Stydia Oneshots - Teen Wolf.

Under The Mask.

Summary: A charity masquerade ball suddenly becomes a lot more interesting when Lydia meets a mysterious stranger in a gold mask.

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"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this," said Lydia, scowling at the distasteful decor with annoyance. The entire of the banquet hall was covered in crushed velvet, and it was starting to piss her off. What was the point in renting a place this expensive if you were going to ruin it with tacky decorations?

"Oh, lighten up, Lyd," Allison replied, waving a French-manicured hand at her best friend dismissively. "It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" repeated Lydia incredulously. "I feel like I'm inside a vampire's coffin! It's like, 'Oh, I wonder what we should decorate the north side with?' 'How about crushed velvet?' 'Sure, and how about the west?' 'Crushed velvet?' 'Sure! And what about the south-' 'How about crushed freaking velvet.'" She shook her head scornfully, loose red curls bouncing along as if in agreement.

"They do have free booze, though." Allison gestured to her wineglass, swilling it in mock-sophistication.

"I despise Chardonnay," said Lydia, looking positively offended. "God, I want to go home. My feet hurt."

"That's because you're wearing freaking stilts," Allison replied, nodding to the seven-inch stiletto heels that allowed Lydia to stand half an inch taller than her, for once.

"Pain is beauty," said Lydia airily, grabbing a glass from a passing waiter and taking a huge swallow. Allison arched a perfect eyebrow at her.

"What happened to despising Chardonnay?"

"I refuse to go through tonight sober," Lydia declared, taking another gulp of wine.

"It'll be better when Scott gets here... with your date." Allison made exaggerated kissy faces at Lydia, giggling at the redhead's distainful expression.

"You are so lucky I love you. Seriously, you've been on what, two dates with this guy and you're already setting me up with his friend?"

"He said that Stiles is really nice!" Allison protested. "Anyway, you're just annoyed because you don't know what he looks like."

"That is completely justified! You know I don't do blind dates."

"Oh, don't be so shallow."

"There's a difference between being shallow and not wanting to have to take this dress off myself at the end of the night," Lydia replied primly, running a hand over the black silk-and-metallic-lace confection that hugged her petite body like a second skin.

"Well, there's always that. God, go dance with someone already." Allison took Lydia's now empty glass and ushered her towards the dancefloor. "You're being all sulky."

Lydia poked her tongue out at her best friend and clicked away on her painfully high heels. The dancefloor was dark, a pit of gloom in the middle of the candle lit hall. There were half a dozen couples swaying softly to a sappy love ballad, and the idea of dancing suddenly became even more unappealing.

There was a rustle of fabric, and someone came to stand beside her. Lydia looked up warily to see a tall boy - a man, really - staring at the dancefloor, adjusting his cufflinks absentmindedly.

In the almost nonexistent light, Lydia could only just make out his face. Fine, pointed features, impossibly high cheekbones, eyebrows that pulled together broodingly as he watched the dancers in a way that was a little too observant. It was disconcerting - having him ignore her so obviously.