Stiles blinks, his cheeks warming. “I - yeah. I told you. I don’t like people who fuck with kids.”
sterek week; day seven (sunday); anything you want
There’s a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn’t really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck on, says his cop brain, because the dude’s got kids hanging all over him; one’s on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There’s a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he’s got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesn’t have kids hanging off it. Stiles’ mouth drops open.
"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.
The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, “You think I’d subject myself to this on purpose?”
"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I’m telling Mom."