@lumenlight prompted me, “Sterek AU where Stiles tries to seduce Derek but Derek has the habit of only dating older people (Jennifer, Kate …). So he says no to Stiles and Stiles is really disappointed but by chance he keeps seeing Derek and with time Derek realizes that he may have made a mistake?”
Hope you like it!!
~4000 words, rated M. (I don’t usually write smut, but I felt like this was that kind of prompt.)
Stiles usually doesn’t venture as far out of town as the Preserve—there’s not much out here but trees—but today that’s kind of the point. If he’s going to start up a jogging regimen to prep for lacrosse in the fall, he’s sure as hell not going to do it in his own neighborhood, where all his neighbors can (and will) watch him flailing around looking stupid.
He doesn’t actually end up jogging at all, though, because before he finds the trail he’d marked on his map, his Jeep abruptly sputters and dies on him right in the middle of the road. That’s also about when it starts raining.
“Oh, come on,” Stiles groans, hitting his head on the steering wheel a few times.
He pulls out his phone to call someone—his dad, a tow truck, Scott—and there’s no signal. Right. Because he wanted isolated, and he got it.
There’s no sound at all except the drumming of the rain on the roof of the Jeep, coming down harder and harder, taunting him for being such a fucking idiot.
He thinks about waiting it out, but who knows how long that could take, and if he doesn’t make it back home in time for dinner or at least get somewhere where he can make a phone call, then his dad is probably going to think he got eaten by a mountain lion or something.
“Fuck it,” he mutters. He pockets his phone and keys, grits his teeth, and jumps out into the downpour.
He has to walk for about twenty minutes before he finds any sign of civilization. It’s a house, or at least part of one. It’s tucked away down a long dirt driveway on the edge of the Preserve and looks sketchy as hell. It’s been burned, badly, and even though it looks like maybe someone’s been fixing it up, it’s still not exactly what Stiles would call habitable. Part of the charred roof is caved in, and most of the windows on the second floor are shattered, their jagged glass gleaming ominously in the dim light and the rain.
Stiles would assume it’s abandoned, except that there’s a shiny black Camaro parked out front. That at least looks well cared for.
It’s that detail, plus the rather compelling fact that this is probably the only house for at least a mile and Stiles can feel his feet starting to rub raw in his wet tennis shoes, that finally gives him the courage he needs to squelch his way through the mud and onto the porch to knock on the door.