Fandoms: Imagines and Preferences

Teen Wolf//Scalia Oneshot

Surrounded by my enemies, Theo leading them forward. How could I have trusted him? The Wendigos all snarled, their teeth like daggers glinting in the moon light. I growled, admitting defeat. Metal chains, laced with wolfsbane, tied me to the ground. I felt blood dripping from my head, and I couldn't do anything to prevent my oncoming death. I felt the first of many Wendigos attack me, their teeth sinking deep into my forearms. I cried out, my strength draining. 

I should have been dead, I should have been buried under a tombstone with my name written in fancy calligraphy written on. But I was laying on the ground, my wolf eyes staring at the sky.
"Malia!" His voice. His rough voice screamed my name. I instantly opened my eyes, being careful to not move. I wanted to say something, but my parched throat made me reluctant. 
"Malia!" 
The light above me became brighter, voices calling my name. I recognized it immediately. Dr Deaton. He came into view, a rather large needle in his hand. He was saying something, but I couldn't hear it. A small tear slipped from my eye. I felt the needle impale me, it's liquid filling my veins. It burned, the feeling satisfying. I became a prisoner to the darkness as I soon fell into unconsciousness. 

***

A year had been since he had saved me. A year since Scott McCall had fought the army of Wendigos to save me; I learned that a few weeks after the incident. He had risked his own life, and had killed many. Theo, on the other hand, lives. I sigh, getting up of my desk chair. Thankful for the Stilinski's for giving me a home, I looked outside the window. The evening sky had burned away, in it's place a dark blanket littered with  stars. Beautiful. I received a text from Scott, and I giddily got up to open it. 

To: Malia Tate

From: Scott McCall
Go outside 

I did as he instructed, slipping on a pair of sneakers before exiting the house. I was thankful for the house being empty, and I quickly rushed outside the door. Meat. The scent of freshly cooked beef filled the air as I stared in awe at Scott. He smirked, pulling out a seat for me. He had set up a table, a meal - consisting of beef, potatoes and trimmings - and a dozen roses in a vase. 
"We never really had a first date," He began, wrapping me in his strong arms. I fell into him, kissing his cheek. "since most of the time we're trying to fight for our lives." 
"This is perfect." 

We spent the evening eating and drinking, getting drunk on each other's presence. It was intoxicating. He had brought a blanket, and had placed it under the stars. We laid, hand in hand, until the sun came up.