Teen Wolf Imagines

Bait - Scott

Most women worry and stress about their partner's reaction when they tell them they're pregnant – but you didn't. In fact, you never even had to tell Scott, because he found out before you did. He heard the extra heartbeat and had approached you with tears of joy trickling down his cheeks.

Ever since that day, he became even more caring and protective than usual. It wasn't annoying; it was sweet, actually. Scott often called or texted you from work saying he thought of another baby name, which you usually disagreed on – especially when he would bring Stiles over to the house and hound you about it.

"Come on," Stiles pleaded. "Name it after me."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as short laughter escaped your lips. "Stiles, even you can't pronounce your first name, why would I name my baby the same thing? Besides, we don't know the gender yet."

"Either way, I think it'd be awesome to name it after Stiles." Scott shrugged and high-fived his best friend.

You rolled your eyes.

Other than the incessant pestering about the baby's name, everything was fine. The baby would be born in a few weeks and you were happily married to the father; Scott. Everyone from the pack showered you with gifts and compliments, each one of them declaring themselves an aunt or uncle.

Both you and Scott had multiple conversations questioning the possibility of your baby being a werewolf. Although the two of you were fine with it, you had no experience raising a child, let alone a supernatural one. You'd have an extra weight on your shoulders and a constant concern of your child's own safety.

"It'll be fine," Scott had assured you, "there hasn't been any action since we had to deal with the dead-pool a few years ago."

You believed him, just as you always did. Deep in your heart, you knew that if anything did happen, Scott would take care of it in a flash. He always knew just what to do and say.

On the current day, you were in your living room watching rom-coms and subconsciously rubbing your belly. Scott was at Stiles' house, hanging out like they did every Saturday. It was a bit lonely without him in the house, but you were happy to let him have some time with his best friend since they rarely did anymore.

All was still; quiet. The only source of light in the room was from the television. The movie trailed on, earning a giggle from you every now and then. Outside, wind rushed through trees and the chorus of ruffling leaves could be heard.

And then a low, growling sound pierced your eardrums.

Your first instinct was to call out for your husband, plead for Scott to come home; but you couldn't do anything. You sat, rooted in your spot, eyes widened in fear as you waited for the inevitable. Hands trembling over your rounded stomach, breaths short and loud; you didn't – couldn't – move. The creature's snarling made a crescendo until its nose brushed against your ear. Every ounce of you quivered, silently praying for Scott. Scott.

It wasn't until the mystery beast's claws pressed into your bicep that your instinct kicked in, the desire to protect your unborn child. You pushed yourself off of the couch and made way for the stairs, skipping every other step, hoping – and knowing there was no way – that you could outrun the supernatural.

Helplessly, what was left of your voice screeched, "Scott!" Over and over, you wailed and begged until you could practically feel the beast's presence behind you, the atmosphere growing chilled and suspenseful. The rumble that emanated from its throat was the last thing you heard before a sharp force met with your temple and your cheek met the carpet.

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Days had passed.