A Collection Of Stydia One Shots

Love from your annoying and heavily pregnant wife

It was 2.30 in the morning and Lydia was having trouble getting to sleep. She had been tossing and turning, occasionally sitting up for a minute or two, since 10.30. And it had been the same almost every night for the past month; Allison wasn't kidding when she said the further into your pregnancy you get, the less sleep you get.

Lydia sat up in a huff and swung her legs over so they were hanging off the side of the bed. Another big problem was fighting off her wild and crazy cravings. At this particular moment she was craving pickles with ice cream. Yes, what a weird combination?

But she couldn't help it.

She sighed and ran a hand through her long hair. Standing up slowly, she looked behind her making sure she hadn't woken her husband; he must have been just as sick of all this as she was. Lydia padded into the kitchen quietly and made her way over to the fridge-freezer. She looked for a jar of pickles first, but had no luck. Letting out another sigh, she opened the freezer and looked for the ice cream. There was no ice cream.

"Crap." She whisper exclaimed before shutting the freezer door tightly. She turned around to go back to her bed but stopped when she saw her husband stood in the doorway.

"I didn't mean to wake you Stiles." She said, hugging her arms around her chest. All she was wearing was one of Stiles' plaid shirts and she didn't realize how cold it was when she got up.

"Don't worry about it, I need some water anyway." He said before filling a glass up at the sink and taking a sip.

"Cravings?" He asked. He'd had almost 2 months of this now and he learned to recognize the signs. Lydia shrugged.

"What is it this time? Pickles and ice cream again?" Stiles asked, reaching out to wrap Lydia's hands in his own. Lydia chuckled, she found it unbelievable but also not surprising at the same time that Stiles could guess these things from just taking one look at her.

"And we are all out." Lydia sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

"I'll run to the store." Stiles said abruptly, unwrapping himself from her and starting to go back into the bedroom for a change of clothes.

"You don't have to do that." Lydia said, he stopped and turned back.

"I know, but I want to. I won't be long." He said and hurried off to go get changed.

He came back out 5 minutes later with his keys and wallet in hand.

"You go back to bed, i'll bring it to you when I get back." Lydia smiled and kissed him gently. She wandered back to her bed and climbed in snuggling up.

Stiles drove quickly to the store, it was usually a ten minute drive to the one that was open 24/7 but he made it in five. He ran inside and quickly found what he was looking for, paying at the self service. Stiles always tried for the best for his wife. In no way did he find the non sleeping, the cravings and the constant mood changes annoying, in fact he found them quite cute. They reminded him that he was going to have a beautiful son or daughter in the matter of 2 and a half months.

He drove home quickly, again reducing the expected time to five minutes. When he got home he locked the door and went into the bedroom after grabbing a spoon for the ice cream. He looked over and saw Lydia fast asleep in the bed, her arms wrapped around her pillow. Stiles' eyes found their way to the bedside table next to her where a note was stood up against a vase.

'The cravings went away babe. Typical huh? Any way just put the stuff in the fridge-freezer, no doubt they will come in handy. I'm writing this note in case I drift off to sleep. I really hope I drift off to sleep :) Love from your annoying and heavily pregnant wife x'

Stiles chuckled after reading the note and followed instructions; putting the pickles in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer. He shut off all the lights and climbed into bed. He knew he would have to put her right about the last line of the note in the morning, he would never find her annoying no matter how heavily pregnant she got.