❛ And all at once, you're all
I want, I'll never let you go
King of my heart . ❜
༄ ‧₊˚ ★
↳ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏 :
"𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌"
(( Stiles Stilinski X Fem!OC...
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season 4 episode: 1
BLAKE ༄ ‧₊˚ ★
"This doesn't seem so bad," Stiles says, rubbing his hands together as he scans the streets of Mexico.
Lydia, clutching a duffle bag, sighs heavily from beside me. "It's not the town, it's the plan."
Stiles turns to her, brows furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong with the plan?"
I give him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. "This is genuinely one of the worst plans we've ever come up with. Almost as bad as basically every single one of our plans... ever."
"Way to be optimistic," Stiles mutters under his breath, though the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement.
"I'm optimistic that we're going to fail, miserably," I say with a dramatic sigh, shaking my head.
"We are going to die." Lydia states bluntly as we start walking again.
Stiles glances at her sideways. "Are you saying that as Banshee, or you're just being pessimistic?"
"I'm saying it as a person who doesn't want to die," Lydia replies with a shrug.
"Okay. Then would you mind restricting any talk of death or actual Banshee predictions?"
"This plan is stupid and we're going to die." Lydia says.
"Oh, thank you," Stiles snaps back sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
I can't help but laugh. I slip my arm through Stiles's, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, we might still have a slight chance."
Stiles looks down at me, his eyebrows furrowed. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
I shrug. "Well, I didn't exactly think that we'd end up in Mexico," I pause. "Actually now that I'm thinking about it, what did you tell your dad?"
"Uh," Stiles raises his eyebrows. "That we went camping. What'd you tell your mom?"
"That you took me on a date... to Mexico."
Stiles's eyes widen in surprise. "And she believed you? Well, I hope she won't hate my guts when she find out what we're really doing here."
I chuckle softly as we turn into a narrow alleyway, the darkness pressing in around us. The walls are stained with age. Stiles instinctively places a protective hand on my waist, keeping me close.
