Title: Vegas Lights
Rating: T
Word Count: 1595
Summary: (au) In which Stiles and Lydia wake up in Vegas with hangovers, a few missing articles of clothes, and rings on their fingers.
Main Pairings: Lydia/Stiles and some Scott/Allison
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or the chapter title (from Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry) or the official title (from Vegas Lights by Panic! At The Disco)
chapter one: it's all a blur last night
The day after Allison Argent's twenty-first birthday, her best friend woke up with a pounding hangover, a dry taste in her mouth, and something heavy draped over her stomach.
It took Lydia Martin a few moments to realize that she wasn't wearing a shirt, and her skirt was riding high on her hips, and a few more moments to realize that the heavy thing draped over her stomach was a lightly muscled arm made of pale skin and scattered moles.
Her half-lidded eyes snapped wide open, and a quick glance to her left told her that Stiles Stilinski was in her bed—aka, the guy that had been professing his love to her since they were nine.
Lydia bit her lip to keep from swearing so that she wouldn't wake him up, and shut her eyes. Think, Lydia: how the hell did you end up in bed with Stiles Stilinski?
Her mind unhelpfully brought her back to shots of some kind of vodka that tasted like cherries and smelled like nail polish remover, and she let her eyes open again. "Stiles?" She asked softly, hoping that he had had less to drink than she did.
Before she could shake his bare shoulder to rouse him, she saw smears of pink at the corner of lips, throat, and jaw, and the recognition of her own lipstick was enough to coax her into stumbling out of bed, sliding her tank top back on, and exiting the room in some combination of tip-toeing and running.
She crossed a window, and saw a hickey on her throat. I cheated on Jackson. I'm a cheater now. I cheated on the love of my life.
She cheated on the guy that she had been dating since her first month of college, possibly the first person she ever fell in love with. Hell, Lydia didn't even like Stiles—she knew him well, and knew that he loved her.
She knew that in his senior year, he broke up with his girlfriend when he found out that Lydia was going to prom alone so that he could take her. She knew that when she was sick, he sacrificed his own grades to attend her classes and take the notes so he could teach her and make her soup.
She also knew that Jackson hated Stiles, and that he was probably the last person that Jackson would have wanted his girlfriend to sleep with (though literally speaking, Jackson wouldn't have wanted his girlfriend sleeping with anyone but him). Jackson wouldn't really care that in Lydia's case, sleeping with Stiles was literally sleeping in a bed with Stiles.
God, she was screwed.
"I didn't sleep with him." Lydia repeated for the third time to her wide-eyed best friend, a best friend who didn't seem to believe a word that Lydia said.
"Uh-huh," Allison nodded, a smile spreading across her lips. "You just let him attack your throat." She laughed as Lydia scrambled to untie her wraparound braid and pull the hair forward and around her neck.
"Allison," Lydia hissed, tensing when she saw Scott approach the two. "We're done talking about this."
"Have you guys seen Stiles?" Scott asked, and then looked to Lydia in a way that made her squirm. "Last time I saw him, he was with you."
"Doing what?" Lydia asked harshly, and both Scott and Allison looked surprise by her near-aggressive words. "I mean, what were Stiles and I doing? I had a bit much to drink." She covered casually.
"I don't really know. You guys were both laughing, and you were clinging onto his arm and heading into a jewelry shop." Scott glanced towards Lydia's hand, "Hey, nice ring."
"This isn't mine," Lydia commented, pulling the ring off of her slender finger. She dully noted that it was on her left ring finger, "I've never seen this before. Maybe I found it while I was drunk and decided to put it on."
"Or," Allison grabbed Lydia's wrist, and started walking her to the jewelry store that her boyfriend had pointed to, "Maybe you bought it. Scott just said you went to a jewelry store, remember? How many brain cells did you lose?" She teased.
Lydia looked at her dryly, the hangover souring her mood. "Drinking doesn't affect your brain that way. It damages the part of your mind responsible for bringing memory: the hippocampus, also the reason why I can't remember most of last night."
"Hey, excuse me?" Allison called, more of a command than a question. The cashier looked up in slight alarm at Allison with Lydia in a tow, "Do you recognize this girl? Or this ring?" Allison held up the hand of Lydia's that she was dragging her by and waved it slightly so that the cashier could try to identify the ring.
"Allison, he doesn't—"
"You came in with your boyfriend last night, if I remember correctly." He stated, and Lydia nodded in agreement so that he'd keep going. "It's part of our true love collection, extremely popular. Your boyfriend bought the matching band."
Is that why I nearly slept with Stiles? He decided to buy me jewelry, and I turned into a brainless zombie that'll give out with the snap of a finger?
"...supposed to bring luck to a married couple." Lydia focused back on the cashier, blinking at him.
"Why would Stiles buy that for me?" Lydia asked quietly, looking to Allison for answers. Before her best friend or the cashier could reply, Lydia was running through the casino, only one thought clear in her mind: I need to find Stiles where is Stiles is Stiles awake how much did he drink how much did he remember oh my God did I try to marry my not-boyfriend in Las freaking Vegas where is Stiles?
Stiles' face felt sticky, like there was something written on crayon over his lips. Grimacing, he brought a hand to his mouth and tried to wipe the substance away, and then paused when his hand came back with a streak of pink.
That's Lydia's lipstick color. It matched her high heels. She was only a few inches shorter than me last night. He scrambled out of bed (which, for him, meant he flung himself up, got himself tangled in the sheets, and collapsed on the floor) to find a mirror, and he stared at himself.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, and there were more marks on his neck, this time purple. That isn't Lydia's lipstick. She doesn't wear purple lipstick. How much he knew about her didn't quite phase him, and he tried to ignore his disappointment over the sign that his neck was attacked with not-Lydia's lipstick.
The lipstick wasn't coming off, and when he looked closer, they were in bruise-colored ovals. Did maybe Lydia Martin attack my neck? He rubbed at the mark—most definitely a hickey—and turned on the faucet so that he could splash his face with water and rub at the lipstick marks.
He could taste stale vodka in his mouth and winced, wondering exactly how much he had to drink.
He held his left hand to his ear and snapped, then winced at the sound. Yup. Definitely drank too much. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and then paused when his hand got snagged on something.
Or, less of his hand, and more of a silver wedding band that encircled his left ring finger.
"Shit shit shit shit shit," Stiles swore, running his hands through his hair in a display of confusion because he's pretty sure that he married Lydia Martin (or at least tried to).
And now, the girl he's in love with is going to hate him.
He stumbled around the small motel room, even less coordinated than usual due to the fact that he might have married Lydia freaking Martin, and his parents are going to kill him when he gets home. "Hey Dad, how've you been? Yeah, Allison's birthday was fun. Oh, and remember that girl I had a crush on? Yeah. We're married and she has a boyfriend."
He paused to assess his situation, and tried his best to think. His golden-brown eyes landed on a white sheet of paper on the bedside table, and he frowned. Maybe Lydia left a note? He turned it over to assess the writing, both fearing for and praying that Lydia knew more about their night than he did.
At that moment, the door started to swing open, and then stopped abruptly due to the chain that Stiles had latched the door with. "Stiles," Lydia said, her breathing heavy. "Let me in, please. I need to talk to you." She had never spoken to Stiles in such a desperate way, but Stiles could hardly hear her.
Both his and Lydia's names were printed in drunken handwriting on an official marriage certificate, completely filled out and legal, not some half-assed scam by some Vegas conman promising to marry two idiotic lovebirds.
"I'm—you're—I'm married to you."
A/N: This is super short, probably half of the length of the rest of the chapters. I kind of wanted to give a setting and an introduction to how old they are and where their relationships are with each other.
If any of this is confusing, ask a question in the reviews, or message me on tumblr (link in bio) for the most immediate response. The relationship between the characters and the full setting will grow next chapter when they formally meet.
