MONSTERS (Teen Wolf Imagines)

Stiles and Isaac (2&3)

⚠️ SMUT ⚠️
Isaac Lahey x Reader x Stiles Stilinski
(THREESOME SMUT)

I fidget a bit in my stance and swallow the excess spit in my mouth. Stiles, Isaac and I were grouped together for Ms. Blake's art project on any of her assigned books thus far. Stiles, Isaac and Scott were originally a group, but then Ms. Blake pulled Scott out and assigned him to those (oddly attractive) twins.

I stare down at the huge piece of canvas I've been working on for the last week. Stiles and Isaac come over every day, but Stiles mostly does his other homework and Isaac catches up on the reading for Beowulf. So far I've painted, and sketched with charcoal, a scarred beast falling to its knees while being engulfed in wave—like flames. I've spilled water colors within my painted and drawn lines, and we could turn this in now, but we have so much extra time that I can't handle just turning it in because it looks acceptable.

Isaac peeks up from Beowulf and asks, "Is that Grendel or Grendel's Mother?"

"Neither," I sigh and continue to stare down at my work. I cross my arms across my chest and grip my triceps while shifting my weight between my left foot, my right foot, back to my left, and so on.

Isaac puts down the ancient class copy of the epic poem and stands to me left; he assumes the same stance and flutters his glassy blue eyes up and down the canvas. "Which character is this?"

"Beowulf."

Stiles sighs loudly, capture both Isaac's attention and mine. Stiles' irritation stares at us from beneath his lashes. "Beowulf is the hero."

"According to whom? Presumably a Christian Monk? In the beginnings of justifying male supremacy via God's wishes?"

Isaac grins while Stiles rolls his eyes. "It doesn't matter who wrote it. He's the hero."

I turn back to my work and utter, "Perception is everything."

Stiles leaps out of my old, dilapidated, black leather chair. The squeaky wheels groan against the old shag carpet in my room while Stiles' feet sink into it. He stands to my other side and stares down at the art. "So why are you depicting him as suffering?"

"Because he suffers throughout the poem."

"He prevails throughout the poem."

"Not without a struggle."

"So you paint him as defeated?"

I look at Stiles, now with my irritation staring at him from underneath my lashes. "So I paint him as human. He suffers. He gets wounded. He burns. And he heals."

Stiles doesn't move his eyes from mine, "Where is the healing?"

"I'm still figuring it out."

Stiles laughs and rolls his eyes.

I roll my eyes, "Well any help from either of you would be fantastic."

Stiles then breathes out, heavily and loudly. "What do you want us to do?"

I stay silent for a moment, but then I smirk and scan them, Isaac then Stiles, from the corners of my eyes. "You could stop distracting me."

Isaac's whispers with a tremulous voice, "How can we stop distracting yo—?"

I quickly spin on my heels, grab his face between my palms and plant a hard kiss on his thin, semi-chapped lips. Isaac stares at me with wide, terrified eyes. I grin and feel my cheeks burn. "A little less distracted now." I spin on my heels and do the same to Stiles, who stares back at me with wide, excited eyes. I grin at him and say, "Much less distracted now."