Prompt: Derek, master of tight black jeans and tight dark henley's, shows up to a pack meeting wear a soft blush pink sweater and light faded blue jeans and he just looks so soft Stiles wants to touch.
Stiles had learned a lot of things about Derek Hale, Beacon Hills’ very own grumpy werewolf with a dry wit and a heart of gold, over the years of knowing him.
For one, Derek Hale was a nerd behind the walls he had put up to protect himself – his feelings, his heart – after everything he had been through. He owned so many books, that they couldn’t even fit onto the many, many shelves he had put in the loft after he returned to the town the year before.
He had a movie collection that easily beat Stiles’ own, and he could talk for hours and hours about pretty much any historical event. Stiles knew from personal experience, had listened to him go on and on for a seemingly endless time, and he hadn’t been bored for a single second of it.
For another, Derek had incredible, although slightly boring, taste in music. Incredible because the music he did listen to was good and calming. Boring because there wasn’t a lot of variety, the same songs playing on repeat.
Stiles had only complained about it once (okay, maybe three times) but then he’d seen the relaxed expression on Derek’s face while the music filled the loft and he’d promptly stopped.
For a third, Derek had pictures of his family stored away somewhere. None of them were put up when the loft got redecorated, and no one in the pack had asked. Not even Cora.
For a fourth, Derek was a damn good cook and an even better baker. Stiles could eat his own weight in his cooking, probably more than.
For a fifth, Derek was as much of a big brother as he was a little brother. He could tease and annoy in his own way as much as he could protect and glare away anyone coming anywhere near the people he cared about.
For a sixth, Derek looked amazing in dark colors, and his typical tight black jeans and dark henley combo constantly made Stiles drool. Dark colors, Stiles had learned over the years, were Derek’s color. Stiles hadn’t seen him in any actual colors since that one blue shirt that was ruined in a fight all those years ago.
Stiles hadn’t even realized how much he had missed seeing Derek wearing colors. Not until Derek walked in through the door wearing a soft blush pink sweater that fit him perfectly and faded blue jeans that hugged his thighs in all the right places.
So really, he couldn’t be blamed for stopping mid sentence to turn and gape and stare.