HEY GUYS! I'm deciding after reading like 10000 stydia fanfics that I need to write my own. I've loved this idea for ages and I actually think it's going to end up being perfect (if I can write it well enough that is). It's going to get very hot and steamy with loads of angst and cute fluff and be like everything you want from a stydia fic because ofc they are perfection. Please review, fav, follow and enjoy!

'Fuck.'

A cold stream of water splashed Lydia Martin's pale face, her face was smeared with red lipstick and her eyes were running black mascara. 'Fuck, fuck, fuckedy fuck.' She leaned back from the smeary toilet mirror and inspected her appearance for about the tenth time. 'Of course something has to go fucking wrong.' She muttered to herself, whipping her strawberry blonde hair forward and gathering it up into a ponytail. Splaying her hands down her front she vigorously tried to wash any trace of vodka. 'Of course you're fucking going to stain, it's like the world fucking knew I bought a new dress so oh, I don't know what day it is-' The red head's voice became louder as her wiping became more emphasised, 'It's fucking ruin Lydia day.'

Actually rewind a few hours and her day was pretty peachy.

First day's often have that certain connotation of a big fuck up: something is usually destined to go wrong. But unlike the rest of the population, Lydia had calculated every single thing. From her immaculately styled strawberry blonde hair in soft curly waves, down to her sheer designer tights and new polished Prada heels (it just had to be Prada, there was no other way to do it). She had pretty much nailed it up until this point: but still- it was only 8:30 in the morning.

'I am a smart and self-empowering woman, I can do this', she whispered to herself clutching her small hot pink suitcase. She began to rummage through her hand luggage searching for her red lipstick. Normally she didn't get nervous, she was usually the one making other people feel nervous: Lydia had the reputation of being 'sassy': however much she initially disliked this phrase over the years she had grown to love it. But this was her new job: her brand new start, first impressions fucking count. Pulling out her lipstick and pouting her soft pink lips she spread the red makeup across her mouth in an accurate smear.

It wasn't have meant to happen like though, she actually wasn't meant to be here for another couple of months but she got a call the night before telling her she'd got the job. She won't deny that she got a bit emotional over it. This job was never part of her 10 year plan: she was scientific all through school, spent most of her college life putting chemical compounds in test tubes rather than taking vodka shots out of them. But as she had now grown to learn, life fucks everything up. And she didn't want to ever replay anything in her mind that happened in that very final year of college: not even to herself.

She swiftly looked up again at the mirror spying a stray fibre on her crisp linen shirt. Meticulous as she was, the strawberry blonde yanked the thread and to her dismay the shirt gaze a firm ripping sound.

'Fuck me.' She cried, looking closer in the mirror to inspect the damage.

Her new shirt was fucking torn all the way up to her waist. 'Just my fucking luck' she internally cursed, looking around the restroom for a solution to her problem.

'Keep it together Martin.' She whispered, fiddling with the now stray thread in her hand. Her heart beating faster than normal. She had allocated 0 minutes of time to sort out problems and she didn't have time for this, especially today of all fucking days.

Air hostessing.

That's what she applied for all those months ago: after the college incident she was left with very little to work with. Funny how that everyone, including herself always pictured her with the highest degree you could have: by now she should be working as a chemist or a translator or actually fucking anything that needed a top degree. But she had a brain and nothing to show for it.

A tear suddenly sprung from her green eyes and dripped down her face, with her body actually surprising her, the red head's brain caught up, her eyes widening with alarm.

She needed this. It meant something.

It was after Allison had come stay with her for a few nights, initially Lydia knew the visit was meant to make her feel better. But all through the smiles and the laughter that followed, she knew that Allison had her degree, she witnessed all her friend's graduation on every social media available: unintentional or not she was bombarded with heavily edited Instagram's and snapchat videos of everyone throwing their hats up in the air. She viewed these feeling sorry for herself, her heart aching that it was her fucking fault she wasn't there too.

It was the last night of her best friend's trip and she was lying on the sofa, Allison asleep to her right and Netflix to her left, letting the room glow with soft yellow light. The brunette's phone buzzed and a message appeared from some guy called Scott. There was a photo attached to the notification followed by about 15 heart eye emojis. Feeling curious, Lydia unlocked Allison's phone and read the message. Her eyes squinted as the phone let out bright white light, but she continued to look.

The photo attached was of a tanned tall brunette guy, he was attractive: she smiled just knowing her was her best friend's type. He was posed next to a sign in what looked like an airport that read 'Welcome to England!' in italic writing. Another message was sent, Lydia jumped back as the phone vibrated: 'Missing you Allybear! England won't be the same without you, fuck I love my job but I wish you were here with me! Xxxx'

'What was that?' Lydia quickly lay back and rested her head on the sofa as the brunette sat up.

'I think it was your phone babe.' She played it cool, passing it into her hand. She waited for Allison to read the message before asking who the fuck Scott was. 'So babes who's this Scott.' She laughed.'

Allison quickly explained that he was her boyfriend that she met on her month abroad to France for her study, he was a flight attendant and apparently they 'hit it off' when she was boarding the plane. Knowing Allison it probably involved a quick 69ner in the toilets that rapidly evolved into a fully fledged romance in just 7 days.

Lydia didn't even know this boy, but by the end of the week she had come to desperately envy his job. Allison talked about him flying all over the world, seeing landmarks, meeting new people, reading new books. She even had a fucking slideshow which he must have made for her; she proudly presented her week in France. (It was mainly selfies but she approved because they were within a mix of photos of the landscape, the art and oh my god: the fucking food.) The noises and the smells just leaped off the screen, it all seemed so vivid. And for the first time in what had seemed like years, Lydia suddenly felt the same fiery passion that biology had once ignited in her.

Once Allison lay soundly asleep, her mind seemed to light up: it suddenly hit the strawberry blonde that she hadn't seen any of the world apart from the grey skies and backlit alleys of Boston. She was oblivious to the fact that she could be part of another culture and experience something, other than the other side of her bedroom wall. And it was in that moment during the slideshow where music started playing in her head, it was foreign and new, exotic and just seemed to connect. That's what she realized she needed: adventure. To get out of the same fucking rut she had been trapped in since returning from college, she needed to do something so utterly unpredictable, and un Lydia Martin-esque that even her own brain would be shocked into knowing how to live again.

She'd applied as soon as Allison left with her small packed suitcase, being dropped at the airport boarding a flight back to college the very same day. Lydia sat in the car with Allison in the car, the radio playing some new shit that was popular, but the exotic music stay stuck into her head. She couldn't get it out; she didn't want to get it out.

It was only a matter of time before Beacon Air called her back; her interview going down well, her fingers wrapped around each other as she talked about her qualifications: but to her surprise not one single person judged her on not having a degree. She licked her lips and wrapped her fiery hair around her fingers. They were impressed that she spoke 5 different languages; they were impressed she knew about first aid, they were even impressed that she knew every single detail about the aircraft; they were impressed that a tiny, 5'3, 20 year old girl knew so much about the world.

However after two weeks with nothing: not even a single phone call or a complaint about what a loser she was for having no degree, life went back to normal, the exotic music being shoved out of her head, along with her vast expanding collection of travel brochures. All discarded. All she did now was stalk Scott's facebook profile, longingly. Constantly looking at his updates of snapchat, looking at the different locations he sent his tweets from, looking at his tailor made Spotify playlists for each different country he visited.

But last night at 1am she got the call, and suddenly she was here. In a state of complete disaster in the women's fucking restrooms at Boston international airport, trying to hide the perfectly obvious seam rip of really expensive linen.

Deciding she couldn't do anything in the restroom, the red head set out to look for a clothing shop with something that may be mildly close to the shirt she originally bought. Her phone flashed brightly with the time – 4:18pm. Fuck, she had fifteen minutes before boarding. Her heart started beating harder than before and she sped across the hall of shops. Her arm aching as her hot pink suitcase bore into her hands. 'Don't fucking stop Martin, don't you fucking dare.' She muttered under her breath.

Candy store, after candy store, after fucking candy store. Where are the fucking clothes shops around here? She could not be the only person ever to have a last minute outfit disaster. Her new heels pressing against the backs of her feet as she walked, the red blisters just dying to make an appearance, her hair suddenly becoming more flab than fab as the curls started to unravel down her shoulders, her nostrils starting to flare with sparking anger.

Her green eyes suddenly stuck out a clothes shop at the other end of the terminal lounge. Gasping for breath she picked up the pace, her heels clicking against the hard floor, she will make it to the shop if it fucking kills her.

In all her hurry she started to push through people, accidentally nudging shoulders and trying not to wheel over someone's foot. A bead of sweat started to appear on her pale forehead. 'You're not going to be beaten by a fucking linen shirt Martin.'

Suddenly she felt a hot sensation rapidly fly across her chest. Leaping back in total shock she looked down at her front. Beige coloured coffee soaking directly though everything, dripping in her hair, down her ruined shirt, onto her skirt. Her green eyes grew in size, her mouth flared at the ends, looking up at the person who held the cup. Her hands tensed up as they formed fists.

'Are you actually fucking kidding me?' She retorted, shaking her hands rid of beige drips.

The culprit, a man of about 6'. From the back Lydia could distinguish messy dark brown hair, on his bottom half he wore jet black pants and he wheeled a stupid looking black suitcase printed with a stupid jeep on it. (A jeep? like is he twelve years old or something?). She looked up through her dripping wet curls, he was already walking off in the opposite direction, carelessly tossing his empty cup into a stray bin as he went.

'So you can aim and throw it in a bin one meter away, but you can't keep your drink in its fucking container.' She shouted in the direction of the direction of the man, barely containing her anger.

With no response she began to assess her situation. There was no doubt about it with 10 minutes to go before boarding she was completely fucked. How could she do what had taken her two hours to do this morning in 10 pacing minutes. She rubbed her temples in desperation, her head pounding with anxiety. Just not meant to be.

'Hey, I just saw what happened to you back there.' Lydia looked up, only just catching what the voice said. 'That was totally out of order if you need back up.' The voice laughed, it was sweet and feminine.

Her eyes looked upon a girl about her age, rich black, deep dark almost haunting brown eyes, like herself a strip of ruby red slashed across her lips.

'I'm Kira.' She smiled, energy just leaping off her as she danced around from foot to foot. Lydia assessed her further and saw she was wearing the same maroon and white blazer.

'You..you.' Her hands pointed at her chest. 'Lydia.' She quickly added short for words.

'Yes!' She giggled and held her blazer collar. 'We're on the same crew.' She smiled 'Or I guess so?' She laughed, 'Unless you've found that blazer in a thrift store and you thought it was totally vintage.'

Lydia looked at her crisp white shirt, envious. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered about her beige damp disaster, waving her hands trying to cover up the mess. If it was one thing she hated it was sticking out for all the wrong reasons.

'If you're freaking out about the shirt.' She paused assessing the obvious damage. 'Don't, I've got spares in my suitcase.'

Lydia stared at her in disbelief. 'You're serious!' Her voice grew higher.

'Yes.' The girl squealed in delight. 'I always carry spares, never know what's going to happen before the flight you know, can count on fucking assholes like that.' She gestures in the other direction. Fucking up fucking everything.' Bending down in the middle of the terminal and unzipping her electric red suitcase with a little fox print: she gets out a white shirt. Handing it to Lydia she touches her shoulder.

'You're a lifesaver.' Lydia smiled 'I would hug you but-'

Kira laughed tossing her black hair back. 'Don't worry I get it.' She picked up her suitcase, 'Now let's go to the terminal, we've both got a fucking flight to catch!'

Sometime later Lydia was feeling in a slightly better position, Kira's white shirt was on, her blazer was clean of any previous hot beverages and her new friend had magically managed to re style her hair into a bouncy ponytail, that was in one word: textured.

The terminal was buzzing with activity, her first flight being one to Madrid, many families were huddled together, children were playing with the free colouring pencils, and couples were flicking through brochures planning the final details of their holiday. She sat back in happiness, her stomach finally filling with a good kind of butterflies.

'Exciting isn't it.' Kira sighed, flicking through a magazine. Her eyes lit with joy.

Lydia didn't say anything but smiled back taking in the atmosphere. Kira had told her all about how she had been serving the airline for just under a year, how she had been to 40 different countries and was still counting. She even had a tattoo on her back of a world map, after visiting each country she got it filled in with black ink.

'Kira!' Another girl's voice boomed towards them, Kira stood up quickly and embraced the brunette girl in a warm hug.

'Lydia meet Malia, Malia meet Lydia.' She smiled pulling away from the hug. 'Lydia is new today and she's joining the crew.' She squealed with excitement.

'Hi Lydia.' She looked towards Kira 'I hope you're good with dealing with over enthusiastic individuals.' She spoke in a cool tone, her energy a lot different than her new bubbly friend's. Her fingers pointed towards her as she opens her mouth and pulls up her middle finger laughing. 'You're going to need it with this bundle of fun, let me tell you, don't ever assigned as her partner on a long haul flight. Kira hits her playfully on the shoulder as they both laugh. 'Going to England with this one was a whole heap of fun.'

They all laughed as the loudspeaker chanted for the first time.

TERMINAL 23 NOW CLOSING. 5 MINUTES UNTIL BOARDING.

Lydia felt like all of this morning's chaos was now behind her, she was slowly starting to forget about the total idiot with the coffee and the shirt ripping, and looking forward to starting her job, serving snacks and ushering people to their seats. A world away from dissecting frog's but much less stress: and hopefully a bit more relaxing.

She was bought out of her gaze by Malia who quickly whispered in her ear. 'Derek is coming.'

Before Lydia had a chance to question who he was she was greeted by a man of about 30. He was tall and had a powerful presence, the air surrounding him was suggesting you don't mess with him, but the smile on his face said otherwise. His hair was almost black, but the most interesting part of his face were the blue eye's that seemed to light up when he spoke.

'Ni Hao Miss Martin.'

She stood there puzzled, not quite understanding until she remembered.

'Ni Hao, Mr-' She stuttered, trying to wrack her brain of his last name. Fuck she could tell she was nervous, she never forgot anything.

'Hale.' He continued to smile, 'But you can call me Derek.' He looked down at the clipboard he was carrying, quickly scribbling something down he looked up. 'I just came over to you girls to talk about crew partners for this flight.' His blue eyes quickly scanning her checklist. 'Kira you're with Malia like normal and our newbie-' He paused 'You're with Mr Stilinski.' He gave a tiny laugh.

Lydia stood back and took the name like any other. Guessing it was a guy's name she surveyed the area looking for the same familiar blazer.

'Oh Stiles, you lucky lucky girl.' She turned back and saw Kira winking at her.

'Don't be too upset babe you have me.' Malia mocked a gun to her head. 'Stiles is pretty gorgeous though, have you met him yet?'

'No I don't think so.' She smiled wondering just how attractive this guy was.

Kira started jumping up and down, looking through the sea of families. 'There he is!' She exclaimed her red lips alive with animation.

The tiny raven haired girl starts waving madly, a smile glued to her face. She surveyed Malia's face, it was undeniably less excited than Kira's but she still looked pretty happy.

'Guessing you're both fans' Lydia nudged Malia's shoulder.

'You could say that.' They both chorus.

Lydia looked over at a guy emerging from the crowd. Her stomach flipped inside. Piercing chocolate brown eyes, thick telling eyebrows, a warm smile wrapped across his face dotted with little tiny moles. His white shirt tucked into skinny black pants leaving nothing to the imagination. She could feel something stir inside her immediately; if this was the said 'Stiles' then Kira and Malia were right. He was fucking gorgeous.

He walked over the hugged both the girls wrapping his long arms around them, their faces plastered with happiness. Her insides felt weak as he turned to her and fed her a smile.

'Stiles.' He spoke in a confident Californian accent. She looked down at his extended hand, lending her own out to shake back. It was just before this that her eyes suddenly caught sight of something else. Something quite important.

The fucking jeep printed suitcase.

She quickly snatched back her hand by her side and her warm smile quickly faded. She could feel a scowl crossing face. Her fists yet again forming fists. Her relaxed serene state vanishing as the seconds went on. Her blood began to boil.

Suddenly his deep brown eyes flicker with recognition. Unshaken he retorts.

'I believe we've met before.'