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Softiewolves and Kisses in the Rain

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“I’m wet.”

“I can see that.”

“Derek, I’m soaked to the bone and not a happy camper right now.”

Derek rolled his eyes, giving Stiles a flat look. The jeep had decided to break down in the middle of nowhere and when it had started making strange noises, Derek had made him climb out. Now they were standing on the side of the road in the rain, and Stiles was not happy about it.

All he had was a measly sweatshirt, dammit. He was freezing, soaked to the bone, and he blamed Derek who had decided tonight was a good night for a stakeout regarding the new omega that had been reported running around the preserve. It was not a good night. Stiles did not agree.

“What if the omega comes and rips out our throats?”

“I’m an alpha, Stiles.”

“What if the omega comes and rips out my throat?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Stiles frowned, burrowing even deeper into his hood. Not like it did much good, the red material sticking to his skin like glue. He shivered again and Derek gave him a long look before stripping off his own jacket and moving over, pulling it over Stiles’s shoulders.

Stiles still squawked, trying to shake him off, but Derek didn’t relent until Stiles was wrapped in leather warm goodness and then the man was the one getting soaked instead.

Stiles glared at him.

“Okay dude, that was pointless. Now you’re wet!”

“I’m a werewolf.”

“Okay, then. Now you’re a wet doggy.”

Derek gave him a flat look but Stiles just shrugged. Derek using ‘I’m a werewolf’ or ‘I’m an alpha’ whenever he didn’t have a better point was so not going to fly. Stiles was a human. Now that was a good excuse. Being a werewolf was not.

Still, Derek’s leather jacket was warm and Stiles would complain a lot more if he wasn't literally shivering. So instead, he just stuffed his hands into the jacket’s pockets and accepted the warmth, the chattering of his teeth finally dying down.

Derek still looked disgruntled.

“Let’s get back in the car.”

“What, aren’t you scared it’s going to like, blow up or something?”

“I don’t trust that piece of junk.”

“Call Roscoe a piece of junk again, dude, and I’ll tell Scott to leave you here when he shows up.”

Derek just grunted, opening the driver’s door before moving around to the passenger’s side. Stiles sighed, pulling his dripping self onto his poor leather seats. They couldn’t get ruined. He didn’t have the money to afford to replace anything. Not like that would matter, though, if the noises it had made earlier had meant something.

Still, Stiles stuck the key into the ignition and twisted. Of course, nothing happened. Stiles groaned and pulled them back out.

“I’m a jobless teenager, Derek. I don’t have the funds to fix this.”

“I could help.”

“Shut up, you’re not my sugar daddy.”

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles rolled his eyes, watching the rain hit the windshield again. The silence reigned for a moment before Stiles realized he was still wearing Derek’s jacket. Snapping back to reality, he tried to shrug it off, but his arms got stuck when he was halfway out.

Stiles grunted a wiggled around a little. Derek watched him, looking bemused.

“Uh, a little help, dude?”

“Keep it on.”

“Oh, so now you like seeing me in leather?”

Derek’s face turned red all the way to his ears and he looked away. Stiles blinked at the reaction, but carefully pulled the jacket back on again, silence filling the car again.

Then he sighed, pulling out his phone. Only to see a new text he hadn’t seen earlier.

Stiles groaned. “Scott’s not coming.”


“Something with Allison came up. He needs his mom’s car to drive over to her house.”

“It’s past midnight.”

“You want to call and tell him that?”

Derek just shrugged and held out his hand, but Stiles pulled it right back into his chest. There was no way he was letting Derek have any conversations with Scott. The man would say something wrong and Stiles had no doubts Scott wouldn’t talk to either of them for a week. Or longer.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “None of the betas have cars?”


“Can they drive the Camaro?”

“I’m not letting any of them drive my Camaro.”

“Not even Boyd?”


“Dude, we’re currently stuck in the middle of nowhere and you won’t even let Boyd—”

“Would you let him drive the jeep?”

Stiles snapped his jaw shut, giving the man the stink eye. But Derek had a point. Stiles would never let anybody drive his precious baby, even if his life depended on it.

Okay, maybe he would then. But only then.

“So what,” Stiles said. “You just want to spend the rest of the night out here?”

“Call your dad.”

“You want me,” Stiles said, staring. “To call my dad. To come get us. The literal Sheriff of Beacon Hills. You want me to call him to come pick up his teenage son and the nearly ex. convict alpha werewolf from the middle of nowhere after midnight.”

Derek’s frown deepened. Stiles groaned.

“This is just great.”

Suddenly, Derek reached over him and grabbed Stiles’s keys, sticking them back in the ignition and twisting. Stiles yelped, then glared darker at the man, but suddenly his jeep was making a strange noise. A rumbling. Stiles nearly stumbled right back out the door, sure it was going to blow up or something, before he realized that Roscoe was on.

Stiles blinked, then looked over at Derek with wide eyes. The man looked a little smug.

“Guess it just needed a bit of encouragement.”

“First of all, Roscoe is a she. Second of all, you called her a piece of junk earlier and if you ever touch my keys again, I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.”

Derek’s eyes sparked red for a moment. Stiles froze, a shiver raced down his spine, and then they both looked away.

Stiles pushed the gear shift into drive and pulled back onto the road.

The drive back to the loft was a quiet one. Every time Stiles thought about opening his mouth and saying something, he’d glance over and clamp it shut again. By the time they were back in the loft parking lot and the rain had died down to a dull drizzle, Stiles was a ball of untapped energy.

“So, we’re here.”

Derek glanced over at him, raising a brow. Stiles instantly felt stupid.

“I should probably go back home.”

“Your dad won’t mind the time?”

Stiles winced. In truth, he was pretty sure his dad was on a night shift, so he wouldn’t even notice. He nearly said that but then he paused, slowly shrugging. “Uh, he might?”

“You could say here.”

“At the loft?”

“You’ve done it before.”

Stiles had. He would stay all the time when he was researched-out or there was one of the later pack movie nights. So this wasn't much different, right? A late night. A broken-down car.

Stiles still hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. The man’s face was unreadable. “Come inside.”

Stiles huffed and nodded, pulling himself back into the rain. He stripped the leather jacket back off first, though, offering it back out to Derek as he moved around the car. The man just looked at it and then back at Stiles.

“Keep it on.”

“Dude, I’m not stealing your jacket.”

“It’s not stealing if I tell you to keep it.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. His arm wavered and Derek rolled his eyes, pulling the jacket from his grasp. But instead of pulling it on himself, he moved closer and wrapped it back around Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles blinked up at him, raindrops collecting on his eyelashes and running down his face, and suddenly Derek was brushing them away.

As if that would do anything. Stiles blinked a few times, pretty sure he should pull away. He should, right? This was… this was not how the stakeout was supposed to go. Stiles had not come equipped with the mental capacity for whatever this was.

“Derek, dude—”

Then there were gentle lips brushing against his.

Stiles froze, his brain dropping to his shoes before he realized that Derek was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him.

Stiles didn’t really have a chance to realize that. Or that he wasn’t reacting and suddenly, Derek was pulling back, the man’s lips gone from his own. Stiles blinked at nothing for a moment before fixing his gaze back on Derek’s face, who looked both terrified and ashamed. Slowly, Stiles came back to reality.


“Sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Derek, kiss me again.”

Derek froze, eyes widening even more. Groaning, Stiles moved forward and shoved their lips back together, tasting rain on Derek’s lips. For a moment, he was terrified Derek would pull away again, but then Derek growled and kissed him harder, fingers curling around the sleeves of Stiles’s jacket as he pulled him closer.

Rain dripped into his eyes and Stiles was pretty sure even the jacket wasn’t doing anything anymore. But he didn’t care, carding his hand through Derek’s hair before they traced down his neck and just stayed there, keeping the man as close as possible.

Kissing in the rain was such a cliche. Stiles hated it.

He kind of didn’t.

When they broke away, they were both panting. Stiles laughed, unable to stop himself and when he met Derek’s gaze again, there was a soft, happy smile on the man’s face. Stiles felt his own, biting down on his lower as he tilted his head.

“You’re such a Softiewolf, Derek.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Aw, this was a moment? You totally planned this, didn’t you? Softiewolf.”

Derek just rolled his eyes and caught the collar of Stiles’s jacket, pulling him toward the loft. Stiles squawked and the man ignored him, though when Stiles caught his gaze, the man was still grinning. So Stiles just relaxed and let himself be pulled along.

The moment they were inside, Derek was kissing him again. Pushing him up against the wall, hands on his waist, and kissing him hard. And Stiles grinned around his lips. 

Now, this was a moment.

And it was so worth getting soaked to the bone for.