trembling. “I woke up and you were gone. I thought I was going to die! And then—someone knocked at the door.”

“Isaac Night.” Y/N clenched her fists, even though she could barely stand.

“Yeah,” Yasmin whispered. “He was there, holding you by the shoulder. He said you’d passed out and just… brought you back here.”

Y/N stared at her like horns had just sprouted from her head. “That’s impossible… How would he even know where my room is?”

Yasmin threw up her hands helplessly. “I don’t know! But he knew. Knocked exactly on our door, said your name, like he walked here every day. It was—creepy.”

“And you… let him in?” Y/N’s voice was sharp.

“What was I supposed to do?!” Yasmin snapped. “Leave you lying in the hallway, half-covered in blood? You looked awful. I had to throw away your jacket—it was completely ruined. I—I barely recognized you.”

Y/N shivered. “And then?”

“He laid you on the bed. Told me what to prepare. Water, clean clothes. You’d be dehydrated. And then he just… left, like it was routine.” Yasmin frowned, eyes glinting with uncertainty. “Y/N… what the hell happened last night?”

Y/N pressed her lips together. Fragments returned, one by one. (Still, she didn’t want to believe it—maybe she was lying to herself.) Drops fell to the floor. His breath at her ear. His fingers on her face. The taste of blood, his blood, burning and intoxicating. And the desire. Wild, unbounded desire for him, for what flowed from him.

“Don’t lie to me,” Yasmin snapped, locking eyes with Y/N. “Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know!” Y/N defended herself, desperate. “Everything’s a blur!”

“Y/N, I can just see… I don’t even know if I recognize you.” Yasmin’s voice broke. “I can see you were struggling, but if he forced you to do something you didn’t want… just stop. I don’t like it.”

Y/N grabbed the prepared clothes and began dressing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Yasmin lunged at her. “You need rest! You’re not in condition—”

“That bastard won’t wait,” Y/N ground her teeth. Her voice was harder than Yasmin had ever heard. Every word carried anger, ice, and stubbornness. “He’s waiting for reckoning—and it won’t be cheap.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The halls of Nevermore yawned in strange silence, which got under her skin. Most students were gone—some on Saturday trips to Jericho, others sitting in the quad, or attending social activities. Occasionally she passed girls clutching books, couples holding hands and laughing, or a group of sirens laughing at something suspiciously mysterious.

Normally, she would barely notice any of it. But today… she felt every rustle, every glance watching, as if someone knew. Fragments of last night returned, broken, impossible to piece together.

Had she really attacked him? Had she wanted to bite his throat? Or had Isaac somehow made her hallucinate? She felt utterly mad. Because otherwise, she had to admit there was something… primal, something in her she couldn’t just blame on “trauma.”

And Isaac… why would he even save her if all he cared about was money? Why carry her to her door? Why knock, and leave her with Yasmin? It made no sense. And then—the letter. That stupid letter, reminding her that in his eyes she was just an experiment, just an entry in a ledger, and mostly, a source of income.

“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, descending the stairs. “He makes himself out to be a genius, but acts like a loan shark.”

She paused at the tall stained-glass windows, sunlight filtering lazily inside. Colored spots danced on the floor, mocking her. Just yesterday she had been at another window—high, in the tower, with the moon sharp as a blade. And he had stood opposite her. Cold, distant, yet dangerously close. For a moment, he had seemed… normal. There had even been a flicker between them that wasn’t just irony or arrogance.

But then—the lie. The knife. Blood. And finally, the injection.

Her heart raced as fragments of memory made her palms sweat. She had to find him. She had to throw everything in his face—his arrogance, his manipulation, how he thought he could do whatever he wanted.

But the question remained: where the hell could she find him?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the quartet of vampires until she collided with them.

“Watch where you’re going, freak!” Evelynne snapped, shoving her shoulder so hard that Y/N nearly lost her balance. Before she could even react, Sebastian shoved her aside with his boot.

Y/N hit the stone floor, her elbow jarring painfully against the pavement, and hissed. Anger surged through her chest, fangs pressing against her lips—but before she could retaliate, a familiar presence stopped the scene.

Morticia and Gomez Addams stepped into the corridor, their presence calm yet commanding. They crouched slightly to help her up.

“Thank you,” Y/N murmured, still trembling, but masking her weakness.

Evelynne rolled her eyes. “Let’s go. I don’t want to touch these… weirdos.” She gestured to Morticia and Gomez.

Y/N nodded and turned to Gomez. “Thanks… um, where’s Isaac? Could you tell me where to find him? It’s urgent.”

Gomez raised a brow, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Isaac, my dear friend? He’s a mystery unto himself.” He smirked. “But I’ve seen him heading into the forest. Look for a tree—twisted, jagged… shaped like a giant skull. The students call it Skull Tree. That’s where I’d start. He goes there to think.”

“Skull Tree,” Y/N whispered under her breath. Her instincts screamed caution—it sounded like a place only to tread when ready for anything. But she had no choice.

“Thanks, really. It’s urgent.”

“Everything at Nevermore is urgent, señorita,” Gomez said with a wink.

Morticia rested a hand gently on his shoulder. “Just… be careful.”

Y/N swallowed and stepped out of the academy. She didn’t know if she meant the forest or Isaac. The air was damp and cool, like the forest itself was waiting. Skull Tree. That’s where she’d find him. And this time, she’d tell him everything—face to face—and if necessary, break a few teeth in the process.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The forest welcomed her with a whisper of branches. Damp earth smelled of pine and dew that hadn’t yet dried. A pleasant breeze chilled her arms in her short shirt, sending shivers up her spine, but it was oddly comforting—like the woods themselves were guiding her.

The faint light filtering through the canopy was enough for her enhanced vampire vision. She walked steadily, unbothered, unafraid, with her senses alert but not panicked.

She remembered Skull Tree from tales at Nevermore—rumors of a werewolf buried beneath its roots, of lost souls trapped within its hollow. She had never been here herself. She knew only that these were the stories older students used to scare newcomers.

Instinctively, she followed the path. The deeper she went, the quieter it became. No birds, no insects—only the occasional snap of a branch underfoot.

The forest thickened, shadows twisting unnaturally—and then she saw it. Skull Tree.

A massive, gnarled trunk with hollows like eye sockets, a jagged crevice like a gaping mouth. Roots twisted like bony fingers, half-buried, half-reaching skyward.

Y/N swallowed. Never having been here, she now understood why students whispered about curses and lost souls.

At the base of the tree, a figure stood with his back to her. Isaac. He muttered to himself, fragments of words slipping from his lips, unintelligible at this distance.

Adrenaline surged, and she took a step forward. Her hand twitched, ready for whatever she had to do—but Isaac was faster than she anticipated. He moved almost unnaturally, as if he had radar instead of ears. The first slap she threw passed harmlessly through the air—but the second, harder kick, caught him in the stomach.

He bent over, clutching his abdomen. “What the hell was that for?!” he groaned, voice surprisingly human.

“You know exactly why,” Y/N snapped, her voice trembling with controlled fury. She readied another kick—then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement behind the tree.

A girl, a little younger than her, clung to the trunk. Her large, round brown eyes stared in shock and fear. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she pressed herself to the tree as if hoping it would swallow her whole.

For a moment, Y/N froze—then realized that Isaac had used telekinesis to throw her against the tree. Her feet barely touched the ground as she stumbled, gasping for breath.

“What are you doing, Isaac?!” the girl cried, stepping out from her hiding place.

Y/N was right on her feet. I really hate when he does that, she thought. “Yeah, what the hell is going on?!” She shouted.

Isaac slowly straightened, brushing off his coat, voice calm but firm. “Before you try another attempt to hurt me, consider it twice infront of my sister.”

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “Your… sister? You never told me you had a sister.”

Isaac smirked faintly. “Why would I?”

“Maybe because I’m supposed to… trust you? Believe you?” Y/N snapped. “That’s kind of a big deal, don’t you think?”

Girl hesitated, stepping closer, her hand trembling as she reached for his elbow. “Isaac… you don’t have to—”

But he bent slightly and took her hand gently, just for a moment. Y/N felt a shock run through her—he could show tenderness.

“Go back to Nevermore,” he said, voice steady and commanding. “I’ll handle this.”

“But—”

“Françoise,” he interrupted, tone leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

She hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed, disappearing into the shadows between the trees.

Isaac turned back to Y/N, eyes sharp as blades. “Now. Why did you attack me?”

“Why?” she spat. “Maybe because last night you let me drink your blood, then played savior while I was vomiting on the floor! And you had a syringe ready! You treated me like some experiment!”

He twirled the syringe between his fingers. “I had it ready in case you lost control. Which you did. That’s not lying—it’s precaution.”

“Precaution?” Y/N shook her head, trembling. “That’s manipulation! Why lie to me?”

Isaac was silent for a moment, staring off. “Because I needed to see if it worked. Last night I discovered something important—you can only drink blood if it has a high metal content. Normal blood doesn’t work.”

“What? On yourself? That doesn’t make sense—you have normal—”

He didn’t let her finish. With a quick motion, he shrugged off his coat, unbuttoned his shirt—and Y/N froze.

Beneath, a mechanical heart pulsed, complex tubes visible, each beat resonating faintly. The scent of iron, which she had felt from him since day one, was real.

“I was sick,” he said calmly, shadow crossing his eyes. “So I built this. To save myself. From all the people you will understand, that doctors are idiots.” He said with a sarcastic, yet venomous undertone.

Y/N opened her mouth but couldn’t find words. Only shock and questions. “But… how can I know it was really your blood I drank? What if that’s why I… went crazy?”

Isaac began dressing again as if ignoring her. “Notice how I threw you at the tree? With that speed, you could have end up with broken ribs. Yet, you’re fine. That proves it. Also, look at yourself—you’re not cold, in a t-shirt. And it’s freezing. No dark circles under your annoying eyes. Your body got exactly what it needed.”

Y/N touched her face. Morning in the mirror—she looked healthier, less hollow. He was right.

“Why bring me to my dorm room?” she whispered.

“Well, I didn’t. My powers did. Wouldn’t have managed otherwise. You’re heavy,” he said with a small smirk. “And I’m not letting you wake up in my secret lab and let you sniff around. Not an option. Not again.”

“And the note? The money?”

His gaze darkened. “I need it now. To continue my research.”

Y/N straightened. “Or is it about your sister?”

Long silence.

“I’m not stupid, Isaac. Maybe I don’t have your brain, but I figure things out.”

Finally, he said: “Yes.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

No answer. Only a hard, unyielding stare. “That doesn’t matter. I need the funds. Can you get them?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Possibly..”

“Excellent. Can you do it today?”

“Yeah, I will handle it.”

He smiled faintly, thin and dangerous. “Good. Then we’ll try again tonight.”

“You mean the tests on me? Again?”

“Yes. Now we know it works.” He stepped closer, close enough that Y/N felt the pulse of his mechanical heart. Her eyes drifted to the bandage around his neck.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Next time it’ll be safer,” he replied.

“So… now it’s a time for you to apologize?”

Isaac’s unreadable gaze held her for a moment. He said nothing. She rolled her eyes, but she expected him not to apologize.

Y/N exhaled, anger coiling in her chest. She turned and walked away.

“Tonight,” his voice called after her, sharp and calm. “Iago Tower. We meet there.”

His words chased her through the trees.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thank you all for the kind words about the previous chapter. I apologize in advance that this one isn’t very exciting, but it was necessary to set things up for the next chapter (and if I’m quick enough, it might even be out by this evening). Thank you once again for your understanding!

Lmk if u also wanna be tagged!!

PART THREE

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N stood before Iago Tower, staring at the dark façade, its walls echoing with forgotten times. The wind tangled her hair, sharp and cold, and every minute of waiting felt longer than the whole of last night.

Where are you, Night?

Her nerves buzzed like live wires. Every word from yesterday replayed in her head—his laughter, his eyes, his provocations, the way he could be cruel and still pull her toward him. The war inside her grew louder: one voice called her insane, told her to stay far away. The other hissed that this was her only chance, no matter the cost.

She rubbed her temples hard. Routine was the only thing that saved her: she pulled a few mint leaves from her jacket pocket and slipped them into her mouth. Peppermint usually calmed her—when she was nervous, when she was hungry, when she needed to hide her fangs. But not today. The flavor was dull, bland. It only reminded her of him—sharper mint, almost burning, laced with metal.

Disgusted, she spat the leaves into the grass. Experiment. The word sounded absurd. She laughed to herself, but the sound was hollow. Had she really done this? Had she really thought Isaac Night would be moved by her desperation? What if he planned something far worse than a few tests?

She shoved away the thought of torture, but it clung to her like a shadow.

Yasmin knew nothing. She had told her that he refused to help, and that was better—if this went wrong, at least Yasmin wouldn’t carry that weight. And if it worked… well, maybe this secret was safer kept between her and Isaac.

But the longer she stood there, the more idiotic she felt. What if it was all just a prank? Evelynne and her gang had pulled the same trick when her secret leaked. The heir of the Impalers, unable to drink blood. Descendant of Dracula himself. A joke. It couldn’t get more absurd.

Y/N clenched her fists. The memories cut like glass shards. Her mother dragging her to special clinics, chasing different donors and types of blood, recording every failure with sharper sighs each time. Her father roaring once at a family dinner that no “defective daughter” would shame their bloodline. After that, she never sat at their table again.

Cold wind seeped beneath her jacket. She couldn’t stand there any longer. If Night wouldn’t come, she’d at least wait for him inside where it was warm.

She stepped into the tower and into the old elevator. The steel walls groaned as though ready to collapse. Each floor up felt like it would be her last, the cabin splitting and falling—but finally, the doors creaked open. Why the hell would he choose this creepy place to meet up?

She blinked.

So that’s why, she whispered.

A laboratory stretched before her. Tables stacked with parchment, ink, and quills. Inventions she couldn’t name. Moonlight streamed through the glass innards of the tower’s giant clock, lamps cast long shadows, candles burned to blackened stubs. The place felt like a twisted cathedral of knowledge.

On one table lay a construction in the shape of a cross. Her gut turned. An operating table.

She stepped further in, brushing dust from chalk symbols on a blackboard.

“Snooper.”

She flinched. Isaac stood a few feet away, curls damp, framing his face. He looked freshly showered—fresh scent of shampoo clinging to him, but underneath lingered that metallic undertone.

“How did you—”

“I told you to wait downstairs,” he cut her off flatly. “Was that too hard to grasp?”

“If you hadn’t left me freezing for half an hour, I’d still be there,” she shot back.

“I had work.”

“We had a deal.”

“And am I here or not?”

She glared at him, but said nothing more. He gestured to a chair at the table. She sat while he searched for clean paper and a fresh quill, every movement measured, precise, annoyingly patient.

“Well then.” He dipped the quill in ink. “Let’s begin.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Isaac wasted no time on small talk.

“So,” he started evenly, not looking at her. “Since when? Birth or later?”

“Always,” she answered. “I never could. Human or animal.”

“And the reaction?” The quill scratched across paper.

“Nausea. Vomiting. Always.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s vague. Immediately? Or only after swallowing?”

“That matters?” she snapped.

“To me it does.”

She flushed. “After swallowing. Sometimes right away, sometimes seconds later.”

Another note. “Good. Physical performance? Weaker than your peers?”

“I’m not weak,” she shot back.

“Hmm.” His eyes flicked up, probing, sharp. “And sight? Light sensitivity?”

“When it rains or it’s cloudy, I see fine. The sun doesn’t blind me as much as others.”

“Hmm,” he muttered. “I’ll need more tests.”

Her stomach dropped. “Please, no blood.”

He raised a brow, but she cut him off: “At least not today. I know it’ll happen eventually, but today, promise me no blood.”

He held her gaze, jaw tight. “Fine. I promise. Now stop barking orders and come here.”

What followed was a series of trials—height, weight, fang measurements, bite strength tested on a steel plate. Every time his fingers brushed her chin, circled her waist, or steadied her wrist, her heart pounded harder. She masked it with defiance.

Then speed and strength drills. Sprinting across the room, lifting weights, dodging his sudden attacks. He never broke a sweat; she was trembling, breathless, collapsing against the cold, cross-shaped table.

“Maybe it’s trauma,” he muttered, jotting notes.

“Great diagnosis,” she snapped, chest heaving.

She slumped fully onto the cross-shaped table, its cold edges pressing into her back. It looked too much like an operating slab.

“Where do you even get all this?” she asked, voice strained.

“Gotta work somewhere,” he replied, chalking new symbols on the board. His code for none of your business.

“And this thing?” She tapped the cross-table. “Doesn’t exactly scream desk.”

“I’m working on something,” he said curtly. “Not finished.”

“Oh, so that’s what my money’s for? Funding your creepy science projects in this falling-apart lab?”

This time he turned, eyes glinting with both mockery and fervor. “Everyone needs something. I just trade in what others give away too easily—though it’s worth much more.”

She folded her arms. “So I walk out missing money, maybe a limb, and definitely my dignity. Wonderful.”

Isaac smirked faintly, turning back. “Close. Except I’m never wrong.”

“Oh sure. Star of Nevermore, academy icon. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I hate dirt under my nails, despise normies… and can’t stand chatty vampires who refuse to drink blood,” he fired back dryly.

“Ouch. That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s meant to be.”

The quill scratched. Silence stretched until she broke it:

“You have a theory why I can’t—”

“—drink blood?” he finished. “Genetic flaw. Protein intolerance. Or something missing. I’ve skimmed the vampire texts; I’ll cross-match with your symptoms. But there’s one practical question.”

“Practical or curious?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He smirked. “If you could survive without blood, why not just live like that? Vampires eat normal food too.”

She thought. “Food fills me, but it’s tasteless. Gluey sludge. And blood… it gives us vitality, glow. My mother always said it makes us look and feel alive.”

“In other words, you need the enzymes. Without them, you shrivel. You become like a dry and tooth breaking cookie.”

She rolled her eyes but twitched a smile. “Something like that.”

“Hmm. If needed, I’ll pump it into you intravenously.”

She sighed, moving toward the tall glass clock. The glass was misted, reflecting only her face and the cold moon. At least the wolves would be howling tonight. Something normal in this madness.

Yet the longer she stood there, the louder the contradiction. Isaac was arrogant, dangerous, infuriating—and still… strangely compelling. His sarcasm even amused her. Maybe that was why people kept their distance: on the surface, he was a storm. Up close, he was gravity.

Her thoughts shattered with a sharp sound. A blade’s slice. Then a muffled: “Ow.”

She turned. Isaac stood at a table, clutching a small scalpel, fresh blood streaking his hand. Drops pattered on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped, rushing toward him.

He lifted his bleeding hand toward her, crimson gleaming like molten rubies.

“Get that away from me!” she gagged, covering her mouth.

“I need to confirm something.” His voice was unnervingly calm.

“You’re sick, Night! I thought you promised—no blood tonight!”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “I lied.”

“Idiot!”

“Fragile thing. Open your eyes, Y/N. Face it.”

And suddenly, he was right there, pinning her to the wall, his cold breath against her ear. The drip of blood was steady—tick, tick, tick. The metallic scent burned her nose, tangled with him.

Her knees trembled. “Inhale through your mouth, exhale through your nose,” he whispered, dark and coaxing. “When you’re ready… take it.”

She froze. Take it? He meant his blood.

“I can’t,” she stammered.

“Then you’re a coward. I saw it in you yesterday. It’s there. You’re just afraid.”

His tone wasn’t mocking—it was almost encouraging. Almost. But her block was stronger.

“No!” She shoved him hard. He stumbled, the scalpel clattering, and hit the floor. She bolted for the elevator, heart hammering, stomach twisting.

But before she could press the button, her body locked in place—like her limbs were nailed into the air.

“You’re not dismissed,” Isaac growled, hand raised, telekinesis thrumming around him.

Cold terror gripped her. Invisible force dragged her back to him, slowly, relentlessly.

This bastard has some sick tricks upon his sleeve. She thought.

He pressed his bloodied fingers to her cheek. Hot, sticky. “Drink.” It was an order.

Her lips parted before she realized. A drop slid down his finger, onto her tongue. Metallic, salty, Isaac. It burned through her senses, dripped down her chin.

He smiled, proud. Victorious.

Then came the recoil. Her brain shut down, stomach convulsed. Each swallow was poison. She gagged, choked, body writhing. His hold broke and she shoved him harder, collapsing to her knees, gasping, tears streaking.

Isaac rose, dabbing his hand with a handkerchief. He looked down at her. “Apologies,” he said, voice utterly devoid of remorse. “It had to be done.”

Something inside her snapped. Rage flooded her, black and boundless.

She lunged. Pinned him beneath her, knees on his arms, hair falling wild around her face. Her fangs gleamed, saliva mixed with his blood dripping from her lips.

And Isaac—looked more beautiful than ever. Dark. Alluring. Dangerous. His heart pounded beneath her, his breath warm on her cheek.

I’ll tear your throat open, she thought feverishly. I’ll chew through your skin, drink until you’re empty. I’ll rip you apart. You, and your twisted inventions—I’ll drag them all down into hell with me.

Her teeth brushed his neck. She smiled, manic, as saliva dripped onto his skin. She wanted him begging. Wanted him screaming.

She bit. Hard. He hissed in pain as her fangs drove deeper, merciless, hungrier, crazed.

Then—sharp sting. A needle in her arm. Cold liquid flooding her veins.

She ripped back, vision doubling. Isaac sat up, pressing a cloth to his neck, eyes sharp even through the blood.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, voice echoing as she swayed.

Her body gave way. Darkness swallowed her whole.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Again, TYSM for reading!!

Taglist down bellow! lmk if u wanna be added!

PART TWO

headcanons: slurp/isaac night + y/n fem reader

SUMMARY: Nevermore has seen many prodigies, but none like Isaac Night—brilliant, untouchable, and colder than the steel heart ticking in his chest. He fixes everything, yet feels nothing. Y/N is a walking problem, branded by a secret her tormentors will never let her forget. She needs help, but the cost of asking him might be far greater than she imagined. Because once Isaac touches something broken, he never lets it go.

WARNINGS: +18 content, language, strong sexual themes, bullying, blood (drinking/vampire themes), violence, angst, slow burn, eventuall smut, explicit content (later in chapters), emotional manipulation, dark themes, power play, dark romance.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

After classes, Y/N rushed headlong into her dorm room and collapsed onto her bed with a groan of relief. She landed so hard it startled her roommate, who had been blissfully blasting her favorite punk rock band through her headphones. Yasmin immediately tugged them off and leaned toward her with a questioning look.

“Rough day?” she asked, settling on the edge of the bed and running her fingers almost mockingly over the little plush bat lying there.

“It was… fine,” came the muffled reply from beneath the pillow. And in a way, it was true—ever since Isaac had spoken up that morning, the pack of four had left her alone. Still, Y/N had spent the day moving like a shadow, slipping through crowds of students, hiding in plain sight. She ate lunch under the statue of E. A. Poe, deliberately choosing obscurity over visibility. It felt like luck was shielding her for once—though deep down, she suspected it was just the quiet before the storm.

Yasmin propped her elbow on the mattress, eyes lingering on her. “You’re still wearing it on your face, Y/N. That wasn’t ‘fine.’ That was, ‘I survived.’”

“And isn’t that the same thing?” Y/N muttered without lifting her head.

Silence stretched between them until Yasmin spoke again. “You know you can’t keep this up forever. Something has to change.”

Y/N sighed, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. “And what do you suggest? March into the principal’s office and dump it all on his desk? You know damn well why I can’t.” Yasmin was the only one outside the vampire circle who knew her secret—she had spied on her while invisible. But Y/N had never asked her to get involved. Dragging Yasmin in would only endanger the one person she actually cared about.

“I know,” Yasmin admitted, frowning. “But still…” She hesitated. “There has to be someone who could help you.”

“Like who?” Y/N snapped bitterly. “I’ve seen the best doctors. My father even flew me to Transylvania. And none of them had a cure for me.”

Yasmin smirked, though worry lingered in her eyes. “Some genius? This school has a few. Someone with a brain, not just sharp teeth.”

Y/N didn’t answer, but the idea lodged itself in her chest like a splinter.

Yasmin caught the shift immediately and quickly added, “And if you’re thinking what I think you are—forget it. That Night boy is weird. Everyone knows it. Walks around like a ghost, talks like an encyclopedia, treats people like they’re insects. You don’t want to be his next experiment.”

“You know him?” Y/N lifted her head. She hadn’t yet told Yasmin about Isaac stepping in for her earlier. But hearing Yasmin’s description, she doubted her friend would believe it anyway.

“Not me,” Yasmin said, shaking her head. “But his roommate does. Gomez Addams. I ran into him in the library once, and when I complained about those little ghouls harassing you, he hinted that if there was anyone who could deal with them in his own twisted way, it’d be Night. Apparently, he spends his evenings holed up in empty classrooms, scribbling down research like some mad scientist. I swear, he’s impossible to talk to like a normal person.”

Y/N closed her eyes. The possibility unfolded in her mind—dangerous, reckless, but perhaps her only chance.

“So what you’re saying,” she said flatly, “is that I should try.”

“I’m saying that if you insist on this, at least be careful,” Yasmin muttered. “Because Y/N… he’s not like us.”

The words lingered heavy between them.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The classroom was abandoned after dark, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp that stretched long shadows across dusty desks. Y/N slipped inside and spotted him immediately—sitting alone at the front, bent over an open book. His mechanical pen glided across the page with precise, relentless motion, like he wasn’t simply writing but dissecting the world itself. He looked as though he didn’t belong in the space, and yet it revolved around him.

Isaac Night.

She froze. Every nerve in her body screamed this was a mistake. And yet, she stepped forward.

“I need…” Her voice wavered. “Help.”

Isaac didn’t even glance up. His lips curled faintly. “No.”

“You don’t even know what—”

“I know it’s a waste of time,” he cut her off, voice sharp and cold. “And time is the one thing I won’t waste. You have nothing to offer me.”

“Maybe more than you think,” she snapped, though it rang hollow even to her own ears.

At last he looked up. His eyes were shards of ice. “Really? And what could that be? A smile? A pitiful attempt at gratitude?”

Her throat tightened. Doubt clawed at her—maybe Yasmin had been right. Maybe he was insane. Maybe this was a path she’d never come back from.

“You’re a selfish asshole,” she spat, anger igniting where courage faltered.

This time he stood. Slowly, deliberately, step by step until he was right before her. His presence pressed against her like a weight, his breath cool and metallic—mint and iron, like night air over steel.

“So tell me,” he whispered. “What do you have to offer?”

Her heart thundered against her ribs. Could she trust him? Should she? Isaac Night was anything but safe. And yet…

“I’ll be your experiment,” she breathed. “And I’ll fund whatever you want.”

Isaac laughed. Soft, mocking. “Your parent’s money, then?”

Her face burned, but she nodded. And from there—the fight, the revelation, the teeth, the laughter, the fragile bargain—everything unfolded, pulling her deeper.

His laughter cut through the room like ice. Not joy, but sharp, derisive amusement.

“An experiment,” he repeated slowly, tasting the word. “You? The little princess who can’t even hold her ground wants to be my experiment?”

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze, even as her throat tightened. “At least then I’d finally be useful.”

Isaac tilted his head, pen still spinning lazily in his fingers. “Bold words for someone who’s almost got beaten up. Tell me, Y/N… is this desperation, or madness?”

“Maybe both,” she whispered.

His smile widened, wolfish. “Desperation tastes better.”

He moved closer. Y/N inhaled his scent—cold, clean, tinged with iron, like rain on steel. Her heart hammered, deafening.

“So?” His voice dropped, razor-sharp. “What are you really offering me?”

“Money,” she blurted again. “And my secret.”

And possible lobotomy if I let you too close.

Isaac arched a brow. “Daddy’s money, I assume. And the secret… the one those four already sniffed out? Otherwise they wouldn’t mess with you. That’s not much of a prize. You’re offering me a broken toy.”

“Shut up,” she snarled. “This isn’t a game. It’s my life!” But couldn’t hide the surprised face. He wasn’t just smart. He was like a cobra — hiding, looking, analysing. Ready to attack in the right moment.

She lunged, fisting his shirt and yanking him toward her. Quicker than he expected. Stronger, too. Her fangs slid out, gleaming under the lamplight, breath ragged with fury.

“Maybe I’m broken,” she hissed, “but my teeth are still sharp. Keep acting like a bastard and I’ll prove it—on your throat.”

Isaac chuckled instead of resisting. He lifted his hands, mock-placating, eyes gleaming like dark glass.

“Easy, easy…” he purred, his laughter softening. “You know, Y/N, you don’t look like someone who doesn’t want to bite me.”

Heat shot through her. She released him, jerked back, smoothing her hair to hide her trembling. Her cheeks burned.

Isaac straightened his shirt as if nothing had happened, already twirling his pen again. “Alright. Then tell me. What’s the great problem? Show me why I should waste even a fraction of my time.”

Her throat closed. Once she said it, there was no going back. Still—she drew a breath.

“I can’t drink blood.”

Silence. The lamps hummed faintly overhead. Then Isaac burst into laughter. This time loud, unrestrained, echoing through the room like knives.

“You threatened me here for that?” He clutched his stomach, still laughing. “The little vampire can’t drink blood? God, that’s—oh, that’s rich. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all month.”

Y/N flushed crimson, rage and shame and despair twisting inside her. “You’re… you’re such a goddamn idiot!” she shouted, grabbing him again, harder this time. “You think it’s funny? Do you even realize what it means?”

He raised his hands once more, but this time there was mischief in his eyes, almost tenderness. He carefully pried her fingers from his shirt, holding her hand.

“No, Y/N,” he said softly. “I don’t think it’s funny.”

His voice dropped, almost intimate. “I think it’s fascinating.”

He didn’t let go. Brought her hand closer to the light, studying it as though it held answers. His touch was ice—shocking against her overheated pulse.

“And you know what?” he murmured. “When you slammed me against the wall just now… you looked exactly like someone who wanted to bite.”

She ripped her hand away, turned aside, fighting to steady her breath. Her knees threatened to give, and she hated that he knew it.

Isaac sat back calmly, drew out a fresh sheet, and began to write. “So. Since childhood? Or did it develop later? Human blood, animal blood, both?”

She glared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Me?” He raised a brow. “I’m taking notes. If you want me to help, tell me everything. From the beginning.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Since I was little. I never could. And I’ve been hiding it. But—” her voice cracked. “They already know.”

His eyes lifted, piercing. “Then you didn’t hide it well enough.”

Her face flamed. “You don’t know anything, Isaac,” she snapped.

His pen stilled. He set it down, shut his eyes, and murmured almost to himself, “Maybe I don’t. But someone I know does.”

Before she could ask, he looked back at her, expression hard again. “Meet me tomorrow night. Outside Iago Tower. Consider it the start of an experiment. But don’t mistake this for kindness. Kindness is the last thing I am.”

Y/N swallowed, nodded. “And your payment?”

His mouth curved. “After every session, you’ll send me my share. Money. And the rest…” He stood, offered his hand.

She hesitated, then took it. His palm was colder than hers—so cold it sent a shiver racing up her spine. Isaac tugged her closer, until his breath brushed her ear.

“Remember,” he whispered. “Next time, attack them the way you attacked me. Weakness can be used as a weapon.”

He let go, turned back to his desk, and resumed writing as if the entire scene had been a brief interruption.

Y/N left the classroom, heart hammering. She never saw how Isaac’s gaze lingered in the shadows, sharp and unblinking, long after she was gone.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thanku all for reading<3 requests for ff’s and ideas are open! <3

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