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Summary
“Excuse me?”
"You heard me."
“Let’s say I didn’t,” Peter responded, taken the napkins and wiping himself off. “Because right now I’m wondering what fresh hell I’ve fallen into and it’s entirely possible I misheard you.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I want a baby. I want your baby, specifically.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, leaning back and bringing the bottle to his mouth. “That’s what I thought you said.”
And now he would never be unable to hear it.
