mpreg is most def my kind of tea.
–
Boyd wakes up with a start, breathing heavily as the noise still rings in his ears, and it takes him a minute to realize that the commotion wasn’t just a dream and that he’s distinctly alone in bed.
He jumps out of bed and down the stairs, something Stiles would definitely mock him about if he saw it, and runs to the kitchen, the only source of light in the house and so noisy with the cacophony of Stiles’ heartbeat.
Boyd skids to a halt right at the doorway and almost steps into a shard of jelly-covered glass, one of many littering the floor.
Stiles is right there in the middle of the mess, barefoot and wearing only boxers and one of Boyd’s shirts that’s still stretched over his protruding belly. He’s rubbing one hand over it, the other clamped around his mouth presumably to stifle any noise that might come out and wake Boyd.
His eyes are shiny with tears.
Boyd hears his breath hitch as Stiles notices him standing in the kitchen, which also seems to break the dam because drops the hand he was pressing to his mouth and uses it to wipe at his face instead.
“I-I’m sorry that I woke you,” Stiles says, still crying.
“It’s okay,” Boyd replies, “Just don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He waits for Stiles to nod before he hurries away to get a broom, a dustpan and a pair of shoes. Because while he would go through fire for Stiles, walking over glass shards and getting blood over the tiles when Stiles was already stressed would only cause more stress to him.
Shoes on, he deposited the broom and dustpan by the wall and stepped over the mess to reach Stiles.
“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Boyd prompts him gently, waits for Stiles to comply before hunching down a little and lifting him up bridal style.
He carries him to the kitchen table and helps him sit on the tabletop, way above any stray pieces of glass.
He doesn’t let Stiles go right away, mostly because Stiles, too, is still holding onto him, so he takes his time trying to soothe him: rubbing his hands over Stiles’ flanks and belly, nuzzling at his shoulder and cheek.
“You okay?” he asks softly. He can’t smell any blood, or even pain on Stiles, but he knows better not to check.
“Just got startled,” Stiles admits quietly, “I woke up hungry and came down to just get a PB&J or something, but the stupid jar wouldn’t open and then it slipped from my hand…” He sniffs, hugs Boyd as close as he can with their baby between them. “Stupid munchies, and stupid hormones making me all shaky.”
“Shh, it’s all fine. Give me a minute to clean up and then I’ll make you a sandwich and some cocoa, hm? We should still have a jar of jelly.” Or three, Stiles has been really craving jelly this month.
“Okay. Thank you. Sorry I woke you and made a mess.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Boyd jokes, grins when Stiles tries to scowl at him through a smile, leans in to kiss it all away.
shealwaysreads 