AN: I had so much fun coming up with/finding titles for this fic. A few that didn't make the cut: muffin compares to you, cakey breaky heart, all you knead is love.

Stiles didn't know why he'd started baking.

Okay, so that might not be entirely true. It might've actually had everything to do with that time he baked a birthday cake for Erica, and watched the way Derek licked his fingers clean and moaned, sweet heaven that moan.

It started out with birthday cakes and holiday desserts. Then he started baking for pack movie nights and various dinners. Pretty soon he was bringing stuff with him to every pack meeting, and everybody complained that he was fattening them up.

He couldn't stop though. Because every time Stiles watched Derek eat anything he created, it settled something inside him. Stiles found he craved that feeling more and more.

"Jesus, Stiles!" Scott exclaimed as soon as he opened the door to Derek's loft, carrying, yet again, baked goods. This time he'd made cheesecake with raspberry coulis.

"Oh, God, I can't eat anymore!" Erica said, covering her stomach with her arms.

Most of the others groaned in agreement but Stiles strode happily over to the huge table in front of the equally huge window, and set down his dessert.

"Hey, I'm not forcing you to eat, you can choose not to," he said. He did, however, shoot a quick, nervous glance toward Derek, hoping with all hope not to find disgust on his face as well.

But Derek didn't look disgusted. Far from it. He was staring at the container, then nervously moving his gaze to each of his pack members, before looking back to the cheesecake.

"It's cheesecake," Stiles said. Derek's eyes shot up to meet Stiles'. "W-with, um, raspberry. You know, um, on top."

He could swear Derek's pupils dilated, but he was distracted by Scott's voice.

"… just think you're getting a little obsessed."

Stiles shook his head quickly, before looking at his best friend's concerned face.

Stiles set his brows in a determined look. "I'm just baking."

"Stiles," Lydia started. "You know we care about you and we're concerned about you."

Stiles scoffed. "What is this, some kind of intervention?"

Isaac cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at something behind Stiles. When he turned around, he found a banner hanging from the ceiling with the words 'INTERVENTION' spelled out in bright red letters.

Stiles couldn't believe his friends.

"You have got to be kidding me!" he said, turning toward Scott, his best friend.

Scott winced. "Well, we were just, um… maybe I should read you my letter?"

Scott started to reach in his back pocket but Stiles wanted all this to stop.

"No, you know what? I don't wanna hear your letters, and I don't want to stop baking. I might have gotten a little obsessed but it's not like I've become a recluse, like, I still see you guys and my grades aren't dropping."

"Yeah, we know," Isaac said. "But it's a little… weird."

"Said the guy who's trying to get with his friend's ex."

That shut Isaac up, much to Stiles' relief, though he did shoot an apologetic look Scott's way. He's also very glad Allison wasn't present for that particular comment.

"I actually have no objections to you baking, Stiles," Boyd said, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah, me neither," Erica chimed in. "I know I complain a lot but you've gotten so good, I don't mind being fat anymore."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You can't actually get fat, Erica."

"Some of us do not have the metabolism of a werewolf and actually care about our waistlines," Lydia said.

Scott threw out his hands. "Exactly! Thank you, Lydia."

"Please. I'm not arguing your case and I think this intervention is stupid."

Scott's jaw dropped comically. "B-but why did you come with?"

Lydia shrugged. "Thought it'd be amusing. It's not. I'm going home to finish my paper on how girls are discouraged from mathematics by a gender biased toy making industry for social studies. You kids have fun."

With that, she grabbed her purse, flipped her hair back over her shoulder, and left. Stiles was really fucking in awe of her, and grateful as well. He was also starting to realize this was all Scott's doing.

"Yeah, I'm leaving too," Stiles said.

"Wait, Stiles!" Scott said. "I realize this may have been a bit excessive but—"

"A bit?" Stiles said. "Interventions are for real life destroying problems like addiction, and this is frankly ridiculing that."

Scott at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"Goodbye," Stiles said with finality. This time, Scott let him leave.

Stiles was halfway home before he realized he forgot the cake. Shit. Should he go get it? He really didn't want to talk to the guys yet. They probably left though. Everyone knew not to overstay their welcome at Derek's.

So, Stiles reluctantly turned his Jeep around because, even if his friends were still there, he didn't want them eating the cake. Petty? Maybe. He also needed his cake pan back.

Opening the loft door always made him feel like he was making a grand entrance, swooping the huge sliding door aside and having it smack against the hinges. This time though, he really felt it to a comical degree.

No one was there except Derek. Who was standing by the table, expression guilty and alarmed, hurriedly wiping his face, and looking anywhere but at Stiles.

Despite the initial automatic reaction for a threat, Stiles caught on quick to what was really happening in front of him. The cake. And Derek's slightly white beard.

"Oh my fucking god," Stiles breathed out. Derek was binge eating his fucking cheesecake.

Derek simply stood still, like a deer caught in headlights, and Stiles had no idea how to react. Stiles' default mode would always and forever be sarcastic smart-ass though, so the words just tumbled out of him without prompt.

"I just came to get the cheesecake," Stiles said. "You seen it anywhere?"

If he didn't know any better, Stiles could swear he saw Derek's cheeks tint a blushing red. He had been almost certain Derek liked his desserts, going from the sounds Derek tried so hard to repress whenever he ate something of Stiles' creation. It made him positively gleeful to find Derek in this position. Not number one of positions he'd like to find Derek in, but still.

Fuck. Not the kind of thoughts he should be having right now.

Embarrassed and slightly turned on, Stiles tried to backtrack his thoughts and landed on 'just leave'.

Stiles threw his hands over his shoulders and indicated awkwardly at the door. "Imma go, so…"

"Yeah, uh, that's," Derek said, and Stiles waited for a moment for him to finish. When he didn't, Stiles simply nodded and turned to leave. He hated himself for feeling disappointed.

"Hey, Stiles, wait," Derek said, before Stiles could open the sliding door.

Something hopeful lit up in Stiles' chest, but he tried to school his features as he turned around.

"Remember your cake," Derek said, holding up the flower painted cake pan. "I, um… I mean, some of it's been eaten. I hope you don't mind, I know you make them for the pack, but still…" Derek trailed off.

Stiles really couldn't help his word vomit. "Yeah, or just one person in particular."

Hold up. Rewind. Delete word vomit and avoid certain death. Fuck. Derek's doing his eyebrow thing and it's frustrating and arousing at the same time.

"You know, not that it's you, I mean I know you like my cakes but it's not like I'm making them for you I make them for everyone, and, okay maybe I won't make 'em for the others anymore because they're dicks, but then I really will only be making them for you, though, and I'll just shut up and leave now."

Flustered, uncomfortable, and certain Derek knew about his not so secret crush now, Stiles just wanted to leave. He waited for a moment though, still fucking hopeful that Derek will say something, anything.

Derek took his sweet time though, but finally, he cleared his throat.

"Stiles, I don't think you should stop baking. And I'm not just saying that because I love your desserts," he cleared his throat again, and this time Stiles was certain he saw a blush. "You don't even have to make any for me anymore, if you don't want to. Though…"

"Though?" Stiles asked, again with stupid fucking hope.

Derek seemed to search Stiles' gaze for something specific, forest green eyes intensely burrowing into the depth of his soul, or so it felt. For the first time, Stiles thought maybe Derek felt something for him, something more than just timid friendship. Later, he would say it made him brave, but in the moment, it felt pretty stupid. He did it anyway.

"I like you."

Totally stupid.

Derek's eyebrow rose so high, Stiles thought they'd disappear into his hairline.

"Okay, yeah, I said it, I like you. Like a lot. Like I think you're stupidly wonderful and mind-numbingly pretty and fantastically not funny. But even though your jokes are lame you make me laugh anyway, and you let me be in control of the remote even though you always complain about my choices." Stiles practically says it in one breath, pausing to stop his rambling.

"And I really hope you like me too because otherwise it was really cruel to let me ramble on and I already feel like a pathe—"

"Stiles!"

Stiles cringes. "You want me to shut up?"

"Only because I know you were about to say something degrading and not at all truthful thing about yourself, I really can't have people bad-mouthing someone I like."

"You…"

"Yes."

"Oh." Stiles needed a moment for his brain to catch up with Derek's words. When it did, he couldn't possibly stop the wide grin spreading across his face.

"You like me."

Derek huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. And you like me."

"Absolutely," Stiles said, taking a few steps closer to Derek.

"Hmm. What're you going to do about it?" Now Derek was the one moving closer to Stiles.

"What I've thought about doing ever since we first met."

A few steps closer.

"And what is that?" Derek asked, taking the last few steps forward to close the gap between them.

Stiles didn't answer Derek. He simply kissed him.

End note: originally, it was gonna have an explicit rating and would've involved food kink but the boys wanted something different. Maybe I'll make a part two.