Happy holidays in advance ❄️ 🎅 🎄 ! Whenever and if u have time Pl share fics where stiles or Derek have the bad boy image. Thank u!
Hey you! Happy Holidays!! 🎄⛄️🎄 I love it when they're both bad, very 10 Things I Hate about you. 🥰
A High School Cliché. by halelujah | 2.8K
“Are you the one that played a porno in the Principal’s office?” A gruff voice asks.
“Depends if you’re the one that threw a dumbbell through a window.” He drawls, not bothered in moving from his comfy spot.
The Athlete & The Criminal by damnfancyscotch | 12.1K | Explicit
“What’re you doing here, Stilinski? Did you only score half the winning points at the last lacrosse game instead of all of them?”
Stiles snorts and says, “I thought you were locked up, Hale.”
Derek huffs a laugh and drawls, “Not quite yet.”
The Great Pretender by talktowater | 45.2K | Explicit
Stiles is the new kid at Beacon Hills High, class of 1958 and he's trying to make an impression. Derek can't figure out why this kid is so set on making such a bad one.
Six Minutes by CosmoKid | 4.3K
“What do you want?” Derek practically grows when Stiles is near enough to hear. He can definitely feel the werewolf vibes coming from the guy as well as the fuck off vibes that roll off him in tsunami-sized waves.
Stiles has one thing he needs to say to Derek, but he also has eight million questions to ask him about the werewolf thing and he can barely sort out his thoughts as it is, let alone when there’s a ridiculously attractive werewolf who’s basically Adonis staring at him. Derek takes another drag of his cigarette and raises his eyebrows at Stiles expectantly. He shivers and blurts out, “Six minutes.”
Finstock’s Wilderness Camp for Boys by rainsoakedshoes | 12.1K
“What happens if I don’t go?”
“You get charged with breaking and entering, and you will probably serve time in a juvenile facility,” the sheriff said matter of factly. “That’s if you’re lucky enough to be tried as a minor.”
“You’d send your own son to jail?” Stiles asked in disbelief.
“You broke into someone’s home, Stiles!” The sheriff took a breath to compose himself and ran a hand across his face. “And this isn’t the first time. I can’t keep bailing you out of trouble. I don’t have any favours left to call in. Either you agree to go to the camp and clean up your act, or you risk getting tried as an adult.”
Don’t Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite (augopher) | 4.5K
Stiles doesn’t care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School’s resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one’s judgment.
However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).
But you know what they say…never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.
The Best Bad Things by TroubleIWant | 10.5K
“Fuck,” Stiles moans again, squirming desperately against Derek’s crotch. “You gotta - gotta give me something.” He does his best to slide a hand into the back of Derek’s underwear, and gets far enough that his middle finger brushes the base of his spine.
“I am,” Derek says, reaching back to grab Stiles by the wrist. He deftly pins both of the kid’s arms above his head and grins, all teeth.
Stiles goes quiet, then, chest heaving and eyes wide. This is what he’s here for, after all. To feel like he’s doing something dangerous.
"Five Days in Detention" (A Future Song by Stiles Stilinski) by alisvolatpropiis | 3.4K
It’s still preseason, sure, but he needs to be practicing. He led the team to the State semifinals last year, and he’s determined to not only make it to the finals this year, but to win the title. He should be on the field right now, practicing his play calls and prepping for next week’s season opener against Saint Pius.
And he can’t do that if he’s wasting his time in detention with these losers. There are a couple of burnouts lazing over some seats by the window, one kid with his face on a desk, hood over his head, and a few Goth kids are sitting in the back corner, looking surly and morose. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you didn’t listen to such shitty music, he thinks, turning towards his usual seat in the back of the room.
He pauses for the briefest of moments when he sees who’s already sitting there, in the second-to-last row, black-clad limbs spread out, acoustic guitar in his lap, long fingers casually plucking at the strings.
