#go to raves...? It's not a judgement I just really don't understand what you think the word means

[sharkface]

Never really understood when people say it's "gatekeeping" to say the only true qualification for being a member of a hobby or art subculture is enjoyment of whatever the core hobby or art is, like, that is the absolute least pretentious and gatekeepy mertric for membership you could possibly establish. Like I'd even say it's sacrificing a lot of nuance specifically for the sake of inclusivity. Why would you see this and say you're still being gatekept when the actual issue is that you don't even like the thing you're demanding to be included in? I don't get it

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Hi BMT,

I hope you are well.

I was hoping you would help me.without judgement. I am scared of going to other tumblr account.

I am a fan of BTS and followed then for a while. Along the way, I have somehow managed to fall in love with Jikook. I never realized I started seeking their moments until recently. I know you don't do shipping and my question isn't really about shipping. I am just curious about what something means. JK recently released the HBD video for Jimin. In the video, he said bro at the end. In my normal and bland world, I normally see bro as something said between friends but I saw all these Jikookers rave about it. What makes this video so great? I am really naive and haven't honestly been in relationships so I don't understand the fuss. I heard bro and assumed that he was addressing someone he saw as a friend. Up until now, I thought they could be together but that video cemented my initial belief that they weren't/aren't together. Am I missing something? Are you able to help me with this? Like I am not asking you to talk about their relationship. I am just asking your help understanding what the video means in any context.

Ok anon, I shall do as you desire. I don't have the energy to analyze your text to see if you're a troll or not, so I'm going to put on my innocent hat to answer your ask today, assuming your question is truly genuine. I will tell you what I think specifically about what you want to know and then I'll see where this goes....

Tone and context are clues which help us interpretate the words that we hear. That's why, singling out one word may prove to be unhelpful in trying to figure out what the person says. Take for example the word "baby". Look up its definition in the dictionary. And then think of all the people who use it as a term of endearment to call their partners. Do they really see them as babies? No. But the word gets another meaning, depending on how and when it's used. Tone is very important as well and usually the first clue that indicates what the person is trying to say. It's true that for some people, that is hard to understand and that's fine. But you gave no indication and you didn't mention any of that, so I'm not going to assume it's difficult for you to figure out emotions.

So, to answer your specific question, in the context of flirting and more specifically a video that basically looks like a text book thirst trap, the word bro loses its "strictly dude bros friendship-type of meaning" because the person who said the words made sure to create a context that gives the receiver/viewer of the video the key to how this can be interpreted. You don't need to be in a relationship to know what flirting sounds and looks like. I mean, go and do some research on BTS and the multitude of videos there are at our disposal and see how they use the word bro in other situations and compare it to this one.

Now, to address other stuff that is going on here? What do you mean you're afraid to go to other tumblr blogs? You're still anonymous, so what does it matter? You're afraid that if you say that you believe two guys in BTS are just friends, the bloggers will raise their pitchforks? Let me teach you something, so next time you can go to actual shipping blogs in matters that relate strictly to a ship. Your ask could have been formulated in the following way: "Hey, X. I know you probably talked a lot about that video Jungkook made for Jimin, but I was wondering if you're willing to expand a bit more on Jungkook's flirting techniques and how he likes to use certain words that at first glance, would not mean much, but through his tone, he changes everything. Like when he says Jimin-ssi or how he used bro in this context. Thanks in advance, have a lovely day! See? Not that hard. Hope this helps.

As to that video cementing your beliefs in the the bros are strictly bros, then what's the problem? Is that bad? Does that confuse you because other stuff made you think otherwise? So what? Seriously, ask yourself this. So what? Do they loose their appeal, are they less interesting to watch? Do you need someone to come up with "evidence" that could help you change your mind because all this confusion gives you this weird feeling inside, like you can't trust your instincts, but then perhaps you can't trust the ones that you watch? Yeah, I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you and as I said, this sort of dilemma is more appropriate for jikook spaces, which is why I'm going to tag it as that, perhaps others might be of help next time. As I said, it's all in how you word your question.

And on a last note, people don't need to be in a relationship in order to flirt. Flirting for the sake of flirting can be really fun and it happens amongst best of friends as well.

[o-wyrmlight]

please give me a reason therapy is good because my friend needs therapy badly but he wont go cause he think it wont help and since youre an adult hed believe you over me

So there are a few reasons why someone wouldn't go to therapy.

There's the fear of judgement from the therapist. There's the fear that the therapist might try to persuade you down a religious or cult-ish path, which unfortunately does happen in some circles of therapists. There's the concern that the therapist might try to convince you to disbelieve certain aspects of yourself--whether it be you being trans, or gay, or any other shade of queer that doesn't align with their personal views.

Most importantly, people fear going to therapists because they simply feel like it doesn't help.

You can be in a situation where you can't escape what it is you need help dealing with--such as an abusive household, or spouse, or roommate, or in a position where you can't actively escape from.

These are all valid fears, every single one. These are all possibilities. I've been to therapy myself, and I don't think it really helped me all that much.

But I think that's because I didn't have the right one for what I needed. And that's the thing about therapists--there are a lot of different flavors to them, and ultimately it's up to you as a patient to find one that you feel comfortable and confident speaking with. You can have interviews with them where you ask them questions and they answer--I'm sure there are some who do so. And that way, you'll get a better read on how your prospects actually are, and how they'll be able to help you.

Therapy didn't really work for me. My mom got me a therapist a few years ago and she was the first and only one I ever really saw. I don't think she was the right therapist for me. I also don't think that I was or even am in a situation to escape the biggest issues causing mental exasperation in my life. So I know about that fear and how... useless it can seem.

But I also know that sometimes, talking helps. Even if you aren't looking for advice or insight, talking and ranting to someone who will listen can help. Sometimes all you really need is somebody to talk to, and there's a therapist out there willing to give you an ear.

Sometimes you just need someone to remind you that--no, you weren't wrong in thinking this about that, or in doing this or wanting that. Someone who can help you--at the very least, understand what you're dealing with, help you take small steps toward self-improvement, even just... listen. There's something to that, I think.

So if your friend is afraid of finding a therapist that isn't right for him, remind him that for every shitty therapist trying to project their own beliefs onto you, there is at least one who cares about people and wants to help people like him. If he's afraid because he's in a situation where he can't escape, he can still talk about it to someone and vent and ramble and rave to his heart's content.

Likely he isn't going to find the right therapist at first, but think of it like buying a pair of shoes. You want to make sure the shoe fits and is comfortable before you actually buy it, and you want one that fits the needs of what you want it for.

[cuttingthe-painter]

could I request a selkie fic where reader doesn't know and just walks in on a whole ass cute as all fluffing hell seal flopped in their house? Internal Seal Panic thinking he's blown oh no this is horrible think of all the- but reader's just "I don't know how you for here but this is the best day of my life"

Hey anon, here’s my take on the prompt! I hope you like it! I love stories that a pure fluff and this really filled that spot in my heart!

***feel free to reblog***

Elias - Selkie Boyfriend (sfw)

male selkie x human reader

word count: 1544

It’s been less than a week in Nebraska and while you’re glad Elias joined you for your work trip, you’ve only been able to spend a few exhausted hours a night with him before going to bed. The guilt of bringing him along only for him to sit at the rental house has been weighing on you. You expected this, initially, but thought there would still be more time you both could spend together. 

This past year, you’ve been working as an independent consultant for tech companies around Washington, choosing to keep travel within your home state so you wouldn’t be away from your new relationship for too long. When a new start up company in Nebraska reached out to you, Elias encouraged you to work with them. You met over video calls originally and when the opportunity arose to fly to them, he insisted you go and that if he went, it could double as a work trip and your first couple’s trip. 

Elias has spent most of his days exploring the town or relaxing around the rental house, switching between working and relaxing. You’re hoping today is one of the days he chose to relax at the house. Your work day ended early, a blessing in the form of canceled meetings, and you intend to surprise Elias explore the town more together. 

You park your rental car in front of the house and quietly unlock the front door, hoping the locked door doesn’t mean he went out for the day. The living room of the house is empty and, upon further investigation, so is the bedroom. You slump with a disappointed sigh and change into your pjs, planning to settle in to watch TV until he gets back.

A warm breeze flowing through the living room draws your attention to the back sliding door that is ajar. You walk over to the door and step out onto the patio, expecting to find Elias sunbathing by the pool. What you find, though, is the last thing you ever expected to see in a pool in Nebraska.

A brown speckled seal glides through the pool, spinning when it nears the edges and splashing water over the side. You stand there speechless, tears springing to your eyes as a wave of homesickness washes over you at the sight. The seal breaches the surface of the pool and its gaze locks onto you, freezing the chubby mammal in place.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you fall back into a patio chair, careful to hold your stare on it steady. If you had been thinking straight, you would have questioned how a seal was able to get to the pool in a fenced in backyard, let alone Nebraska. The seal starts swimming towards you slowly, a look on its face that you read as curiosity. Your breath catches in your throat, a moment of fear, but when the seal flops onto the concrete, joy takes over. It’s so freaking cute.

The seal honks at you and a giggle escapes your lips, wiping away any lingering fear. You reach a hand out to beckon it closer. The seal is cautious as it nears; you mistake its hesitance as an unfamiliarity to humans. If only you could understand its barks, then you would know its fear is not of the human calling it closer, but of the possibility of you discovering its secret too soon. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask the seal, running your hand along its soft head. A low whistle tone rings from it and you swear you feel electricity coursing through your arm. You pull your hand away and the tingle stops immediately. The seal bounces away from you at the loss of contact and moves towards the open patio door. You stand to follow it, smiling at the honks emphasizing each hop. The seal bounds right into the living room and stops near the end table, attempting to grab the remote in its mouth.

“No, don’t eat that!” you squeak, lunging to grab the remote before it gets a hold of it. The seal grunts at you and slaps its flippers onto the ground. You sigh at the seal, wondering why you haven’t called animal control yet, and say dejectedly, “I don’t know what you want.” It moves forwards and bonks its head into the hand holding the remote. You furrow your brows and lift the remote up, earning a cheery honk. 

“TV it is, then,” you say, clicking on the television and walking around to sit on the couch. The exhaustion must be catching up with you. Why else would you be turning a TV on to entertain a wild animal in a rental house? Elias left the TV on the History Channel before he left and you leave it, accepting Ancient Aliens as your entertainment until he gets back and helps you figure out what to do with this chubby, speckled seal.

The seal moves around the living room, bumping into things and honking as it explores, looking over to you periodically. You try to focus on it, all too aware of the exhaustion creeping into your body. The repetitive movements of the seal paired with the narrator’s droning on the TV lull you into a short, dreamless nap.

You wake to a soft hand caressing your cheek and warm lips pressing against your forehead. Stormy grey eyes meet yours when you open your tired eyes.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Elias whispers affectionately. He’s kneeling in front of the couch, head tilted to match the angle of yours. “You get home early?” You reach up, resting your hand on his cheek.

“Yeah, my meetings were canceled. Thought I would surprise you.” He smiled at you, and turned to kiss your palm. 

“Well, consider me surprised.” You sit up, glancing at the clock to see you were only asleep for 30 minutes. Suddenly, panic seizes your chest as you remember the seal and you look around the room frantically. “Woah woah woah, calm down. Talk to me, what's going on?”

“There was a seal in the pool when I got home. I fell asleep to it moving around the living room,” you explain urgently. You meet his eyes, expecting to find judgement and mockery as your insane confession, but only seeing compassion.

“I didn’t see anything when I walked in, but let's walk around and look, yeah?” Elias stood, extending his hand to help you off the couch. Hand in hand, you walk through each room of the house searching for the seal. You finish your search at the pool and, when finding no sign of a seal, you curl into Elias arms, tense and humiliated.

“I’m sorry, Elias. I must just be really tired. I probably dreamt it,” you say with an embarrassed groan. His hands smooth your hair repeatedly in an effort to sooth you..

“Dreams can be deceiving,” he comforts, dispelling your shame. You cling onto him, breathing him in. He’s ocean air, and citrus, and home. He holds you until he feels the tension drain from your body, only pulling back to look down at you and ask, “Would food help you feel better? Someone told me about a family diner that the locals rave about.”

“Food sounds great right now,” you agree, leaning up and catching his lips with yours. He responds to the kiss instantly, threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck. Angling your head, he gently deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing between your lips. You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck, losing yourself in him. He pulls away, lips merely inches from yours, and rests his forehead to yours. You both stand there, breathing each other in, wishing you could stay like this forever.

“We should go get food, yeah? Then we can come back and finish this,” he whispers, kissing you again and playfully tugging at your bottom lip. He pulls away and you move with him, not ready to part. “Food, babe. Food.”

“Ugh, fine,” you groan, stepping away from him to grab your purse from the breakfast bar. You grab the straps and turn to meet Elias at the door, but something on the barstool catches your eye. Something furry and brown and speckled and familiar. It looks to be a jacket or coat made from some sort of animal skin. It seems to match the seal from your dream and must be the cause of that vivid dream. You reach out and grab it, feeling that electricity travel up your arm.

“Elias, is this your coat?” you ask, turning to hand him the bundle of fur. His grey eyes are wide, stunned, and his curly brown hair falls into his face. His mouth forms silent words, before settling into a surprised oh. You raise your brows in concern and walk towards him. “Elias?” He snaps out of his momentary shock and his face instantly lights up. 

“I knew it,” he beamed, walking towards you and crashing his lips to yours. “I just knew it!”

“Knew what?” you laughed, gazing up to sparkling eyes.

“Oh you know,” he cooed as he peppered your face with kisses, “just that we were made for each other.”

[sterekationstation]

Concept 4:

Stiles is drunk. The party slides around him in washes of color and sound– everything transient, nothing sticking. Bass thumps in his eardrums, turning his stomach. Derek appears as a blessing, half out the door before he even makes it through the foyer, but still the most solid thing Stiles has seen all night.

“I hate this,” Stiles whispers, his breath hot against Derek’s sensitive ear. “You’re the only person here worth talking to.”

“Okay,” Derek says, his hand settling solid and reassuring on Stiles’ hip. “So let’s go somewhere that isn’t here.”

EDIT:

"What were you even doing there?" Stiles peers at Derek curiously over the rim of his mug. The coffee isn't quite strong enough to dissolve tooth enamel, but coupled with the brisk walk from the rave to the diner, it's doing wonders for counteracting his buzz. "A warehouse party isn't really your scene."

Derek shrugs, placidly plowing his way through a mountain-high portion of chicken souvlaki. His knees keeps knocking against Stiles' under the chipped Formica tabletop, and Stiles can't find it in himself to pretend to mind.

"Didn't really look like your scene, either," Derek says, meeting Stiles' gaze unblinkingly. His wackadoo eyes make Stiles' head spin, and it's easy to blame it on the booze. Bourbon, Stiles thinks admonishingly. When will you learn that bourbon is not your friend.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he huffs, darting his hand across the table to snatch a few of Derek's fries, nearly knocking a glass of water over in the process. Derek rolls his eyes heavenward with a sigh, and then rotates his plate so that the truly impressive mound of deep fried potato is facing Stilinskiwards. Stiles bites down on a victorious whoop, and grabs another handful to cram into his mouth.

Derek watches him chew happily, his ridiculous eyebrows drawn together in the expression Stiles has categorized as "exasperated but fond." It's much preferred to the look that Stiles used to get, which was better classified as "imminent manslaughter".

"So, this is nice," Stiles begins, at the same time Derek sets down his fork and says, "Scott told me about your fight."

All at once, Stiles feels the cold weight of sobriety hit him like an Acme anvil. Every muscle in his body clenches, his back snapping ramrod straight.

"That bastard," he hisses, shoving his coffee away like the blood offering it apparently is. Dread mixes with shitty whiskey in his stomach, threatening to curdle into nausea. "How dare he–"

"Stiles." Derek holds both hands up in supplication, his perfect mouth twisted in alarm. "He didn't tell me anything other than that. You guys fought, and you stormed out. When he couldn't get ahold of you, he called me."

The panic ebbs, slightly, and Stiles flops back against the diner booth, trying to get his jackrabbiting heart under control. When Derek seems sure that he isn't going to make a break for the door, he picks up his fork and goes back to demolishing his chicken. After a moment, he nudges the plate towards Stiles, nodding meaningfully at the fries.

Stiles grimaces, but takes one of the more burnt wedges and crunches on it furiously. At the counter, the waitress watches Derek eat with a dazed, heavy lidded expression, so Stiles turns his glower on her until she blushes and glances away.

It's never been easy for Stiles to hang on to anger as far as Scott is concerned, but this time it feels like a live wire in his chest. It's his fucking Romeo complex, that's the problem. Scott's got this over-simplified idea of love– always has– and the frustrating part is that because it always works out for him, he thinks it'll work out that way for everybody.

"Just tell him," Scott had yelled. The 'or I will' had gone unspoken. "You're miserable and it's making you lash out at everybody, and you're too chickenshit to do anything about it!"

Stiles watches Derek spear a hunk of souvlaki with his fork, careful to keep the cuff of his soft gray sweater out of his side of tzatziki sauce. He scoffs at the memory of Scott's words, and steals another French fry.

As if it were that easy. As if he could just tell Derek that he's been ass-over-elbows in love with him for the better part of five years. Wonderful, awful Derek, who goes to yoga with Lydia on Saturdays, who helps Scott study when he gets overwhelmed with work and veterinary school, who volunteers at the local women's shelter whenever he can and thinks no one's noticed.

"Scott's an asshole," he grumps, tugging a few packets of Sweet'n'low out of the sugar holder and stacking them like a house of cards.

"He's just worried about you." Derek's voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and Stiles steadfastly refuses to meet his eyes until he feels the pressure of a knee against his own. He immediately regrets it when he glances up against his better judgement and sees the look on Derek's face. His eyebrows are drawn in concern, eyes soft with affection and understanding.

Jesus.

Stiles stamps down on the fluttering of his heart.

"Stop that," he snaps, without really meaning to. Derek blinks at him, confusion wiping away the worst of his expression.

"What?"

"Never mind." Stiles sighs, dragging a hand across his face. "Sorry. Really sorry. I'm not mad at you."

"Okay." Derek fiddles with his napkin, picking at a tear in the paper. "If you want to talk about it–"

"No." It comes out more caustic than Stiles had intended, the possibility of Derek finding out sending a shudder of panic across his skin. Derek flinches at his tone, his eyes widening with a flash of hurt before the shutters come down, leaving an impassive mask in its place.

Stiles hates that mask.

"Derek, I–"

"It's fine." Derek shifts in his seat, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. He drops a twenty on the table and reaches for his phone. "I'll call Lydia to come drive you home. I know I'm not– I don't know why Scott called me."

Because he's a surprisingly manipulative asshole with unwavering faith in True Love, Stiles doesn't say, guilt flaring hot and shameful in his chest.

"Wait, that's not–"

"I get it, Stiles." Derek's voice is flat, his face expressionless as he slides out of the booth. The line of his shoulders are rigid with tension. "It's none of my business. It's not like– we're not friends."

Stiles jolts back like he's been slapped. Derek might as well have hit him– the pain twisting his chest into knots hurts more than a punch would have. Stiles knows his faults. He knows that he's abrasive, and irritating, and somehow always manages to take up too much space, but he'd thought that Derek was okay with that. He'd thought they'd gotten to a good place– nowhere near where he wanted them to be, but still better than he had ever dreamed possible. He'd thought–

"You don't think we're friends?" He hates how small his voice sounds. Derek's nostrils flare, and his mask wavers, frustration and guilt breaking through that awful blank.

"Do you?" Derek jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans, staring down at the tabletop. "You've been avoiding me for a while now. I make you anxious." His jaw clenches, and he resettles his weight like he's bracing himself.

"Look," he mutters, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way that Stiles has never heard it, "I'm sorry if I– if my feelings make you uncomfortable. I know you don't– I get that you don't feel the same way, I don't blame you, but I–"

"Woah." Stiles stands so quickly he gets head rush, although that might be because his heart is suddenly beating so hard that he can feel the thudding in his own temples. He holds his hands up in the universal 'time out' gesture. "Hold up, big guy. Rewind for a sec. What are you talking about? What feelings?"

Derek's glare is vicious. It could probably strip paint. It would have thoroughly intimidated any sane person it came into contact with. Because Stiles is a grade-A piece of work with some seriously crossed wires in the sections of his brain that control fear and lust, he has to bite back a sigh as his dick twitches in his jeans. He watches in fascination as a flush spreads from the tips of Derek's ears to his cheeks, disappearing beneath his full beard.

"Don't." Derek hunches in on himself, like he needs protecting. He turns to go. "You're an asshole, Stiles, but you're not cruel."

"We were fighting about you." He blurts it out without thinking, is just desperate to stop Derek from leaving. "Because I– I'm so gone on you it's stupid, and I didn't think you'd ever– I mean, why would you?"

Derek freezes, still half turned away, his face unreadable.

"You're right," Stiles says, laughing hollowly. "Scott's right, too, the fucker. I am an asshole. And I've been a dick to everyone for ages because it was easier than telling you that I–" he cuts himself off, clears his throat. Can't quite say the words, even now.

"I spent ten years getting my feelings thrown in my face, and that was okay because it was Lydia, and once I really got to know her it was like, nothing that I felt for her ever had a foundation, you know? We never even really knew each other until I let that stuff go. So that was okay." He scrubs his hands through his hair, trying to find the right words. "But I couldn't do that with you. You, uh, you know me. And I'm not– I know I'm not– well. You'd be, y'know, nice about it. It would kill me."

Silence stretches between them for a long, uncomfortable moment. For the first time, Stiles becomes aware of their surroundings. With a sick lurch, he realizes that he's just poured his heart out in the middle of relatively crowded diner. There's a vaguely familiar off-duty cop sitting at the counter, texting rapidly on her phone. Two teenagers have their heads bent together, whispering furiously. The waitress is gaping at him, eyes wide, frozen in the act of refilling a cup of coffee. And still, Derek is a wall of silence.

"Right," Stiles says. The room is too small all of a sudden, his breath not coming fast enough. "Cool. I'm just gonna–"

He grabs his coat and all but runs out the door. He makes it halfway down the block before Derek catches up with him.

"Stiles." Derek darts in front of him, blocking his escape route. "Stop. You forgot your phone."

"Great. Thanks," Stiles mutters, accepting the offered device and jamming it in his jacket pocket. He tries to step aside, but Derek uses his bulk to cut him off. "Get out of my way."

"Stiles. Did you listen to anything that I said?"

"Sure," Stiles says, through gritted teeth. "You said you had feelings, which I took to mean something it obviously didn't. And I just stood there and told you everything, like some kind of– like some kind of Scott."

Derek kisses him.

On the Richter scale of first kisses it barely registers, because Stiles' mouth is still open indignantly, so their teeth click and Stiles bites his own tongue when he jerks back in surprise.

"Ow," he mutters, grabbing at his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," Derek says, face turning a mortified beet red, "are you–"

""Shut up," Stiles says, and throws himself into Derek's arms. The second kiss goes a long way towards making up for the first.

After a while, Stiles pulls back, panting. His whole body feels sort of tingly and glazed over, like he might melt away at any moment. Derek looks wrecked, his lips swollen and flushed, his hair a total disgrace thanks to Stiles' roaming fingers.

I did that, Stiles thinks giddily.

"So," he says, and if he had any presence of mind he would be humiliated by how low and carnal his voice sounds. "We should do that more often."

"You–," Derek breaks off and shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it. Stiles crowds closer, lets his hands fall to Derek's hips, sliding under his sweater and shirt until his cold fingers meet warm, smooth flesh. Derek's nostrils flare again, and he drops his head into the junction of Stiles' neck and shoulder, breathing him in. "Jesus, Stiles. You make me crazy."

 "Yeah." Stiles tries to get himself under control, with very little success. His heart feels like it's doing cartwheels in his chest. "The feeling is mutual. Um, the feeling is mutual. Right?"

Derek pauses, his mouth soft and hot against Stiles' pulse point. Stiles valiantly doesn't whine when he pulls away.

"Stiles, I–," Derek's face is so open it's almost painful to see. He's never looked quite so young. "I love you. It feels like I've loved you forever."

"Oh." Stiles' breath catches in his throat, and he clutches at the fabric of Derek's sweater. "Um, me too. Obviously. You're, like, it for me."

Over the years that they've known each other, Stiles has often lamented the fact that Derek almost never smiled. Sneered, yes. Smirked, definitely. Grinned that fake, shit-eating grin whenever he wanted to con someone, absolutely. But now, watching the soft, slow smile take over Derek's face like the rising sun, Stiles can't help but be grateful that he does it so infrequently. He'd never get anything done, otherwise. He's pretty sure that smile just obliterated any chance he had of not being ruined for literally every other person on earth. Lord knows what it would have done to him as a teenager.

He falls into Derek like a magnet, capturing that beautiful mouth with his own, letting himself cup Derek's jaw wth a gentleness he hadn't known he possessed, because that's allowed.

"Now what?" he asks huskily. He's close enough to rub his cheek against the scrape of Derek's scruff, shivering deliciously at the knowledge that he'll have beard burn to show for hours. Derek tightens his arms around him, nuzzling at his temple.

"Now I take you home," he says, "and you go to bed." He cuts Stiles' protests off with another kiss, this time nearly chaste, and Stiles can almost taste the sweetness of it.

"In the morning," Derek continues, "you'll call Scott, and you two will work out whatever it is you need to work out, because you always do." He chuckles softly when Stiles pulls away to scowl at him. His ridiculous eyes are bright. Happy, Stiles realizes, and his scowl melts away into a truly embarrassing smile of his own.

"Then tomorrow night, I'll come pick you up at six, and we'll go see that movie you've been telling everyone about for weeks, and afterwards we'll go get takeout and you can explain to me why it wasn't as good as the book." He brushes his thumbs across Stiles' cheekbones, searching his face. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, letting himself lean back into him. "That sounds good to me."

He groans when Derek smiles that blinding smile again.

"Scott's going to be totally impossible about this, you know," he complains as they make their way to Derek's car, never straying too far from each other.

"I don't mind," Derek says mildly, his pinky catching Stiles', tangling their hands together. Stiles peeks at him from the corner of his eye and is delighted to see his cheeks flushing. The sap.

"Yeah," he sighs, squeezing Derek's hand in his. "You're worth it."