A hoard of Teen Wolf fanfics

Sciles; Poetry.

Stiles was seated at his desk, bored out of his mind. He was alone, meaning he couldn't whine at Scott or Derek or whoever. He was tapping his pen on the desk, he decided to do some homework to pass the time, he didn't really understand the purpose of homework. It was stressful, boring and wasted people's time.

He swore that teacher's didn't have anything else to do with their lives but torture their students endlessly.

The blank sheet of paper in front of him looked as if it was staring back up at him, begging to be written on. Although Stiles did want to drown his thoughts, he didn't see extra school work as the way to go. Plus, with all that's happened recently with the supernatural- he didn't feel like pouring his heart into a math equation.

At the thought of the word 'heart', he instantly thought of someone. He didn't know why he thought of that individual, but the fact said heart skipped a beat when he thought of that person again made him chuckle at himself.

Oh, who was he kidding. He was totally in love with his best friend; Scott McCall. There was no way around it.

Wait, what in the shit. He actually doesn't care anymore, he just laughs at his own failure and inability to fall for someone he could actually have. And, he was pretty sure he was going insane from the constant tapping of the pen he was holding, yet again; he doesn't really care.

However, what he did care about was the fact the paper was still staring at him. It was practically screaming 'write all over me, ruin me- please and thank you.'

Nobody needs paper screaming at them.

"Fuck it." Stiles said, releasing the pen from it's ultimate doom of being constantly tapped against a table. He was gonna let his emotions fucking flow through the ink and onto the paper, like a waterfall or blood? Yeah, he was definitely fucked up because of this whole werewolf and death life thing-y. He didn't know how to explain it.

'Flashing those eyes like highway signs.

Light one up and hand it over, rest your head upon my shoulder.

I just wanna feel your lips against my skin.

White sheets, bright lights, crooked teeth, and the night life.

You told me this is right where it begins.

But your lips hang heavy underneath me.

And I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me.'

He couldn't believe he was writing this shit. And when he says shit, he means it. It's not like he was going to send the thing, but he couldn't shake the feeling of the embarrassment he would feel if Scott saw it. He'd probably die of a stroke or something.

'I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go.

Is there somewhere you can meet me?

'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings.

And you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.

And I try to refrain but you're stuck in my brain.

And all I do is cry and complain'

It's not like he was lying in what he was writing. If anything, he was doing the 'roast yourself challenge'. Stiles didn't want a debate on whether or not he was useless, but he had his opinions.

One of those said opinions is that this was the cheesiest stunt he has ever pulled.

'I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight.

I didn't mean to fall in love tonight.

You're looking like you fell in love tonight.

Could we pretend that we're in love?'

Those few lines were the lines that would get him ridiculed. It was the sappiest thing he had ever seen- it practically made him want to throw up even though it was himself that wrote it.

Stiles sat back in his chair, deciding whether or not that was enough. He started taping his pen again and scrunching his nose in contemplation. Soon after, he came to the conclusion that he shouldn't write anymore- short poems engage with the audience better.

Even though he wasn't going to have an audience, right?

Sadly, Stiles' self control is not the equivalent of the Great Wall of China- but actually just a run-down fence. Even the slightest of temptations are like a chainsaw against said fence.

And since said self-control is easily destroyed, he managed to put it in an envelope within thirty minutes of writing, but of course he was contemplating life because of that decision.

"Fuck it, I'm not sitting here forever without him knowing my feelings! I'd sooner be tortured for the rest of eternity!"

So, of course he may have been exaggerating. Plus, the decision he made in those thirty seconds- he managed to regret.

Stiles sent the poem.

Who even sends letters these days? Not only is he going to be ridiculed for his school girl crush, but also made fun of because he sent it as a fucking letter.

He was now laying on his bed, stuffing his face in his pillow to suffocate himself. He just did the worst thing imaginable and he knew it.

"Fuuuck, we have school tomorrow." He said, pitying himself.

-Time Skip- Next Day-7:30pm-

Stiles had suddenly got a text. Luckily, school hadn't been that bad and Scott didn't even get the letter he sent. Once he heard the sentence 'What letter?' his world was suddenly Parma Violets and shortcake. He lifted his phone, unlocked it and stared at the message he had just gotten from Scott:

'I got the letter...' It read.

Stiles stared at it some more, suddenly smiling a smile of pure defeat and 'Now would be a great time to fall in a hole'.

He must have had a look of insanity to others, as five minutes of glaring at the screen, his father had asked if he was okay.

"Yep. Everything's just perfect." Stiles responded with sarcasm laced in his voice, but his dad must not have noticed because of the off-putting smile.

He suddenly got a call from Scott. Fuck. But of course he would answer, it's Scott after all.

Thank you so much for reading!
I don't recall if I mentioned this in the description, but everything that will be in this book is my own work. THE SONG IS HALSEY'S 'IS THERE SOMEHWHERE' I USED IT FOR THE POEM BECAUSE UGGHH.

The updates will be random because I'm bad with deadlines.

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xxx