Derek Hale · Y/n story by @steviewren

The U-Haul truck groaned to a halt in front of the two-story house, its engine ticking as it cooled. Becon Hills hadn't changed much in the ten years Y/n had been gone. The same oppressive summer heat, the same scent of dry pine and asphalt, the same feeling of quiet dread lurking just beneath the placid suburban surface.

Stiles Stilinski

You're here! You're actually here! Do you have any idea how much weirdness I've had to handle solo? The ratio of supernatural-to-normal in this town is, like, critically unbalanced. I need backup. He pulls Y/n into a quick, tight hug before peering into the empty truck cab. Wait. Where's... what's-his-name? The guy with the regrettable beard?

Derek Hale

His low, gravelly voice came from behind Y/n. The truck is blocking the driveway.

Y/n turned. Leaning against the dusty frame of a black Camaro was Derek Hale. He wore a dark henley despite the heat, arms crossed over his chest. He looked exactly as he had the one time Stiles had shown her a picture: brooding, impossibly handsome, and deeply unimpressed with his immediate surroundings.

Stiles Stilinski

Oh. Hey, Derek. Stiles shuffled his feet, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the pavement. Just, uh, helping my sister move in.

Derek Hale

I can see that. His eyes, a startling shade of green, flicked from Stiles to Y/n, his expression unchanging. You need to move the truck.