Steter. Stiles is helping Malia with homework and she blurts out. "When are you going to sleep with my dad?"
Thanks for the prompt! ♥ Send me 1 sentence and I'll write (at least) 5 more! Teen Wolf, any ship.
"When are you going to sleep with my dad?"
For the first time in Stiles' life, his mind screeched to a complete stop—completely derailing from the math equation he'd been trying to explain to Malia and plunging into the dark abyss of what the fuck did I just hear?
"Uh—I—you—what?" he sputtered, unable to form any sort of coherent thought or response.
"You reek so badly of horniness whenever you even think about my dad, it gives me allergies," she said. "I feel like sneezing right now."
"That's crazy!" Stiles said, laughing a bit too loudly. "I mean, sure, Peter is attractive or whatever—anyone with eyes would think that, not just me—but he's Peter and I...I mean, no way. I've never—I wouldn't—"
Malia rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You can't lie to me, idiot. And if I know, Peter knows."
Stiles scrubbed his palms over his face, then raked his fingers through his short hair. "If I drive my jeep off a cliff, will you keep an eye on my dad?"
"No," she deadpanned. "You should just tell him that you wanna sleep with him. He'd be down."
Stiles' face grew hot, and he was sure he was sporting a rather impressive blush. "Why do you think that? Has he said something?"
"Because he reeks whenever he looks at you, too," she revealed. "It's disgusting. You should just fuck already—the whole pack has been placing bets. I win, if you do it tonight."
A series of thuds suddenly echoed in the hallway, and Stiles pressed his fist to his lips to smother a grin—knowing damn well there was a werewolf sprawled face-first on the expensive runner rug.
One of the things that gets me about Midsomer Murders is how determined everyone is to carry on with their lives. I think multiple murders in my small village would distract me from the sewing competition / guinea pig contest / dance show, actually.
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