#baker!stiles

TWO WEEKS LATER

          Chocanthropy is what they agree on. It took a teeny bit of persuading, but once he had Scott convinced he’d be home for a couple months taking a break from his internship at the FBI, they rounded up their cash and bought an abandoned building repossessed by the county for a whopping $750 so that they could fulfill Stiles’s dream of opening a bakery together. He’d always had a passion for baking; it was an activity he usually did with his mother but after she’d gotten sick, he just stopped doing it and it was as if that part of him was fading away with her. Stiles wasn’t about to let that happen. Baking was one of the best things his mother had ever taught him, one of the only things rather. He’d made everything from cakes and cookies, to the most incredible chocolate soufflé anyone has ever eaten, so the least he could do was take something he loved and start something for his mom.           Scott hangs the neon sign on the building, the eerie, unconventional font spelling out Chocanthropy in bright purple. The silhouette of a howling wolf curves around behind the lettering and lights up a pale white, contrasting against the blue of the subtext reading Bake Shop. It gives Stiles chills to know that this is theirs. They paid for it.

          “We’re officially open for business.”           Scott gives Stiles a high five as they head back into the shop. The wallpaper is lavender with white crown molding along the border. The dark wood flooring expands the length of the small shop and booths of black vinyl stretch along the right wall. There’s a record player in the corner and a couple dozen strands of string lights running underneath the edge of the dark wooden countertop. Behind the counter is the menu, prominently displayed on a chalkboard hanging from a large piece of gray driftwood bolted to the ceiling. Pastry toppings rest in jars on the shelves along the back wall underneath the menu, a centerpiece for the artwork of wolves and werewolves that hang on the walls, all vintage movie posters from The Wolfman, Lycanthropus, and La Loba.             “The result of our hard work. It’s more perfect than I’d ever imagined.” Scott watches Stiles beam as his amber eyes scan the shop.           “Your mom would’ve loved this, you know. I’m sure she’s so proud of you.”           Stiles smiles, pulling Scott in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you, bro. Thanks.”

He woke up to the sound of birds chattering, mourning doves cooing in the treetops above him while a family of red-breasted robins cheered rapidly in a bush near his head. The scent of dew and California poppy filled his nose as he slowly drifted back into consciousness, not remembering anything from the night before.

With a groan, he pushed himself to his elbows in the damp grass, scrubbing a hand over his face as he took stock of his situation and his all of his surroundings. He squinted his eyes against the bright glare of the rising sun, a pounding headache blooming behind his eyes as he sat up, hunching his shoulders when a wave of soreness washed over him.

He opened his eyes once they acclimated to the scorchingly bright sunlight, scanning over the pinkish blue sky overhead for any indication whatsoever of what time it was. Judging by the robins’ cheery chirping and the light pastel colors painted across the sky, he figured it was still early, probably not a minute past six a.m.

His shirt, at least what was left of it, was in tatters, gray strips of fabric barely clinging to his skin, covered in dirt and mud and what smelled suspiciously like squirrel blood. He ripped off the tattered remains of what used to be favorite t-shirt, balling it up and tossing it beneath a nearby bush, still not entirely sure where he was.

He was glad to see that he was still wearing pants, his dark gray sweatpants having somehow survived the night with only minor damage, mud caked on the legs. However, beyond that, he had no other clothes, stuck barefoot and shirtless in the middle of who knows where. Typical.

This was how he usually woke up the morning after a full moon yet it was still jarring each and every time. He never knew where he was or what he had done, oblivious to his actions the night before until someone informed him of the usually embarrassing things he had done the previous evening under the cover of dark.

He really hoped no one had seen him eat a squirrel. As a werewolf, prey reflected the predator, so the choice of such a meager scrap of food like a squirrel would not go over too well. And he was a Hale, after all, he was expected to be one the most fearsome predators in the Pacific Northwest and eating squirrels just would not cut it. He must have been desperately hungry, the full moon increasing the speed of his metabolic rate nearly tenfold.

Pushing himself to his feet with a grunt, arms and legs aching from all the running he had done the night before, Derek looked around in search of a clue to where in the world he was. He didn’t have to look too far, a bronze plaque on a piece of polished stone declaring the area the Beacon Hills Memorial Park, the scent of young children, dogs, and cut grass confirming the declaration.

Praying no one was at the park so early, Derek chanced a peek out of the little grove he had woken up in, glancing around at the rows of stores lining the streets around the park. There was only place with its light on, a large blue neon sign identifying it as the Blue Moon Bakery, Derek unable to resist snorting at the ironic name.

With no cell phone and the very real risk of someone calling the sheriff’s department to report the crazy, hungover looking guy who was walking around in just a pair of sweatpants, Derek steeled himself jogged across the street to the bakery. When the rich scent of coffee hit his nose he almost moaned aloud, his stomach rumbling loudly as he realized just how hungry he really was, the various scents of the bakery drawing him in.

There was an assortment of a variety of cakes and other pastries on display in the front window, all manners of eclairs and cupcakes staring back at him through the shiny glass window. A notice on the window caught his attention, wrenching him out of his hunger fueled ogling of the decadent looking desserts, the little slip of white paper claiming ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service.’

Wincing, Derek looked down at himself, his slate of undress glaringly obvious but he shook himself, determined regardless of how scantily clad he was. He would just go in, ask to use their phone, call Laura to come pick him up, and be done with it. That was the plan.

Until he opened the door and was hit full force by the scent he had been chasing after for a few years now.

It knocked him back a few feet, the bouquet of indescribable scents nearly knocking him onto his ass. He stood there in the open doorway, frozen in pure shock as the scent washed over him like a cool ray of moonlight, making him feel as though he had just come home after a long trip.

“That you, Allison?” An unfamiliar but devastatingly gorgeous voice called from another room, presumably the kitchen from both the heat and the scent of nutmeg exuding from its doorway, but Derek did not respond. He was struck dumb by the fact that he had finally found the scent that had been eluding him for so long. He had finally found his mate.

It was an intimidating prospect. The discovery of a mate, the first contact between them, was oftentimes described as two stars colliding, a black hole of epic proportions resulting from such a momentous impact. But in the sense of mates, the black hole did not obliterate all light, rather it illuminated the sky, the love between two mates one of the most beautiful, most sacred things in existence.

Many had theorized about the origin of soulmates. Some speculated mates were people whose bodies contained elements from the same stars. Others postulated it was simply a matter of perfect compatibility, two people meeting by pure coincidence who turned out to be extremely well-suited for each other.

But wolves knew. Mates shared souls. Not halves of one soul but two separate souls composed of the exact same, irreplicable elements, both physical and spiritual. It surpassed religion and logic alike, relying solely on nature. And nature made no mistakes.

“You’re pretty early but, hey, I’m definitely not complaining,” a young man commented as he walked into view out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a black dish towel as he strode down the aisle behind the counter. His eyes were focused on his hands as he talked, head bowed as he rambled on about only being on time if you’re early, chuckling to himself about a comment about army dads.

He was…beautiful.

He had pale skin which looked like smooth, polished alabaster, almost the exact same shade of moonlight cascading down from the heavens, like a ray of moon had been woven into silken skin. Dark moles, like earthbound constellations immortalized in flesh, were scattered generously over his cheeks, a few here and there on his forehead and the long column of his throat. The ones on the side of his neck made Derek wonder just how many more he was hiding under his clothes, the inappropriateness of the thought fazing him one bit.

His brown hair was messy and disheveled like he had just rolled out of bed without bothering to comb it, confident enough to not put too much importance on appearance. It looked soft and fluffy to the touch, making Derek want to run his fingers through it just to know what it felt like against his skin. He had never know bedhead could look so unbelievably good.

Under thick, sooty lashes, which looked better suited for someone who advertised mascara than someone who worked in a bakery, was the most mesmerizing pair of eyes he had ever seen in his life. They were a gorgeous burnt umber brown, almost amber in the bright lamps hung above the front counter, deep and fiery like sunsets. Except, he was was sure they were captivating than any sunset.

There was a dab of what looked like melted chocolate on his plump bottom lip, a smear of dark brown on the bright pink of his distractingly full lips. Derek wanted to lick it off of his lips, taste the rich sweetness of both the chocolate and his mouth.

He was tall, maybe just a few inches shorter than Derek himself, and skinny, but not at all scrawny, in fact visibly muscular through his uniform. The sleeves of his black shirt, which had the bakery blue moon logo emblazoned on the left side of his chest, were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his pale forearms that were dusted with dark hair.

He looked absolutely wonderful. And yet Derek couldn’t help but think that he would look better naked. Preferably in Derek’s bed. With a few hickeys scattered over the pallid expanses of his bare skin, maybe even wearing Derek’s mark on his neck.

The thoughts, much more lascivious than usual, sent him reeling. As someone who was painfully used to being objectified by nearly everyone and their mother, Derek immediately felt an intense wave of guilt flood through him, internally berating himself for being so crass. This was supposed to be his mate, after all!

“Oh!” The man behind the counter said in surprise, bringing Derek back to the moment, making him realize he was still standing there in the doorway, holding the door open and gaping like a dumbstruck idiot. Setting the dish towel down on the counter, the man scratched the back of his head and huffed a small laugh himself as he needlessly pointed out, “Uh… Well, you’re not Allison.”

“No…” Derek answered rather unnecessarily, the mere sound of the man’s voice, deeper than he would have expected given his appearance, despite having just heard it a few moments earlier, making him weak in the knees. Fortunately, his white-knuckled grip on the door handle was enough to keep him on his feet, hoping he didn’t somehow end up making a complete fool of himself in front of his mate. “Um, I know the sign say ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ but I had a really weird night and this is the only place open this early so―”

“Ah. Say no more, dude,” the man cut him off, raising a hand to stop him, a small smirk that Derek wanted to kiss quirking the corner of his mouth up. With a little flourish of his hand, he waved Derek over to a small table for two close to the front counter, gently insisting, “C’mon, man. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Derek sighed gratefully, shuffling over to sit in the offered seat, the tiled floor cold against the soles of his feet as he scurried across the room, front door closing with a jingle of the bell fixed at the top of it. He sunk down into the wooden chair while sending the man behind the counter a thankful grin, his aching muscles thanking him for the slight reprieve.

“Some night, huh?” The man asked curiously, eyes lighting up with interest as he looked at Derek. He scanned down Derek’s body, a hint of arousal gracing his scent as he did, Derek sorely tempted to do something stupid like puff his chest or start flexing, wanting to show off a bit for the guy he was pretty sure was his mate. Smirk morphing into a wicked grin, he hummed and theorized, “Let me guess, we’re the only place open on your walk of shame?”

“What?” Derek asked, eyebrow furrowed in thought, trying to figure out what he meant. Realization came a moment later. He sat up straighter, his knee banging against the underside of the table, as he realized the man behind the counter thought he’d had a one night stand the previous night, quickly correcting him, “No! Oh, no! I just, I―”

“Oh, I gotcha!” The man amended, pointing a finger right at Derek while nodded thoughtfully. Leaning his elbow on the counter, resting his chin in the cradle of his palm, he inquired, “So, d’ya want the full moon special, then?”

Derek nearly choked on his own spit, eyes going wide at the very mention of the full moon, his mind running a mile a minute, jumping from one possibility to the next. How did he know? Was he a werewolf, too? An omega? Or maybe one of Satomi’s betas? He didn’t smell like a werewolf, nor any other supernatural creature. Oh god, was he a hunter?

That would be just Derek’s luck: stumbling upon his mate only to find out they were a werewolf hunter. His family would never let him live it down. Peter’s mate being a hunter-turned-divorced single dad, had perfectly demonstrated.

“What?!” Derek just managed to choke out, pounding his fist against his chest as he coughed in a valiant attempt to clear his throat before he started turning blue. Some first impression he was making.

Derek must have looked sufficiently panicked because the man behind the counter, whom Derek was pretty sure was his mate, took mercy on him. He smile politely at Derek and began to explain himself, “You’re a Hale, right?―” he paused for a moment, waiting for Derek to nod in confirmation before he continued “―Then, yeah. I make this coffee with an itty bitty teeny tiny little bit of harmless California rowan mixed in with the coffee beans and it’s pretty much an instant hangover cure for the morning after the full moon.”

Derek blinked. He had never heard of such a thing before. His mate must be a genius! Either that or he was completely out of his mind.

“So…you know?” Derek asked, intentionally vague, aimlessly gesturing to himself, trying to convey ‘werewolf’ without ever saying the word. He awkwardly scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes almost shyly, hoping his terrible little attempt at pantomiming actually worked.

“What? That you’re a werewolf? With the claws and the teeth and the rawr, rawr, rawr?” The man wondered, scrunching his face up into an adorable mien of a werewolf, raising his hands up with his fingers hooked to look like claws. Dropping his hands and the expression, he smirked in amusement at himself, nodding his head emphatically while he elaborated, “Yeah, man. We’re good. Talia Hale was a friend of my mom’s and I went to high school with a few of the turned betas. Oh! And I’m Stiles, by the way.”

Huh. Stiles. Derek like it. It was oddly fitting, unique and beautiful, the way a mate should be.

“I’m Derek,” he introduced himself, raising his hand to give an awkward little wave. He watched curiously as Stiles’ pretty face lit up in recognition, looking endlessly amused.

“Oh, yeah! The infamous Derek Hale! Talia’s son! Erica’s told me a lot about you,” Stiles claimed with a wide grin, flashing his teeth at Derek who could feel his cheeks flush at the mere mention of Erica’s name. He had to wonder just how many embarrassing stories Erica had told Stiles about him, probably telling him all about Derek’s notorious late night wandering during the full moon. As though reading Derek’s mind, Stiles assured him, “Only good things, I swear.”

Somehow Derek didn’t believe him. There was no discrepancy in Stiles’ heartbeat but that could just mean he was pretty adept at lying, another point in favor of him being a werewolf.

Besides, Derek had known Erica since she was sixteen, a good six years now since she had accepted the bite from his mother in order to eliminate her epilepsy, and in all that time he had never known her to keep any embarrassing details about anyone to herself. He still remembered when she had casually brought up her menstrual cycle a few days before her first full moon as a bona fide werewolf.

His skepticism must have shown on his face, probably due to his eyebrows which Laura constantly insisted were so expressive they must be sentient, as Stiles noticeably winced. Backtracking, he amended, “Okay, so maybe not all good things. But mostly good things!”

“Yeah, that sounds a little more accurate. It is Erica, after all,” Derek commented, beaming at the laugh it startled out of Stiles who smacked a hand over his mouth to try to contain the sound. It struck a chord deep inside Derek. He wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed with a nod. Ducking his head to chuckle under his breath, he tacked on, “Y’know, if I didn’t know she was with Boyd, I’d think you two were dating with how much she goes on and on about how hot you are.”

Now that definitely sounded like Erica. She was never one to shy away from blatantly ogling whoever caught her eye, flirting with her friends so often most people who didn’t know her well assumed she was sleeping with all of them.

“Not that she really did you any justice,” Stiles rambled on as he absentmindedly fidgeted with the dish towel on the counter. “I mean seriously, dude. When you first walked in I thought Scott sent you, even though I’ve told him a thousand times to not get me any strippers, especially at work and…and I just called you a stripper. Sorry, man―” he fumbled with the dish towel, gesturing clumsily at the kitchen doorway “―Uh, let me go get you that coffee. And I think we might have some extra shirts in the back. You can use my phone to call someone if you want.”

Stiles tugged his cell phone out of the back pocket of his black trousers, tapping on the screen a few times, probably punching in a code to unlock it, before he set the phone down beside the dish towel on the counter. With a flustered smile, he turned on his heel and hurried back into the kitchen, the strings of the apron wrapped around his waist fluttering behind him as he left Derek to his own devices.

When the scent of coffee beans with a tiny, almost indiscernible, hint of mountain ash started to waft out of the kitchen, smelling innocuous enough, Derek stood to grab the phone off the front counter. He took a moment to admire the picture Stiles had set as his phone’s background ― a red and white picture of Carrie Fisher as Leia Organa, in the original trilogy, holding up a blaster close to her face with the words ‘a woman’s place is in the rebellion’ superimposed on top of the picture in a muted blue.

A thrill running through him at the banal fact that both he and Stiles seemed to share an affinity for Star Wars, he shook his head and forced himself to focus on the task at hand, opening the phone app with a swipe of his thumb. He typed in Laura’s number from memory after he vetoed calling anyone else, fully aware that the rest of the back, save perhaps Boyd and Talia herself, would still be asleep, exhausted from all the full moon festivities.

With two little girls under the age of three, Laura was usually up before the dawn, her daughters Rose and Lily always rising with the sun, the only ones still brimming with energy after the full moon. And right now, Derek would prefer Laura’s obnoxious teasing, accompanied by her own assumptions about him hooking up with someone, to Boyd’s silent judgement or his mother’s over-exuberant, premature talk of marriage and mating ceremonies once he mentioned that he had found his mate.

“Hello?” Laura answered gruffly after the first few rings, her voice still rough with sleep, probably only just waking up. Derek could hear her twins in the background, smiling to himself at the sound of them wrestling around like the playful little pups they were.

“I need a ride,” he said by way of greeting, not wanting to beat around the bush at all, figuring it was best to get everything out in the open as soon as possible. As his mother always said, ‘family secrets make family sick’. Besides, he wanted to brag about his mate as soon as possible.

“Derek?!” Laura screeched, quite suddenly sounding much more awake than she had only a few moments, a growl in her voice. “Where the hell are you?!”

“Good morning to you, too,” he grumbled under his breath for the sole purpose of annoying her, feeling oddly mischievous, the rush of finding his mate more satisfying than the most intense of hunts. But Laura didn’t seem to appreciate his levity.

“Derek Samuel Hale! This is no time for sarcasm! Mom is probably worried out of her mind!” She snarled, sounding furious enough that Derek immediately closed his mouth, feeling like a little kid who had just been scolded by his mother, feeling the urge to bare his neck despite the fact that Laura wasn’t there. She was going to make an amazing alpha one day. After letting out an annoyed huff, she snapped, “Now where the hell are you?”

Tempted to call her out for swearing in front of her children, something she adamantly tried to avoid especially since she usually had the mouth of a sailor, Derek just sighed, ultimately deciding that he preferred being in one piece. Hoping he sounded contrite enough, he softly apologized, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Tell mom she doesn’t have to worry. I’m at the Blue Moon Bakery on Fourth and Laurel.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” she relayed, a rustle of fabric briefly muffling her voice, a yawn following shortly thereafter. With a bit more shuffling audible in the background, Laura inquired, “You said you needed a ride?”

“Yes, please,” he answered politely, not above begging if it was absolutely necessary and he certainly wouldn’t put it passed Laura to make him plead for a ride home just to torture him. She was his obnoxious older sister, after all, it was practically in her job description to make his life a living hell.

“Alright, I’ll put Erica and Boyd on babysitting duty. Let them deal with these hellhounds for a little bit,” she reported succinctly, another yawn punctuating the end of her statement. “Just let me get dressed real quick. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks,” Derek sighed gratefully in relief, watching out of the corner of his eye as Stiles returned from the kitchen with a cup of steaming coffee in hand, a black shirt slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he held a small white plate which hosted an array of pastries and desserts, Derek spotting a chocolate donut and a few sugar cookies along with some mini cream puffs and what looked to be an apple turnover.

“See you in a few, Der,” Laura announced, startling him out of his reverie of gazing at Stiles like a lovesick little pup, staring at him longingly from afar like some hopeless, hapless fool from a Shakespearean play. Turning his attention back to his phone call, he just managed to catch Laura’s parting words, firmly instructing him, “And stay out of trouble until I get there, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he quipped with a smirk, meeting Stiles’ eyes as the other man set down the coffee and plate of desserts on the counter, sending Derek a mischievous, almost conspiratorial, grin of his own. “Thanks again, Laura.”

After receiving no further reply at all from his sister, he hung up, closing out of the phone app. He turned the screen off as he padded over to the counter, handing Stiles his phone back with a grateful smile, mumbling, “Thank you.”

“‘Course, man,” Stiles beamed, twisting to slip his phone back into his pocket, the back of his shirt riding up the slightest bit to show off a tantalizing strip of marmoreal skin, Derek spotting another mole by Stiles’ left hip. Turning back to Derek, he grabbed the shirt off of his shoulder, unfolding it to show it off to Derek; it was a simple black t-shirt, the Blue Moon Bakery logo on the left side of the chest, a larger version of the logo stretched across the shoulders on the back of the shirt.

“I don’t know if it’ll fit or not. It’s probably not your size but it’s the biggest one we have,” Stiles mused as he handed Derek the shirt, careful not to spill the cup of coffee on the counter. A second later, his eyes widened as he hurried to blurt, “Not that you’re fat or anything! And not that there’s anything wrong being fat! I just― You’re tall and with all the muscles―” he squeezed his fingers in the air, as though simulating groping Derek’s muscles, a moment later looking down at his somewhat crude gesture and groaning “―Ugh! You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Derek nodded, smiling to himself at how flustered Stiles had gotten, gesticulating his hands around aimlessly, cheeks flushing an endearing shade of blotchy red. Tugging the t-shirt on over his head, the black cotton soft against his bare skin, the shirt a bit tight at the shoulders but nonetheless much better than strolling around half naked, he repeated himself, murmuring, “Thank you―” he tipped his head to the side and tacked on “―Again.”

“No problem, man,” Stiles mumbled, somewhat bashfully ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks still flushed. Raising his head, he indicated the cup of coffee and the plate of food, announcing, “Oh! Uh, here’s your coffee. And I figured you might be hungry, too, but I don’t know what you like so I just grabbed a bunch of stuff. I remember Laura telling me you have a bit of a sweet tooth but I didn’t wanna just take her word for it.”

Unbelievably touched by the sweet gesture, and the fact that Stiles remembered something about him before he had even met him, Derek reached a hand out to raise the mug of coffee to his lips, breathing in the comforting scent. Still skeptical about the rowan despite Stiles’ assurances that it was totally innocuous, understandably paranoid after his experience with Kate, he took a small sip, Stiles watching with bated breath.

It was…delicious. While usually not a fan of black coffee, or coffee in general for that matter, preferring tea, Derek had to admit that it was wonderful. It was strong and full-bodied with slightly floral notes, almost savory sweet on his tongue, the mountain ash completely undetectable. Moaning quietly, he took another sip, eyes falling closed as he savored the rich taste, already feeling much more awake, much more lucid. Stiles really was a genius!

“So…?” Stiles asked expectantly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he bit his lip and peered over at the mug of coffee in Derek’s hand, clearly fishing for compliments. As well he should, Derek reflected, taking a few more sips, watching raptly as Stiles’ whole face lit up in undeniable pleasure, his own chest swelling at the fact that he had pleased his mate so much just by trying his coffee.

“It’s amazing,” Derek declared, setting the nearly empty cup back down on the counter beside the plate of desserts, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Scanning his eyes over the tiny smudge of flour on Stiles’ cheek, a flash of stark white against the pink flush of his skin, covering up a few of his smaller moles.

“Really?” Stiles pressed, his face splitting into a wide, beaming smile, eagerly awaiting Derek’s response. He was beyond adorable, hands clasped together in front of himself, deep brown eyes bright with eager anticipation as he rambled, “It’s kind of a pet project of mine. Just something I started messing around with after I learned how to make wolfsbane beer. Well, technically it was after I learned how to make wolfsbane vodka but that’s not really the point. The point is―”

“Wait, you make wolfsbane beer? And vodka?” Derek wondered incredulously, unintentionally cutting Stiles off. He tried not to sputter too much, simultaneously hoping he didn’t sound judgemental, the last thing he wanted to do was offend Stiles. “But you’re not a werewolf―” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, discreetly scenting the air “―Unless you’re just really good at hiding it.”

Stiles threw his head back to laugh loudly, clutching his belly as his shoulders shook with the force of his laughter, the sound music to Derek’s ears, glad to see that he hadn’t upset Stiles with his subtle accusation. But as lovely as the sound of Stiles’ laugh was, his eyes were fixated solely on the straining tendons in Stiles’ neck, the pallid column of skin teasing him by offering him a view of unmarked territory, the urge to bite making his gums itch.

“Aww! Well, as flattering as it is that you think little ol’ me could actually fool a Hale, I’m just a plain old boring human,” Stiles announced with a small pout, jutting his bottom lip out as he indicated himself with a flourish of his hand, shimmying a bit. Derek’s eyes may have lingered on Stiles’ hips for a few moments longer than strictly necessary, but he flicked his eyes up to meet Stiles’ just as he wrinkled his nose and tilted his head to the side, amending, “Well, I mean, kinda.”

Derek didn’t know how to respond. How could Stiles only be kinda human? How could anyone, for that matter? It didn’t make any sense.

His confusion must have been obvious, that or Stiles was just extremely perceptive, as he smiled almost self-consciously, a delicate blush on his mole-dotted cheeks. Scratching the inside of his wrist, nails raking over his own pale skin, Stiles clarified rather lacklusterly, “I’m a spark.”

Derek was aghast, his jaw actually dropping as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, gaping at Stiles like he had just witnessed a god descending to the earth, bathing the world in glorious sunshine, offering Derek salvation. Because was a spark. A spark!

The most rare of all emissaries, witches, fae folk, and all other magically inclined beings. Quite literally human manifestations of magic itself, they were capable of the most incredible feats known to the supernatural world.

It was a spark who first turned lead to gold with a mere wave of their hand. It was a spark who condemned Dorian Gray to age only in a portrait until the burden of his sins outweighed the temptation of his hedonism.

But more importantly, more relevantly, it was a spark who first ran with wolves. A spark who first inspired them to walk on their hind legs and speak with human words rather than just howls. A spark who first served as an emissary to a pack of werewolves.

It was a spark who first loved them. First saw them as more than just monsters dwelling in the dark shadows of the unforgiving wilderness. First recognized that they too had hearts and souls.

It was a spark who was the first human to bond with an alpha as their mate, in one fell swoop intertwining the fates of wolves and humans for the rest of time. And now it was a spark who was Derek’s mate.

He was honored. He was humbled. He was still hungry and a little horny. But more than anything, he was completely head over heels.

“You’re-You’re a spark…?” Derek echoed in wonder, voice choked with both pride and disbelief, awe hushing his words so much so that they came out in a soft whisper. He was overwhelmed, mind racing as he tried to comprehend how he had gotten so lucky, so very blessed.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed with an almost embarrassed look on his face, shrugging nonchalantly as a tiny crooked grin tugged at the corner of his lips, cheeks still flushed bright pink. Raising his hand, Stiles fluttered his fingers in front of his face, small aureate sparks erupting in the air around his fingertips. He blinked, flashing his eyes when he reopened them, irises blossoming from amber to a brilliant gilded gold, “Ta-da!”

Derek could feel his own eyes flare in response, the instinct-driven, wolfish part of him immediately responding to Stiles’ spark, drawn to it like the moon. His inner wolf, as many dubbed it, howling longingly deep inside of him, whining for its mate as his eyes blazed bright yellow.

This was unheard of ― a beta having a spark mate. Alphas and sparks were always mates. Always, always, always. As much as the thought repulsed him, Stiles would probably be better suited to being Laura’s mate or their mother’s. Not Derek’s. He didn’t deserve Stiles. How could he?

“Oh, wow! Cool!” Stiles excitedly chirped for no apparent reason, startling Derek out of his self-deprecating thoughts for a few moments, scrambling to find whatever had elicited such an unexpected response. Glancing around the bakery, scanning his eyes over the powder blue walls and white tiled floors, Derek tried to discover the source of Stiles’ amazement.

Finding nothing, at least finding nothing that could reasonably account for Stiles’ sudden exclamation, Derek turned back to Stiles who was, oddly enough, still staring directly at him. Why, Derek didn’t know, wondering what was so very captivating, what was so very interesting. Surely Stiles had seen a beta’s eyes before, right?

“Dude! I didn’t know you were an alpha!” Stiles crowed before Derek could ask what was so fascinating, his words only serving to confuse Derek even further. He wasn’t an alpha. Where the hell was Stiles getting that, of all things, from? Couldn’t he see that Derek’s eyes were yellow, not red?

“Dude!” Stiles reiterated, with a little more emphasis this time, moving closer to Derek from behind the counter, stepping forward until his waist bumped against the edge of the linoleum. Stiles raised his hands to cup Derek’s face, lifting the werewolf’s chin a bit as he tilted his own head to the side, quietly humming in thought, “Huh. Talia never told me her son was a true alpha.”

“Because I’m not,” Derek grunted in vehement denial despite how lovely it felt to have Stiles’ warms hands on him, fingers buried in his five o’clock shadow. His mind was running a mile a minute as he wondered just where Stiles was getting all of this from, seemingly pulling all sorts of crazy ideas out of thin air.

He came embarrassingly close to whining when Stiles dropped his hands, pulling away to take a couple steps back, his retreat making Derek berate himself for saying anything to the contrary. He knew he should have just gone along with it, maybe puffed out his chest like some arrogant alpha peacocking around to impress their desired mate, but the last thing he wanted to do was lie to Stiles.

Not once had he heard of a successful, lasting relationship being built on a lie. Besides, his mother had raised him to firmly believe in honesty, a lesson which he may have learned a little too well, on occasion being harshly blunt.

Trying to refrain from whinging like a spoiled little pup who hadn’t gotten his way, Derek shook himself and focused back on Stiles who was looking thoroughly puzzled himself. Scratching the side of his as he frowned in clear contemplation, Stiles, obviously confused, pointed out, “Then why are your eyes red?”

“They’re not,” Derek protested firmly, coming close to pulling his hair out. How could he make Stiles understand that he wasn’t an alpha? Let alone a true alpha of all things?

“You sure about that?” Stiles countered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice that itself was quickly edging towards annoyed as he crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his hip defiantly. At Derek’s still confused expression, probably looking like a desperate maniac, Stiles pointed towards the display case beside the counter, the polished glass glinting under the lights. “See for yourself, dude.”

Intent on proving himself right, he indulged Stiles’ little request, the way any good wolf worth his hide would indulge their mate’s any whim, and took a few steps to the left towards the display of various desserts. He made a show of rolling his yellow eyes, thank you very much, hearing Stiles scoff off to the side, probably rolling his own eyes which had returned to their earthy chocolate brown hue.

Secure in the knowledge that he was right and Stiles must be pranking him, Derek smirked and hunched over a little bit to look at his reflection. The thick glass was polished enough that it acted almost like a mirror, somewhat obscuring the sight of the many desserts inside the case while reflecting his visage.

His haughty smirk fell off his face like a dead fly. Because in the glass, staring right back at him, where his own eyes. His own red eyes.

Shocked, Derek stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to back away from the case, blinking rapidly in pure disbelief at what he was seeing. He lifted a hand to prod at the skin beneath his eyes as though he could physically feel the change, convinced it must be an illusion, a trick, a cruel prank.

But the proof was staring right back at him in the glass window of the display case, his slightly distorted reflection taunting him without uttering a single word.

It didn’t make any sense. How could he be a true alpha? There had never been any indication, any inkling whatsoever, that he had even the slightest ounce of potential to be a true alpha. And yet there he was in the bakery, his eyes glowing bright red.

“But, I―” Derek tried, at a complete and utter loss for words, fumbling around for what to say. He had only heard something like this happening a few times before when… Whipping his head up, he looked back at Stiles, letting his wide eyes fade back to hazel as he yelped, “You!”

“C’mon, Derek, just sit down and finish your coffee. Eat a little something,” Stiles urged, looking genuinely apologetic, his brows drawn up in a pitifully repentant expression as he waved Derek towards to the table he had sat at when he first entered the bakery. When he stayed frozen to the spot, stilling gaping in shock, Stiles rounded the counter, bending down to slide under the flip-up, and rushed to Derek’s side, laying a hand on his shoulder to start leading him over to the table, urging, “C’mon, Derek. Here, just sit down for a bit.”

He let Stiles guide him back to the table, still in shock from the realization that he actually did know exactly what was going on, the revelation that he was a true alpha rocking him to the core. Taking a seat, he watched Stiles scurry back over to the counter to grab Derek’s coffee and the plate of desserts, both of which he carried to the table, handing Derek his coffee.

It was still hot, the warm weight of the cup in his hand a soothing comfort, tightly curling his fingers around the porcelain mug. Taking a few sips as Stiles took a seat across from him, looking extremely nervous, the stench of anxiety filling Derek’s nose. Stiles didn’t say anything, he just picked up a chocolate donut off the plate and silently ripped it in half, offering one of the halves to Derek who accepted it with a grateful little smile, dipping his head in gratitude.

“I―” Stiles started, just as Derek began, “You―”

“Sorry, go ahead,” Derek insisted gently, dunking his portion of the chocolate donut in his mug of coffee, taking a bite to buy himself some time before he had to painstakingly explain that Stiles was his mate. He had no idea how the spark would react, humans, even those well versed in all things supernatural, were known to have a tendency of responding very poorly to strangers coming up to them and announcing, out of the blue, that they were their mates.

Fortunately, Stiles was already aware of the supernatural. That would spare Derek from having to explain that bombshell, at least.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles exhaled in one big breath, sighing wearily as he slumped back in his chair, eyes cast down to the table where he was picking at the chocolate chips sprinkled on top of his half of the donut with his thumb, watching them scatter across the tabletop. With a brief glance upwards to meet Derek’s eyes for barely a second, quickly looking away, clearly guilty, he elaborated, “I’m sorry. I should’ve just believed you. I thought you were messing with me, but you obviously weren’t. I mean, how could you not know you were a true alpha, y’know? I’m just―”

“You’re my mate!” Derek blurted, unable to hold back any longer, completely cutting off whatever needless apology Stiles was about to issue, leaving the other man sitting perfectly still in his seat, blinking in both blatant surprise and pure confusion. Taking the deepest breath that he could manage, hoping to steel himself for what he was about to say, Derek barreled on, wanting to get everything out in the open, “You’re my mate. That’s how I’m a true alpha, that’s why I only presented after meeting you. Sparks and alphas are always mates. Always. You’re why I’m a true alpha, Stiles. You’re my mate.”

Stiles was silent for a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity, the only sound in the bakery the ticking of the clock on the wall and the pounding of Derek’s heart reverberating in his head. Derek watched Stiles break off a small piece of his donut, popping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in a tight frown.

Licking his lips after swallowing, Stiles set his donut down on the table, wiping the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb, a chocolate chip stuck to the bow of his pink lips. Looking back up at Derek, he canted his head to the side like a curious fox kit and softly asked, “How do you know? That I’m your mate, I mean.”

“Your scent,” Derek breathed out in a rush, whispering it like a benediction, wanting to make Stiles understand somehow, the concept often incomprehensible to humans. “For a few years now I’ve been chasing this scent all over Beacon County and when I walked in here I finally found it. It’s you. It’s your scent. You smell like home―” he ducked his chin, feeling his ears burn as he admitted, “―You-You smell like mine.”

“Oh.”

It was just one word, uttered by Stiles with no discernible trace of emotion in his voice. It was just one single little syllable, more of a startled out vocalization, like a cat chirping in surprise when woken from a leisurely nap, than a true statement. It was just one word but Derek’s whole future hung on it, the very real possibility that Stiles might reject him looming above them.

Eyes still fixed on the tabletop, Stiles traced absentminded patterns onto the polished wood, skating around the discarded chocolate chips. Chewing his lip, looking flustered and red, he softly started, “Well, I―”

The loud, jarring blare of a car horn made them both jump in their seats, Derek nearly spilling the remainder of his coffee all over the table just as Stiles almost tumbled out of his chair, flailing around rather spectacularly, clutching a hand to his chest over his heart. Derek twisted his head around to peer through the large glass window at the front of the bakery, wondering who was the asshole honking their horn at six thirty a.m. in the morning.

He wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised to discover that said asshole honking their horn at six thirty a.m. in the morning was none other than his obnoxious older sister, immediately recognizing her car. She was in her bright, candy apple red Mustang, idling in the middle of the street directly in front of the bakery, the only car on the road so early aside from the battered light blue Jeep parked out front, the ruby hued car glinting in the morning light as she waited.

Laura honked her horn again a few times, patience never one of her virtues save for when she was dealing with her daughters, flashing her headlights for good measure, making absolute sure everyone in the immediate proximity was aware that she expected Derek to hurry up already. Derek scrubbed a hand over his face as he sighed in defeat, worried he had ruined whatever he could have ever even hoped to have with Stiles by stupidly throwing caution to the wind and blurting out a rushed confession in a burst of dumb confidence.

“Uh, that’s Laura… I, uh, I guess I should go,” he mumbled softly, words almost inaudible as he stood from his chair, scratching the back of his neck, feeling extremely awkward and unbelievably vulnerable. He kept his eyes on the floor to avoid the polite rejection that he was sure was painted across Stiles’ face, occupying himself by counting the rows of stark white tile.

Stiles, too, stood from his seat, the legs of his chair scraping stringently against the floor as he did, Derek wincing when the shrill sound echoed in his more than sensitive ears. He shook himself as he started walking to the front door, Stiles following closely behind, almost as if he was walking Derek to the door after a date, only Derek was sure he wouldn’t be getting a goodnight kiss.

Stiles’ hand shot out to open the door for Derek in what would be a polite and chivalrous gesture if Derek wasn’t so sure he had only done it to get Derek out of the bakery quicker, certain he had ruined whatever slim chance he might have had with Stiles, who was so completely out of his league. The one time he decides to actually use his words, departing from his usually reticent, downright grumpy demeanor, and he screws everything up. Lovely.

“I…” Derek started, turning back to face Stiles, his words getting lodged in his throat as he traced his eyes over Stiles’ features, trailing off as he commit the exact shade of Stiles’ eyes to memory, not wanting to ever forget. He didn’t want to forget the curve of Stiles’ lips, the exact pattern of moles along his cheek, the tiny cleft in the tip of his upturned nose. He didn’t want to forget anything.

With the sound of Laura leaning heavily on her horn ringing in his ears, he mustered a tight smile and very quietly murmured, “Thank you. And…I’m sorry.”

He took in one last greedy inhale of Stiles’ enthralling scent, sure it was the last time he would be able to smell it in its pure, unadulterated form. The soft scents of the bakery did not tarnish it in the slightest, instead complementing the notes of spice with nutmeg and cinnamon, not the way the stenches of the rest of the town sullied it, adding the reek of too many other people.

Derek was certain he would smell it again, while on his daily runs through the local park a few blocks away, or on his drive to work, usually rolling his window down to feel the wind on his face before he was stuck in a lecture hall for eight hours, probably looking like a mad man as he sang loudly and off-key in his Camaro.

And he was sure he would still chase after it in the middle of the night during full moons, his more instinctual half demanding he go to his mate and in all probability, the drive would be amplified by the fact that now he had actually met his mate. He just hoped he didn’t wind up tracking down Stiles wherever he lived to go howl outside his bedroom window, serenading both he and his neighbors with a lupine aria in the middle of the night.

Kicking himself, he turned and walked out of the bakery, curling his hands into fists at his sides as he strode the short distance to the Mustang, catching sight of Laura tapping her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently, gesturing for him to hurry his ass up. He just ignored her, taking his sweet time as he crossed the sidewalk to her car, rolling his eyes at her theatrics as he opened the door to the passenger side, glad to find she had already unlocked it for him.

“Well, you look like shit,” Laura announced as he slid into the passenger seat, tugging the car door closed behind himself with a loud slam. She gave him a dubious once over, quirking a skeptical brow at him as she hummed judgementally, something he knew only her, Erica, and their mother to be capable of.

“Gee, thanks, Laura,” he sighed, not in the mood for any friendly, good-natured sibling banter, just wanting to go home curl up into a ball in his nice, warm bed, just pull the covers over his head and shut the rest of the world for awhile. He could probably call out of work for a few days without any serious repercussions. Hell, his students would probably thank him for it.

His family would probably be pretty understanding, too, once he told them about everything. With Peter having spent three months moping, angsting over the fact that his mate was a hunter, an Argent no less, before he finally decided to take a leap of faith and pursue his mate, his family was used to broody werewolves agonizing over their mates.

“Aren’t you in a good mood,” Laura commented dryly as he buckled his seat belt, thoughts of his warm bed back home a tall stiff drink filling his head, the prospect of just going back to sleep extremely appealing. Maybe if he asked nicely Laura would pick him up some wine and ice cream to drown his sorrows in. When did most liquor stores open, anyway? Laura distracted him from his self-pitying thoughts by hmph-ing loudly, tacking on, “You borrow a shirt?”

Derek looked down at himself, running his thumb over the hem of the Blue Moon Bakery t-shirt he had almost forgotten he was wearing, the black cotton soft against his skin, Stiles’ scent clinging lightly to the material. He was extremely glad Stiles hadn’t asked for the shirt back, now having something tangible that smelled like his mate that he could cuddle up to in the middle of the night, he didn’t care how pathetic it was.

Belatedly realizing that Laura was expecting an answer, he snapped his head up to meet her waiting gaze, confirming, “Oh, yeah. Stiles gave me it.”

“Ooh, yeah, that’s right! You finally got to meet Stiles!” She hooted, a wide smile on her face, abruptly reminding Derek that the rest of his family already seemed familiar with Stiles. All of her impatience to leave gone in the blink of an eye, she pressed, “So? He’s pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, hoping his acquiescence hurried her along a bit, feeling incredibly awkward just sitting in front of the bakery. Stiles probably thought he was even more of a weirdo, lingering out front after making a complete idiot of himself. “Yeah, he is.”

“He’s the best,” Laura asserted, shifting her attention to fiddling with the radio, changing it to a different rock station, this one with much less static. Tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear, she announced, “Think I might ask him to be my emissary once I’m the alpha.”

Feeling an unusual mix of pride, at the possibility that Stiles might attain such an honored position amongst the pack, and dread, at the fact that such a thing would force them to be in close proximity while working together within the pack, Derek managed to grit out, “Look, I just want to get out of here and go home. Can we go please?”

“Geez, what crawled up your ass?” She snapped, whipping her head around to gawk at him quizzically. A moment later, her expression shifted into a wicked, wolfish smirk as she demanded, “Oh my god! Did something crawl up your ass? Derek, did you get laid last night?!”

“No, Laura,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands, feeling his headache flaring up behind his eyes, suddenly more in need of that bottle of wine than he had been a few minutes ago. Lifting his head to lean back heavily against the leather seat, he practically begged, “I’ll tell you about it later, okay? Can we please just go, now?”

“Okay, alright,” Laura relented eventually, raising her palms in surrender, the ornate silver band on her left ring finger glimmering in the dawn light. Shifting into drive while slightly lifting her foot off the brake, she informed him, “But I’m not letting this go.”

Derek didn’t expect her to. He knew her too well to think she would. He was about to tell her as much when the sound of someone’s voice interrupted him, calling out, “Wait!”

Derek twisted in his seat, looking out the window to see who had yelled, eyes scanning over the sidewalk and the row of storefronts along it. He honed in on Stiles rushing out of the bakery, a white paper bag in his hand, looking absolutely harried, his bedhead even messier than it had been before, as though he had been running his hands through it.

His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusions, all kinds of scenarios racing through his head from the most banal to the most horrific. He was worried that Stiles might be hurt, maybe cut his hand on some piece of baking equipment, terrified that maybe something else even more horrible had happened.

“Wait! Laura, wait! It’s Stiles!” He urged his sister, smacking her upper arm as Stiles got closer to the car, his face flushed from the jog, moles standing out against the blotchy red of his cheeks. Laura stepped back on the brake, the car jolting forward a bit as she did, Derek nearly smacking his forehead against the window in his haste to roll it down. “Stiles? What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just―” he lifted up the white paper bag for Derek to see “―I thought you might still be hungry,” Stiles said, panting a bit in a way that wasn’t at all distracting, Derek definitely not thinking about him panting just like that in a different, more private setting. Running a hand through his hair, Stiles shrugged and handed Derek the bag with a small smile, adding on, “On the house, of course.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Derek muttered, gratefully accepting the bag, trying not to be disappointed that Stiles had only rushed out of the bakery to deliver some pastries. At least now he had something sweet and decadent to munch on while he wallowed in self-pity and wine. Chocolate went with a nice merlot, right?

“And I wanted to give you something else…”

Derek didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t Stiles’ leaning in close to press his lips to Derek’s.

He gasped in surprise, completely taken aback, as Stiles moved his mouth against his, lifting a hand to cup Derek’s cheek. He combed his fingers through Derek’s thick stubble, scratching his nails through the coarse dark hair, bracing his other hand on the car door.

After a short moment of hesitance, not convinced it was actually happening, Derek responded, a sudden burst of confidence and recklessness goading him into moving his lips against Stiles’ petal soft ones. A small, happy rumble sounded low in Derek’s chest, a wolfish purr reverberating through him as he savored the addictive taste of Stiles’ lips.

As he leaned further into the car, craning his neck at an awkward angle, Stiles deepened the kiss, humming against Derek’s lips as though to answer the werewolf’s thunderous rumble. He very gingerly swiped his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip, as though worried how he might react, before breaking the kiss all too soon, licking his lips with a shy smile.

“Since you’re my mate and all,” he explained, still running his thumb over the rough grain of Derek’s cheek, pinky finger rubbing the smooth skin by his ear. His warm breath wafted over Derek’s damp bottom lip as he spoke, the taste of chocolate and Stiles lingering in Derek’s mouth. Tilting his head up, Stiles waved at Laura, cheerfully greeting, “Hey, Laura!―” he turned back to Derek, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper “―Guess I’ll see ya around, Derek.”

“Yeah…” Derek murmured while Stiles turned on his heel to walk back to the bakery, waving at them again as he slipped back inside the bakery, a wide grin still on his face. Derek found his own face splitting into a bright smile, a swarm of butterflies in his stomach as his hopes for the future rose, his situation looking so much better than he had, suddenly feeling much more optimistic.

“What the hell was that?!” Laura screeched, breaking him out of his little reverie to blink at him owlishly, eyes comically large as she gawked at him like he had two heads. He just smiled and bit his lip, still riding the high Stiles’ kiss had given him, ignoring her question until she irritably reiterated her question, growling, “Derek! What the hell just happened?!”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Derek promised, looking back over his right shoulder at the bakery, feeling positively giddy. If this is how mornings after a full moon went, with kisses from Stiles, he could definitely get used to full moon nights. And really, it was about time.