ONESHOT — “GREEN EYES DON’T LIE”
Sterek — canon-adjacent, post-Nogitsune, trauma bonding, mutual obsession, dark fluff, soulmates, marking, bite acceptance, idiots in love, possessive both ways.
Stiles first notices it in Derek’s eyes.
They’ve always been green, sure, but not like this—
not like alive, not like they’re looking straight through the world and finding only him worth focusing on.
Maybe it’s the way Derek watches him now.
Like Stiles is something hunted or holy—Derek can’t seem to decide which.
Stiles pretends he doesn’t notice.
Because he’s already too aware—painfully aware—of the way Derek is filling in all the empty spaces the nogitsune left behind. Too aware of how badly he wants to be held, to be claimed, to be kept safe.
Too aware that his crush is no longer a crush.
It’s a whole-ass disease, crawling under his ribs.
“Get in,” Derek says one night, leaning out the window of his black Camaro, engine rumbling like a promise.
The sound of that car always does something to Stiles’s spine.
Stupid, really. It’s just a car.
Just metal and paint and horsepower and the faint lingering scent of Derek’s leather jacket and aftershave and—
“Stiles.” Derek’s voice drops an octave. “Ride with me.”
It really, really doesn’t.
The Camaro’s interior smells like pine, gun oil, and Derek Hale.
Stiles sinks into the seat and tries not to melt. Derek drives one-handed, the other resting on the gearshift like he owns the world.
A pressure, like blooming petals and swallowed words.
He’s terrified it’s hanahaki.
Because of course it would be.
Of course he would fall in love with Derek Hale, who has been avoiding him for months.
Derek’s gaze flickers to him again.
“Are you alright?” Derek asks softly.
Derek growls—not angry, but annoyed that Stiles isn’t giving him the truth.
The sound hits Stiles low in the stomach.
“I can hear your heart,” Derek says. “It’s—fast.”
“Maybe I’m excited,” Stiles shoots back.
Derek’s jaw flexes. “Are you?”
Stiles turns to the window. “Shut up.”
But Derek keeps looking at him with those impossible green eyes that promise more than Stiles has ever let himself hope for.
Derek parks on a lonely forest road, kills the engine, and sits there in the dark.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asks.
Derek doesn’t look away. “Because you’re not okay. And I need to know why you didn’t come to me.”
Stiles laughs, weak and cracked. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re mine,” Derek says.
Derek flinches the second the words leave him, looking away like he’s embarrassed, like he expects ridicule, rejection, distance.
“Sorry,” Derek mutters. “It’s—instinct. Ignore it.”
“I don’t want to ignore it,” he says.
Derek’s head snaps toward him.
The full force of his gaze slams into Stiles’s chest, knocking the air out of him. Derek’s pupils are blown wide, eyes glowing faint green in the dark.
“You don’t?” Derek asks, voice low.
“No,” Stiles whispers. “But you—you can’t just say stuff like that. You don’t—You don’t feel—”
“You think I don’t feel anything?” Derek breathes, incredulous.
Stiles’s chest tightens painfully. “I think I’m imagining everything.”
A warm hand cups Stiles’s jaw.
Stiles feels like the world drops out from under him.
A petal falls into his palm.
Derek sees. Of course he sees.
He goes utterly, terrifyingly still.
And Stiles wants to crawl into the earth and die.
“Don’t,” Stiles whispers. “Just—don’t.”
“Tell me,” Derek insists.
“Stiles.” Derek’s voice breaks.
Stiles presses the petal to his chest like he can hide it there. “It’s you, okay? It’s—you.”
Derek shudders like Stiles just slammed claws into his heart.
Not fast—slow. Careful. Like Stiles will bolt. Like Stiles is fragile, precious, breakable.
He takes Stiles’s hand, unfolding his fingers from the petal.
Green eyes lock onto honey-gold.
“You’re dying because you think I don’t love you?” Derek whispers.
The air punches out of Stiles’s lungs.
“I didn’t think you wanted me,” Stiles admits raggedly. “I didn’t want to make things worse. You’ve already lost too much. I didn’t want to be another problem for you—”
“You are not—have never been—a problem,” Derek growls. “You’re the only thing that’s kept me alive.”
Stiles’s throat tightens. “Derek—”
“And you think I don’t want you?” Derek’s voice breaks again. “I—Stiles, you’re—”
Derek pulls Stiles into his lap.
Stiles goes willingly, shaking, breath stuttering.
Derek noses along his throat.
Scenting him like claiming territory he waited too damn long to touch.
Stiles is trembling, but not from fear.
“Tell me to stop,” Derek rasps.
Stiles fists his shirt. “Don’t you dare.”
Derek’s breath hitches. “Mate.”
The word hits Stiles like a lightning strike.
And then Derek sinks his teeth into the junction of Stiles’s neck and shoulder.
Pain flares bright and gorgeous.
Stiles gasps, clutching at Derek, holding him closer, gasping his name like prayer and surrender at once.
Derek licks the mark soothingly, whispering, “Mine. Mine. Mine,” between breaths.
They sit in the Camaro, Stiles still in Derek’s lap, Derek still holding him like he’ll never let go.
“You feel different,” Stiles murmurs.
“You smell like me,” Derek admits, flushing faintly.
hesitant, vulnerable, everything Derek hides from the world—
He presses their foreheads together.
“You can stay with me tonight,” Derek whispers. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
Stiles melts against him. “I was waiting for you to ask.”
Derek’s voice goes soft and possessive. “I’ve been waiting for you for years.”
Derek kisses back like Stiles is oxygen.
The Camaro hums around them.
And Stiles feels, finally, like he’s home.