“Just how many flannels do you have?” Lydia inquires as she toys with the new ring on her fingers, mesmerized by the way the diamond glistens in the stream of sunlight from the window blinds.
“Not enough apparently,” Stiles grunts as he feverishly scans through their closet. “Toss me a few pairs of boxers?”
Rolling her eyes good naturedly, she bends down to sift through the dresser before she comes up with a clump of green, red and blue flannel. She can’t help but stifle her laughter at Stiles’ predictability in clothing choices. This is her husband and she’ll never get tired of saying it, quirks and all.
Their wedding was something that Lydia once thought was only possible in blockbuster rom-coms. With her mother on her arm, she walked down the aisle in a ivory dress draped delicately in lace and her shoulders bare except with the long fishtail braid that fell over it. When she saw Scott at the end of the aisle, she smiled brightly at him as he let out a watery one towards her. But when she saw Stiles, her ruby tinted lips stretched into a beaming grin as he choked on his breath, his fingers counting at his sides as if to reassure himself that this future with Lydia was very imminent and very real. When they read their vows to each other over broken, relieved sobs and pressed their lips together for the first time as husband and wife, Lydia knows it has to be.
Their reception was crowded with mills of family, friends and colleagues, but Lydia had never felt so safe and intimate until Stiles tenderly grasped onto the small of her back, moving slightly to the music as he murmured how beautiful she was today and always and how much he loved her into the crook of her neck. And for the first time during the whole day, Lydia cried. She couldn’t, and still doesn’t fully believe, that she found someone who loves her so deeply, so openly despite the scars that mar her skin, or the ones that sear her throat.
Staring at the stone sitting snugly on the silver band on her finger, she reminisces like it was a lifetime ago, despite it happening less than 24 hours before. She’s only brought out of her reverie when Stiles circles his arms behind her.
“Unless you want me to go commando on our 10-hour flight to Italy, may I please have my underwear?” he teases, kissing her temple as he grabs the wad from her hand.
She snaps out of it, turning around to lightly pinch his hips as she pushes her sundress clad chest against his bare one. “What if I wanted you to go commando? You know, easy access and all.”
He freezes, stifling a low moan as her fingers delicately trail down his crotch. He’s instantly reminded of his prepubescent freshman days, when the slightest touch from her would render him horny and half hard.
“Lydia Martin, are you flirting with me?”
She laughs against his collarbone before laving it with bruising kisses.
“First off, I’m your wife. Of course I’m flirting with you,” she says. “Additionally, that makes me Lydia Martin-Stilinski now.”
He groans, letting her fingers roam and pull at him below as he deftly works on the zipper of her dress. “Fuck, say that again-”
“Lydia Martin-Stilinski,” she enunciates against his ear, rubbing over his head quicker at each syllable.
He pulls the zipper down to its end, tugging the straps off her shoulder as he presses his lips to the tops of her breasts.
“Again,” he whines desperately.
“My name is Lydia Stilinski-”
Her dress instantly pools around her feet in a white heap as Stiles grips onto her thighs, kissing her with an almost bruising force as he moves them towards the bed.
“Stiles!” she half-screeches, half-moans as he palms her bare breast in his hand. “We’re going to be late for our flight!”
“Fuck Italy,” he answers bluntly, trailing his lips down to her sternum and marking his steps along the way. “We’ll get a later flight if we have to. We’re going to kick off our honeymoon a bit early.”
She almost scolds him for being so reckless, but she’s reminded that she has time with Stiles now. They aren’t teenagers anymore; running and evading monsters in the woods of Beacon Hills. Now, they’re just two people with a connection strung together with a red string and, “the undeniable power of human love.”
The next words fall from her lips so easily, so innately that she finds herself counting her own fingers against his back.
“I love you so much,” she whispers like it's still a secret. “I’m so in love with you, Stiles.”
He pulls back from his scorching path and leans his chin against her stomach, looking at her with such reverence that the honey from his eyes practically drips onto her skin.
“I love you too, Lydia,” he murmurs onto her hip before kissing it. “Your flirting skills are getting better, by the way.”
She giggles as she threads her fingers through her hair. “Shut up and make missing our flight worth the while.”
(Hint: he does. In several different positions.)