The Time Werewolves Were No Help At All With Stiles's Feathery Little Problem - #2 - Isaac
Author: fluffyllama
Title: The Time Werewolves Were No Help At All With Stiles's Feathery Little Problem - #2 - Isaac
Rating: PG-13 (for swearing)
Pairing/s: none for now
Character/s: Stiles, Isaac
Summary: Stiles wakes up with wings. Yeah, that's the whole plot. Oh, and werewolves are no help at all.
Warnings: Wings and utter crack. I'd run away now.
Word Count: 513
Prompt: Temptation
Author's Notes: Um. Have some (more) Valentine's Day silliness?
"We're having a meeting about you," Isaac says, munching his way happily through the remains of last night's lasagne. Fucking werewolves and their appetites, that was going to be Stiles's lunch. "You can get out tonight, right?"
"Nuh uh, nope, no way, not a chance in hell." Isaac just raises an eyebrow, but Stiles has more. "I am not leaving the house with these... things on me."
"Don't they sort of-" Isaac waves his fork around in a vague gesture. "Fold up, or something?"
"I don't know!" Stiles tries to make them move, but he's not sure whoever or whatever gave him the wings remembered to give him the necessary muscles or powers he needs to make them do anything. So far all he's managed to do is break a vase, fail to sit in any of the chairs in the house that have backs, and dust the top of a few doors. "They didn't come with a user manual, which is really freaking inconvenient."
"Or an alpha ang-- um, winged person," Isaac quickly amends, because they've already had that conversation, and Stiles would feel bad about hitting Isaac even if he does heal quickly these days. Not that it would stop him, as he was sure to point out. "Yeah, that sucks." His mouth is twitching though, like he's trying not to laugh.
"What?" Stiles holds up a hand. "And before you answer, remember that I'm having a really bad day."
Isaac ducks his head and scrapes the last forkful of lasagne out of the dish. Stiles mourns its loss, even as he realises he can totally guilt Isaac into making a grocery run for him now.
"It's just--" Isaac says, half choking on a laugh. "Don't you want to see the look on Jackson's face?"
Stiles pretty much never wants to see Jackson's face. Even on a good day, and without the whole kanima nightmare, he'd take detention over spending any time with the guy. And knowing Jackson, once he sees something he doesn't have, and can't have, he will probably work out a way to raid his trust fund or whatever and pay someone to surgically remove them from Stiles so he can have special Jackson-only detachable wings, for days when he needs to feel extra pretty.
Which, come to think of it, would be absolutely fine by Stiles.
"After dark, with a blanket?" Stiles suggests. The wings twitch, apparently by themselves, and cause a small landslide of pans somewhere behind him. And probably an earthquake in Bolivia. "Make that two blankets."
He reaches for a pen and the grocery list pad. Isaac might be looking forward to seeing Jackson's reaction, but Stiles is looking forward to lunch. He's tempted to make a long list of obscure ingredient that will involve Isaac visiting every store in town, but he settles for some basics and a frozen lasagne.
Isaac grins and stands up. "Boyd will pick you up at seven."
"Yeah, not so fast, buddy," Stiles says, waving the pad. Isaac's little whine makes Stiles's day a whole lot better.
Title: The Time Werewolves Were No Help At All With Stiles's Feathery Little Problem - #2 - Isaac
Rating: PG-13 (for swearing)
Pairing/s: none for now
Character/s: Stiles, Isaac
Summary: Stiles wakes up with wings. Yeah, that's the whole plot. Oh, and werewolves are no help at all.
Warnings: Wings and utter crack. I'd run away now.
Word Count: 513
Prompt: Temptation
Author's Notes: Um. Have some (more) Valentine's Day silliness?
"We're having a meeting about you," Isaac says, munching his way happily through the remains of last night's lasagne. Fucking werewolves and their appetites, that was going to be Stiles's lunch. "You can get out tonight, right?"
"Nuh uh, nope, no way, not a chance in hell." Isaac just raises an eyebrow, but Stiles has more. "I am not leaving the house with these... things on me."
"Don't they sort of-" Isaac waves his fork around in a vague gesture. "Fold up, or something?"
"I don't know!" Stiles tries to make them move, but he's not sure whoever or whatever gave him the wings remembered to give him the necessary muscles or powers he needs to make them do anything. So far all he's managed to do is break a vase, fail to sit in any of the chairs in the house that have backs, and dust the top of a few doors. "They didn't come with a user manual, which is really freaking inconvenient."
"Or an alpha ang-- um, winged person," Isaac quickly amends, because they've already had that conversation, and Stiles would feel bad about hitting Isaac even if he does heal quickly these days. Not that it would stop him, as he was sure to point out. "Yeah, that sucks." His mouth is twitching though, like he's trying not to laugh.
"What?" Stiles holds up a hand. "And before you answer, remember that I'm having a really bad day."
Isaac ducks his head and scrapes the last forkful of lasagne out of the dish. Stiles mourns its loss, even as he realises he can totally guilt Isaac into making a grocery run for him now.
"It's just--" Isaac says, half choking on a laugh. "Don't you want to see the look on Jackson's face?"
Stiles pretty much never wants to see Jackson's face. Even on a good day, and without the whole kanima nightmare, he'd take detention over spending any time with the guy. And knowing Jackson, once he sees something he doesn't have, and can't have, he will probably work out a way to raid his trust fund or whatever and pay someone to surgically remove them from Stiles so he can have special Jackson-only detachable wings, for days when he needs to feel extra pretty.
Which, come to think of it, would be absolutely fine by Stiles.
"After dark, with a blanket?" Stiles suggests. The wings twitch, apparently by themselves, and cause a small landslide of pans somewhere behind him. And probably an earthquake in Bolivia. "Make that two blankets."
He reaches for a pen and the grocery list pad. Isaac might be looking forward to seeing Jackson's reaction, but Stiles is looking forward to lunch. He's tempted to make a long list of obscure ingredient that will involve Isaac visiting every store in town, but he settles for some basics and a frozen lasagne.
Isaac grins and stands up. "Boyd will pick you up at seven."
"Yeah, not so fast, buddy," Stiles says, waving the pad. Isaac's little whine makes Stiles's day a whole lot better.