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@i-cant-fix-it
Casual reminder that I have moved blogs.Â
important notice
[ i have decided to remake my isaac blog, but because of my lack of constant activity i'm not going to readily give out the url for it. at least not at first. if you would like to have my url and interact with me on this new blog, please feel free to like this or send me an ask and i'll be happy to give it to you. thanks for all your understanding.
-anah ]
Stisaac AU: after Isaacâs encounter with the Alpha Pack, Stiles works up the courage to tell his feelings.
"I thought you liked Lydia." Isaac points out. "Well, you liked her too, so that is another thing we have in common." "Oh, so we do have other things in common?" "We can work on it. If you want." Stiles looked nervous and unsure for a second. Isaac smiled faintly. "Yeah, we could."
[x] /1
Pounce on this sweetie right now and love her down.
>>i-cant-fix-it<<
She couldnât breathe, couldnât think, especially couldnât talk with a lump sealing her throat and fingers curling and furling in the fabric of Isaacâs shirt. Between the soft pressure of the kisses on the top of her head and the vibration of his heart through his chest, she was trapped in the moment. Only able to nod along to everything he said.
"Itâs okay." She managed, attempting to cut off what he had been saying. Honestly sheâd had no idea if theyâd looked for them and had even begun to doubt it towards the end of of her previous life. Still, she needed to assure Isaac that any kind of guilt he might feel was ill placed. "I knew you would find me. Thank you." Her eyes closing tiredly as she fought off the aches that walking there had caused.
Erica nearly laughed at the idea of a shower, holding just a hint of hysteria there. The idea of a shower made her skin itch and the way that her crusty blood stained clothes clung to her just that much more apperent. âYeah, seriously. Show me the way to a shower and Iâll love you forever.â
Her hands were still gripping his shirt, afraid to let go. Part of her was tempted to ask for a piggy back ride so she wouldnât have to let go or test out her shaky new fawn legs. âSo youâre staying here? At McCallâs?â Her brows drew together in question, wondering what had happened between him and Derek for him to live with the other teenager.Â
But it wasn't okay, it wasn't. He'd been too slow, sat down for days and weeks even, just lost and he didn't even try. Hadn't even went out to track and it was his fault, it was his fault that they hadn't found her in time. If he had been a little stronger, a little more determined none of this would be happening. Erica would have always been there with them. "I found you too late," Isaac mumbled, sniffling just once, dragging the backside of his hand across his mouth to banish that weakness of emotion clogging his throat. But it wasn't his turn to fall apart, he didn't get that luxury.
Didn't deserve it.
It was his turn to take care of Erica, like he should have done all along. The moment she agreed he dipped down, drawing up her legs under one arm as the other cradled her back and he made his way inside. He swung his hip to shut the door behind him and he plodded up the stairs and to his room. "Derek kicked me out a few months ago," He managed, clearing his throat and giving it a shake. "It was for the best then I guess, whatever. Scott and his mom let me stay here." He continued inside and sat Erica down on the edge of the tub before he went to retrieve a fresh towel and a pair of sweats and a shirt from his own drawers. "I mean, they're kinda too big. But it's better than nothing right?"
at a cost
Stiles managed to get the coffee on the table- leaning precariously but not falling- before he was wrapped up and picked up, but the pastry bag went flying. He didnât care. It had worked. It had fucking worked.
The noise that left his mouth swung drastically between a laugh and a sob, Isaacâs name lost and mangled in the mix.
He was alive. Oh god. Oh fucking god. Isaac was alive. Warm and real and Stiles closed his eyes and buried his face in his neck and refused to leave, arms right around his shoulders, legs going around his hips. He clung like an animal, refusing to be put down or let go of, uncaring of Isaacâs complete nudity.
"Youâre alive," he gasped out, voice muffled by the warm- so warm, oh god, so warm- skin of Isaacâs neck. Skin that was getting wet with tears he didnât even realize he was shedding.
Isaac was only distantly aware of the sound of the cakes smashing on the floor, far too concerned with the warmth of Stiles pressed to his. The fabric scraped and made his flesh stipple with goosebumps, but he savored it because he could feel it. He could feel the cool air lapping at his nude form, making his hairs stand on end and it was amazing.
He was alive.
"I'm alive, you did," Isaac gaped back, his knees finally giving way as he lowered them to the floor, but he didn't once let his grip falter on Stiles' body. If anything, he held harder, closer, rocking. "You saved me." He pulled back just enough to find those perfect lips and he attacked them, he didn't press at first, but then he could taste and smell and he wanted it more.
His tongue traced into the other's mouth and he moaned at the familiar musk that was Stiles, something he'd missed desperately, finally pulling away to press his forehead to the other's. "You did it, Stiles. You did it."
Beach Bound
The back of the Jeep was loaded up. Mostly, it was even loaded with things they needed. They probably wouldnât need the Xbox at the beach, admittedly, but it had felt like a must-have when heâd been packing it. The cooler full of drinks and sandwiches was absolutely needed. There was no way Stiles would last more than an hour in a car without snacks. Heâd already gone through some, though luckily it would be a fairly short trip. Stiles glanced over at Isaac and grinned. âYouâre definitely driving back,â he said with a laugh. Of course, they wouldnât be driving back until the end of a beautifully long three-day weekend, but it didnât hurt to plan ahead. He reached out to switch the radio over and winced when he hit a radio station whoâd apparently felt it was a good idea to do a Kenny G marathon. Stiles was less than impressed. âDude, please find something before my brain rebels on me.â
Isaac had chosen to ditch the heavy cotton of his tshirt, tossing the off-white top into the back seat just a good ten minutes into the trip. The heat wasn't bad, but there was no need to make it worse, not to mention he always liked to watch those sideways glances that Stiles would throw his direction every once in a short while. He needed this, this trip, and he was glad it was just the both of them. There had been the thought of taking the others, making it a group thing, but Isaac just wanted to spend the weekend with Stiles. No pressure of hiding, to keep things secret, they could be with one another without fear of prying eyes. "You're gonna trust me to drive your baby on the way back?" He seemed impressed, drawing his legs up into the seat with him, cross-legged, as he watched the scenery pass by. "I'm sure you'll change your mind by the time we have to leave." The radio was instantly met with a pained groan as Isaac hadn't wasted a moment to lean up and turn it, scrabbling through a few stations before he found the top forty. Good enough. "I can't wait to get to the beach, I need the tan."
happy munday!
Hurts |Â Blind
at a cost
The problem was that no one believed him. No one believed him except Deaton and Deaton flat out refused to help him. Whenever he brought Scott or Derek to the loft nothing ever happened. They thought it was grief. That he was losing his mind.
He knew that he wasnât.
So he researched alone. Researched all night, slept through half his classes, made himself crazy, until he finally found a lead. And so in the middle of the night, three months after Isaac was murdered Stiles disappeared. Left his phone, his laptop, his Jeep. And came back two weeks later with- supposedly- no memory of where heâd been, or what had happened to him.
And the day he returned? While he was with his father in the hospital being treated for dehydration and mild hypothermia? Isaac Lahey returned from the dead. Or returned to a corporeal and tangible body. Or at least, that was what should have been happening. He couldnât be sure until he went to see for himself.
Stiles returned to the loft the morning after he came back, having snuck out of his bedroom, laden with pastries and coffee and clothes.
"Isaac? Isaac?" he called out, eyes wide and his body language unsure.
It should have worked, he thought to himself, it should have worked.
"Isaac, are you here?"
He had tried, god how he had tried. Strength was a luxury that he no longer had and it showed often, where Isaac had once been able to conjure his voice in the whisper quiet of the loft, now he couldn't even muster enough power to make the lights flicker. He was waning, like a candle nearing the end of its wick. There was only so much time left, and it was closing in fast.
Isaac had done his best to manifest when Stiles brought others, trying to plead with them all that there was a chance, but he couldn't, and after failed attempts Isaac was beginning to disappear. He was spent and there was only so much time until he was gone for good.
Stiles visited less and less, and Isaac was beginning to realize perhaps it would be for the best if he just disappeared. Died and left like he was supposed to. It was time to go, he'd decided, it was time to go.
But the moment before he let himself go, there was a sharp, overpowering heat that exploded and it swallowed him whole. He saw red then white then he saw nothing. He was nothing, but then he was thrust awake on the floor of Derek's loft and he swore he could hear his name being called. Isaac drew a hand up to his eyes, scrubbing at them and reached to the floor, felt it solid beneath him and he pushed himself to his feet.
"Stiles?" The name left his lips whisper soft, turning to look back at the teen standing before him. "But...how-?" The question posed he didn't wait, taking three large strides and he threw his arms around the other, picking him up from the floor and holding him tight.Â
[ everything's a little tarnished ]
He got it, he really did. It was frustrating and hard, but when Isaac continued, mentioned what Stiles would have done if heâd seen Isaac and someone else, his heart thudded in his chest, just a little too hard. It made him breathe deep, keep breathing deep until he felt like he wasnât going to stop and forget how to start again. âYeah,â he admitted. âI might have.â He pressed his lips together and bit down, felt the dig of his teeth in his lips and sighed through his nose.
He saw the quilts moving out of the corner of his eye and when he felt the familiar touch along his wrist, he closed his eyes. His own fingers twitched and he fought the urge to shift and grab. He opened his eyes finally when Isaac shifted up, turning his head so he could look at his face. âI donât want to lose us either,â he said. âYou wonât lose me.â It was a promise, and maybe it was one he shouldnât make. They were young and they lived in a town that liked to eat people up, and the ones that survived tended to wind up a little chewed up. He made the promise anyway. Since he was making the one, he could make another, and heâd mean both. âI promise. I just want it to be you and me.â Stiles leaned into the touch and when Isaac dipped in for a kiss, Stiles returned it. He pressed just a little harder, though he kept the kiss itself gentle. His hand lifted up, fingers moving to shift through Isaacâs hair. âJust us.â
"Good," Isaac breathed, the warmth of his words trickling over the swells of Stiles' lips as the wolf hovered there, tasting the air that passed them and settled on his tongue. "Good," Another kiss, soft as the first, but a hair longer, a few notches needier. There was nothing but want that seeped from Isaac's body in that moment, pressing his head back into the palm threading through his hair. As gracefully as he could afford he untangled his legs from his blankets, taking the space instead between Stiles' legs with his own thrown up around the teen's waist. "Just us," Isaac drawled again, resting his forehead against Stiles until his hands had managed to find their way to the collar of Stiles' shirt, gripping and pulling him that much closer, needing the warmth of his skin and the steady shudder of his heart beneath his fingertips.
"Stay here with me," He finally settled, leaning his head back enough to look Stiles in the eye. He could still smell the party on his skin, the unwanted stench of that other boy just scarcely holding onto Stiles and he wanted it gone. "In my bed tonight, please."
{ new perspective } - i-cant-fix-it
She nodded along to his words, watching him with a keen eye as he opened her locker. Her lips twitched, a genuine smile stretching across her face.
"You gonna open my locker every day, too? I could get used to this lifestyle," she teased in a mumble, placing her notebooks inside and closing the locker slowly. She turned, leaning against it as he spoke. Her eyebrow rose, the redhead glancing up and down the hallway.
"Sweet. That means I can get my pizza and book it out of the school in, like, five minutes flat. If you want a space in the locker, I might have to charge you some rent. After all, this prime real estate doesnât come cheap." She didnât even realize that Isaac didnât think he was funny, because this conversation was probably one of the most carefree, casual ones sheâs had in years. At the comment about moving, the redhead shrugged.
"I move once every three months, usually. Thatâs if Iâm lucky. So â I mean, if you wanna forget my name, thatâs probably best. Itâs not like youâll remember it after that." They were moving down the hallway, does this unfamiliar path that Annie was pretty damn sure that she would forget in five seconds. Sheâd probably need his help, like, every day.
And Annie wasnât sure if that was a bad thing just yet.
When Isaac reached around to her backside, Annie almost opened her mouth to berate him until she saw the pen. Oh. Her cheeks darkened to a nice shade of pink as she became a little more embarrassed by her quiet accusation. He wrote his number on her hand, and the girlâs smile widened just a fraction. After, she gently took the pen from him, fingers brushing against his as she neatly scribbled down her own number on the back of his hand.
"Hereâs mine â Itâs only fair. Iâm not really that tall, but my hair is kinda, well, bright. Youâll probably step on me anyway, though."
Isaac savored that brush of heat that passed their fingers as they ever so softly passed, coiling those long digits into a half-furled fist. There wasn't a flicker nor flinch when she reached for his hand, glancing over her head to watch the numbers etch across the taut flesh. Once Annie had finished writing he drew his hand up to his face, his free hand going to dab at the wet numbers a few times before his lips peeled back into a warm grin. "I have quite the vantage point from up here, and with your hair," He swung his hands down the hall, I could probably spy you from outside." Another poor joke, but he hoped she would spare him the eye roll he normally got for such things.
"Tell you what, I'll meet you back at your locker for lunch. I can show you the good place to sit and get you sweet with the lunch ladies so they give you the best of the batch," Before he took to part, he leaned over and pointed to the few classes that Annie had just before. "All these classes are in this hall, so just follow the door numbers. I'll show you to your next classes after lunch, see ya, Annie."
The blond turned and plodded down the hall and around the bend, disappearing from sight. There wasn't much to report from his classes, a few homework assignments here, a group project due on friday and just a study hall. He was eagerly waiting next to Annie's locker by the time the bell for lunch had chimed.
"How you liking Beacon Hills High so far?" He asked with a smile, waiting for her to put her things away before he was making his way down the hall to the cafeteria. "You never did tell me why you move around so much, do you mind sharing? I mean, I don't mean to pry-"
Get your shit together, Lahey.