Archive of Our Own ^beta

The loft smells like sugar, cinnamon, and frosting—and Stiles is absolutely thriving in the chaos. He glances at the table, which Lydia has meticulously arranged with gingerbread kits, tubs of icing, and a seemingly endless array of colorful candy. He also glances at Derek, who looks like he’s considering throwing himself out the nearest window.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Derek mutters, arms crossed as he eyes the pile of gingerbread pieces like they’re a threat, his mind drifting to how everything about this event screamed chaos—something he wasn’t particularly good at handling.

“Excuse me, sourwolf,” Stiles retorts, pointing at him with a candy cane, the sweet peppermint scent lingering in the air. “This is going to be a masterpiece. You’re looking at the Michelangelo of frosting over here.”

Derek arches an eyebrow, his expression an unimpressed wall of stoicism. “Michelangelo sculpted marble.”

“Exactly,” Stiles says, undeterred. “Same concept. Different medium. Also, don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing my candy cane. You’re this close to being fun, Derek.”

Derek sighs, long-suffering, the kind of sigh that comes from a place of both annoyance and reluctant affection, but before he can reply, Lydia claps her hands and calls the room to order.

“Alright, listen up!” Lydia announces, stepping into the room with authority. “We’re doing this in pairs because I can’t deal with everyone’s incompetence. There are kits, rules, and there will be a winner. Questions?”

“Yeah,” Erica says, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Who gets to pick the winner? Or is it just you pretending to be impartial?”

Lydia fixes her with a withering look. “Melissa is coming over later to judge.”

“Wait, Melissa is judging?” Stiles blurts out. “Why wasn’t I told? That’s biased. She loves Scott way more than me.”

“She’s judging the houses, not you, Stiles,” Lydia says dryly. “Though if she was judging you, she’d probably dock points for that shirt.”

Stiles looks down at his plaid flannel. “Hey, this is a classic.”

“You’re a classic,” Derek mutters under his breath.

Stiles whips his head around, his ears burning. “Did you just—was that an insult or a compliment?”

Derek avoids his gaze, and Stiles is left flustered enough to miss whatever argument Erica and Jackson are having in the background.

“Teams are as follows,” Lydia continues, completely ignoring the tension bubbling at the table. “Scott and Allison, obviously. Erica and Isaac, because I refuse to listen to either of you whine. Stiles and Derek because there’s only one person who can handle Stiles without imploding.”

“Wait—” Stiles starts, but Derek’s gruff “Fine” cuts him off.

“You’re going to pair me with the guy who hates frosting and joy?” Stiles says, gesturing wildly. “That feels like sabotage.”

“Take it up with your therapist,” Lydia says sweetly. “Or better yet, just try to win.”

The teams scatter to their respective corners of the loft. Stiles grabs their gingerbread kit and slams it onto the table between himself and Derek. He shoots Derek a determined look as the candy pieces rattle together inside.

“Alright, partner,” Stiles says, clapping his hands together. “Here’s the game plan. I’m thinking we go bold—multistory, candy cane supports, gumdrop landscaping…”

“Or,” Derek interrupts, “we start with the basic structure before you collapse the whole thing.”

Stiles glares at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Winning is fun.”

“You’re assuming we’ll win just because you’re good at everything else. But this?” Stiles gestures to the kit. “This is about creativity, which is where I thrive. Just wait, Derek. You’ll be wowed.”

Derek doesn’t look convinced. He just shrugs and begins sorting the gingerbread pieces like puzzle pieces. Stiles, in stark contrast, decided to do things at random. He adds some frosting there and some candy here, all while Derek is trying to construct the pieces.

Across the room, Scott and Allison are already assembling their walls. Scott’s tongue pokes out as he concentrates. Only, he ends up pressing too hard, and the wall caves in. Allison chuckles softly, stepping in to fix it.

“Classic Scott,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

“Focus,” Derek says, nudging a piece of gingerbread toward him. “You’re supposed to be decorating.”

“Relax, Batman. I’ve got this,” Stiles says, grabbing a frosting bag. He’s halfway through piping what he insists is a “snowflake” when Erica and Isaac sidle up to their table.

“Hey,” Erica says with a saccharine smile. “Just checking out the competition.”

Isaac leans in, squinting at Stiles’ handiwork. “Is that supposed to be a spider?”

“It’s a snowflake,” Stiles snaps. “Go back to your own disaster.”

“Why? This is way more fun,” Erica quips, stealing a gumdrop off their table before strolling back to hers.

“They’re sabotaging us,” Stiles hisses. “We need a plan.”

“Our plan is to build the house,” Derek says flatly, but he watches Erica and Isaac like he’s planning their destruction.

Stiles narrows his eyes at Erica’s retreating back, “You know, if they want sabotage, we can out-sabotage them.”

“Or,” Derek counters, “we can focus on our own house and win without resorting to childish antics.”

“See, that’s your problem,” Stiles says, waving his frosting bag for emphasis. “You think ‘childish’ is a bad thing. But have you considered… fun?”

Before Derek can reply, there’s a loud crash from across the room. Everyone turns to see Lydia glaring at Jackson, who is holding what looks like half a shattered gingerbread wall.

“You broke it!” Lydia exclaims, arms crossed. “Do you know how long it took me to perfectly ice that?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have made it so fragile,” Jackson replies, clearly trying to look indifferent but inching away from her as if bracing for impact.

“Fragile?” Lydia repeats, voice sharp. “I’ll show you fragile.”

“Trouble in gingerbread paradise,” Stiles mutters. Derek gives him a look that clearly says, Don’t get involved, a flicker of protective instinct behind his eyes as if knowing Stiles couldn’t resist meddling.

Meanwhile, at Scott and Allison’s table, Scott is trying to hide the fact that their roof has now completely caved in. He’s holding the pieces up with both hands while Allison desperately adds more frosting to hold them together.

“This is fine,” Scott says, though his voice is more strained than convincing. “It’s totally fine.”

“Scott, stop moving,” Allison says, squeezing another line of frosting. “You’re making it worse!”

“I’m not moving!”

“You’re breathing on it too hard.”

Stiles snickers. “Breathe softer, Scott.”

Derek huffs out a reluctant laugh, which only makes Stiles grin wider. “See? Told you this was fun.”

Erica and Isaac, on the other side, are doubling down on their antics. They’ve started pelting gumdrops across the room, and one narrowly misses Stiles’ head, landing with a splat on their frosting-covered roof.

“That’s it,” Stiles announces, grabbing a candy cane like a sword. “Time for war.”

“No,” Derek says firmly, catching Stiles by the wrist. “We are not starting a food fight.”

“Don’t need to,” Stiles says, jerking his head toward the chaos unfolding at Lydia and Jackson’s table. Jackson, apparently trying to win back Lydia’s favor, has upended a bag of powdered sugar all over their house. Lydia looks about two seconds away from murder.

“If we wait long enough, they’ll destroy themselves,” Derek points out.

“Strategic non-interference,” Stiles says approvingly. “I like it.”

He goes back to frosting, but his snowflake (or spider, depending on perspective) morphs into a chaotic blob when Isaac throws another gumdrop, this time hitting the frosting bag mid-squeeze.

“Isaac!” Stiles yells, brandishing the bag like a weapon. “One more gumdrop and—”

“And what?” Isaac smirks. “You’ll frost me to death?”

Derek growls low in his throat, the sound rumbling like a warning from deep within his chest. “Enough.”

The entire room pauses. Derek’s alpha tone is quiet but commanding, and even Isaac looks sheepish as he sits back down.

Stiles turns to Derek, impressed. “You should use that more often. Very effective.”

“I try not to use it for candy-related disputes,” Derek replies dryly, but the corner of his mouth quirks up, a faint but unmistakable sign that he found some joy in the madness.

The gumdrop assault finally ceases, and the pack begrudgingly settles back into their respective stations. Stiles wipes frosting off his sleeve with an exaggerated sigh.

“Now, finally, we can return to the masterpiece,” he announces, surveying their half-finished gingerbread house.

“Masterpiece is a strong word,” Derek mutters, pressing a wall back into place.

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” Stiles shoots back, smoothing frosting over one corner. “Look at these lines—clean, precise, practically architectural. You should be taking notes.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “The roof is sagging.”

“It’s called character, Derek,” Stiles says, throwing a handful of gumdrops onto the roof for flair. “Not everything has to be perfect.”

Across the room, Lydia is directing Jackson with military precision, snapping her fingers as she points to the icing bag.

“Faster, Jackson! If you spent half as much time frosting as you do eating the candy, we’d be done already.”

Jackson huffs but complies. His movements are sluggish and exaggerated, as if to emphasize how much he doesn’t want to be doing this.

Scott and Allison have finally stabilized their house, though it now has a noticeable lean.

“We could add some snow,” Scott suggests, gesturing to the powdered sugar bag.

Allison looks skeptical. “You mean like Lydia’s snowstorm?”

“Uh, less violent,” Scott clarifies, shaking a small amount over the roof. “See? It’s festive.”

Allison smiles, leaning in to adjust one of the candy canes on the front porch. “Okay, it’s cute.”

“Cute!” Scott beams, clearly taking it as the highest compliment.

Erica and Isaac’s house is… if you could even call it a house. The gingerbread is barely standing, held together by sheer force of will (and a disturbing amount of frosting), but they seem unconcerned.

“I think it’s our best work yet,” Erica says, popping a red hot into her mouth.

“It’s bold,” Isaac says, leaning back with a smug grin. “It makes a statement.”

“Melissa’s here!” Lydia calls suddenly, straightening up as Melissa McCall steps into the loft.

Melissa surveys the scene, one hand on her hip, the other holding a mug of coffee. Her gaze sweeps over the table, taking in the frosting-covered floors, stray gumdrops, and Stiles with frosting in his hair.

“This is… festive,” she says diplomatically.

“It’s a competition,” Lydia corrects, leading Melissa to the tables with all the finished houses. “You have to judge based on creativity, execution, and overall aesthetic.”

“And taste,” Stiles adds quickly. “Taste is important. Right, Derek?”

“Do not try to eat the house,” Derek replies flatly.

Melissa chuckles. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

Melissa stands at the head of the table, her coffee mug now joined by a notebook Lydia has forced upon her for “official judging purposes.” She takes a long sip, clearly preparing herself for the task at hand.

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s see what we’ve got. First up?”

“That would be ours,” Lydia announces, sweeping a hand toward her and Jackson’s gingerbread mansion. “As you can see, we went for a high-end, modern design with classic winter accents. Symmetry was a priority, as was elegance.”

Melissa steps closer, studying the house. The front is immaculately decorated, with perfectly piped icing icicles and strategically placed gumdrop wreaths. The back, however, is conspicuously bare—likely a casualty of Jackson’s earlier destruction.

“It’s very impressive,” Melissa says diplomatically. “Though… the backside could use a little love.”

Lydia shoots Jackson a glare so sharp it could cut steel. “I told you the back mattered.”

Jackson shrugs. “Nobody looks at the back.”

“Melissa is literally looking at the back!” Lydia snaps.

Melissa clears her throat and moves on quickly. “Next?”

“That’s us!” Scott chimes in, pointing proudly to his and Allison’s creation. Their house leans at an alarming angle, but they’ve made up for it with extra decorations—frosting snow drifts, candy canes lining the walkway, and even a marshmallow snowman in the yard.

Melissa tilts her head. “It’s… cute.”

“Yes!” Scott beams, throwing his hands in the air. “I told you it was cute!”

Melissa smiles. “It’s very festive. The snowman is a nice touch. Just be careful with that roof—it looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“It’s not going to collapse,” Scott says confidently. The roof collapses.

Melissa winces as Allison pats Scott’s shoulder, biting back a laugh. “It was still cute,” she reassures him.

Erica and Isaac’s house is next, and if Melissa thought Scott and Allison’s was precarious, this one is a full-on disaster. The walls are barely standing, propped up by what looks like a gallon of frosting, and their decorations are a haphazard mix of half-chewed gumdrops and smeared chocolate.

“We went abstract,” Erica says, tossing a gumdrop into her mouth. “Like, why does a house need walls anyway?”

“We’re pushing boundaries,” Isaac says, flashing a grin. “It’s not just a house—it’s a concept.”

Melissa presses her lips together, clearly suppressing a laugh. “It’s definitely… unique. Very outside-the-box.” She pauses, studying the frosting avalanche threatening one of the walls. “Though it might be too outside-the-box for structural integrity.”

Finally, Melissa turns to Stiles and Derek’s house. It’s not the tallest or the most polished, but it’s the most solidly built. Stiles has added a garden of candy cane trees and gumdrop shrubs around the base, while Derek’s careful construction has ensured the roof isn’t going anywhere.

“This is…” Melissa pauses, considering. “Surprisingly cohesive.”

Stiles beams. “You hear that, Derek? She said cohesive. That’s basically a fancy way of saying we’re geniuses.”

Melissa continues, “It’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s charming. It has character.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, his skepticism tinged with a hint of amusement. “Character?”

“In a good way,” Melissa clarifies, smiling. “It’s very… you.”

Stiles tries not to combust as Derek mutters, “We make a good team.”

Melissa steps back, her eyes sweeping over all the tables. She sets down her coffee mug and straightens up. "Alright," she begins, letting the tension build as the pack leans in. "I’ve seen enough. And I have to say…" She pauses dramatically. "You’re all winners."

The room explodes into protests.

“Seriously?” Stiles yelps. “That’s a cop-out, Melissa! You’ve got to pick one. The people demand justice!"

Erica snickers. “You’d think it was life or death, Stiles. Relax, it’s just candy.”

“Excuse me!” Stiles waves a frosting-covered spatula in her direction. “Our house is a masterpiece, and if you can’t see that, you clearly lack vision.”

“I can’t believe you think this,” Lydia gestures dramatically toward the tables, “is acceptable judging.”

Melissa sighs, holding up her hands. “Alright, alright! If you’re all going to whine about it…” She picks up her notebook and pretends to scrutinize her notes, drawing out the suspense.

“First,” she says, pointing at Lydia and Jackson’s house. “Lydia, your house has the best attention to detail, even if Jackson didn’t do much to help.”

“Hey!” Jackson protests, but Melissa ignores him.

“Scott and Allison, you get points for teamwork and creativity. The marshmallow snowman was adorable.”

Scott grins at Allison, looking like he’s won already.

“Erica and Isaac…” Melissa pauses, trying to think of something diplomatic. “Well, you made me laugh.”

“Mission accomplished,” Erica says, completely unbothered.

Finally, Melissa turns to Stiles and Derek’s house. “And this one,” she says, pointing at it, “is the most well-built. It’s… solid.”

Derek nods approvingly while Stiles looks ready to explode with pride. “So? What’s the verdict?”

Melissa sighs, clearly wishing she could stick with her original declaration. “Fine. If I have to pick… the winner is…”

Another pause. Everyone leans forward.

“Stiles and Derek.”

“Ha!” Stiles leaps up, his arms shooting into the air. “Victory! Bow before the kings of gingerbread!”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Derek mutters, though his lips quirked up in a faint smile.

Erica rolls her eyes. “It’s rigged.”

“It’s not rigged!” Stiles says. “It’s skill, baby! Skill.”

Melissa shakes her head fondly. “Alright, that’s enough. Now, someone help me clean up this mess before it permanently sticks to the floor.”