I Just Needed Dispatcher!derek And Stiles Calling Into The Sheriffs Dept To Talk To The Dispatcher Bc

i just needed dispatcher!derek and stiles calling into the sheriff’s dept to talk to the dispatcher bc he was lonely, and subsequently, falling for derek’s voice.

*

“Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” an unfamiliar male voice answers. Stiles pulls the cell phone away from his ear and stares at it like he accidentally dialed the wrong number. “Hello?” The man’s voice is annoyed, and then the line goes dead.

Stiles hits redial immediately. “Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” the same voice says, more annoyed than before.

“You’re not Edna,” Stiles says. “Edna’s the evening dispatcher, where’s Edna?”

“Who’s this?”

“Stiles Stilinski. The better question is, who are you?”

“Derek Hale.”

“My dad doesn’t work with a Derek Hale. I know everyone who works in that department, and I’d remember a Derek Hale.”

“You’re the sheriff’s son?” Derek asks.

Stiles grins, despite the fact that he’s on the phone. “So, you’ve heard of me?”

“I wouldn’t be proud of that fact.”

Stiles huffs and hangs up.

*

The next night, he calls again. The same Derek Hale answers the phone.

“Where is Edna?”

“She’s out of town for awhile.”

“So, you’re a temp?”

“I’m a deputy.”

Stiles frowns. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”

“I’m new. Is there anything I can actually help you with?” Derek’s irritation is evident through the line.

“No.”

This time, Derek hangs up.

*

Stiles calls two nights later, and ignores the way his stomach flips when Derek’s voice comes over the line. “What are you doing?”

Derek sighs. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“Edna used to read me the word from her word of the day calendar.” Derek remains silent. “Well? What’s the word? Unless you rearranged her desk.”

There’s some shuffling on the other line. “Suidefenestration. It means – “

“To kill yourself by throwing yourself out of a window.”

Derek grunts. “How did you know that?”

“Uh, duh? I took Latin as an undergrad, four years. I learned a word or two. Did you not know what it meant?”

“I thought you were in high school.”

“Grad school, dude.” Stiles laughs, and hangs up.

*

The next time Stiles calls, he opens with, “Has my dad been eating donuts? Because either it’s that, he somehow got freaky with a chalkboard, or he’s becoming a coke addict. I’m not sure which is more disturbing.”

“I don’t spend my time monitoring the Sheriff’s diet.” Derek doesn’t bother to sound polite or nice. Stiles thinks that maybe he should complain and that the BHSD should hire a better dispatcher. But Stiles is too selfish for that.

“Go look in his office.”

“I’m not going to snoop in my superior’s office!”

“Please,” Stiles begs. “Derek, pleasepleaseplease.”

“How old are you again? Grad school, really?”

“You’re just sad that you’re not this awesome.”

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

*

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I just love the expression on Stiles face in the redraw. It’s perfect.

redraw screenshot TEENWOLF

Derek Hale is soon to be crowned-prince, ascending to the throne when his mother dies, but there’s one problem; he has yet to find his Spark. 

Derek thought he had fallen in love with Kate Argent, but she turned out to be an abusive psychopath that nearly killed him. After that, he shut himself off from the world, and from others. That is, until one day when he was walking through the centre of town with his uncle. 

As he and Peter walked through the streets, he bumps into a young man. He wheels around to look at the man, feeling something in his chest change. He’s shocked by how gorgeous this young man is, and is captivated; unable to take his eyes off the young man. The young man - Stiles - apologises kindly, but Peter starts to make a scene, threatening Stiles. Derek silences his uncle and apologises to Stiles, leaving everyone stunned. Derek smiles kindly and turns to leave.  

After that, Derek begins to sneak out of the castle to see Stiles.

Their relationship grows but Peter frowns upon it, trying to put a stop to it; trying to pin crimes on Stiles and have him executed. 

Derek wakes to the sound of a gathering crowd and steps forward to find Stiles chained in place, the executioner ready. He pushed through the crowd and shields Stiles with his body, refusing to let go. The guards drag him away and Stiles whispers that it’ll all be okay. 

The executioner raises his axe and Derek cries out for Stiles.

Stiles shuts his eyes as the blade comes down. But at the last second, the blade turns to ice and shatters, sparkling fragments raining down around Stiles. 

Everyone freezes, all eyes on Stiles as he opens his eyes.

His eyes glow white and spark with power and electricity.

Derek lets out a sigh of relief, a smile playing across his lips as he realises he found his spark.

This is a really lovely short series and takes a really cool perspective on Parrish.

Take to time to give it a read, and don’t forget to let the author know what you thought and reblog it so others can appreciate it.

Thank you SO much to all my new followers, and everyone who liked my Parrish Stilinski-Hale headcanon.

–

“Oh come on, it’ll be just like an exchange program.”

Derek sets his glass on the table and levels his son with an even look usually reserved for his mate.

From his left, Claudia snorts unhelpfully.

“Don’t be an idiot, idiot. It’s nothing like an exchange program.”

Whoever said siblings have each others’ backs was obviously an only child. Talia, looking up from her homework, smiles sweetly.

“I think it’s an awesome idea.” And then, before Parrish has a chance to feel properly grateful, ruins it with: “I get to go too, right?”

Well, there went that.

“It’s not a vacation,” he says evenly. “And you’re both too young.” Then, back to his papa (who’s leaning back in his chair now, arms crossed and silently skeptical) “I’ll just be there for a few months, I’ll stay under the radar, won’t get involved in any major events and I won’t let anyone know who I am.” And then, more eagerly: “I’ve been studying time travel theory for the past year with Deaton—“

“Which I told you was a waste of time, didn’t I?”

He had, repeatedly. But as one of only two humans in a family constantly bombarded with the supernatural, Parrish had made it one of his major projects from a young age to learn as much as he could about spells and magical theory to help out. Wolves have a lot of advantages on humans, but a grasp on magic definitely isn’t one of them.

His papa always grumbles that he’d inherited way too much of his dad’s investigative genes, but there’s always a smile in his eyes as he says it.

Now he turns to his dad for help. Stiles Stilinski-Hale had been hovering behind his husband’s chair since the start of the conversation, a vaguely amused, contemplative look in his honey-brown eyes.

He had shifted forward even as Derek leaned back, their body movements adorably in-sync as always. Even now he reaches out to caress Derek’s nape soothingly as his expression goes taut with tension.

“Honestly, Der, I’ve been kind of waiting for this for a while.”

Derek rolls his eyes, leaning back into the placating palm.

“So have I. So I can shoot him down.”

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9 for Sterek? (It was so hard to pick one!)

#9 from this prompt list

It’s official. Stiles’ first year on the FBI payroll is going to end in murder. And it won’t even be the murder of someone cool and evil, or at least someone secretly supernatural and suspicious. No, it’ll be the fucker from two cubicles over who just responded to being introduced to Stiles’ “friend Derek” with a derisive snort, a side-eye, and after several tense seconds of forced conversation a muttered, “guess Stilinski really does get a boner for the perps,” as he walked away.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but that’s because Derek is too pure and good for this world and does not realize the severity of the situation.

Or, well, more likely because Derek doesn’t have a hair trigger response to people who wrong him. Even though he should.

“Listen, that little twerp over there by the hors d'oeuvres is talking about you right now, Derek, I can tell.”

“And I can actually hear him. So what?”

“He just called you a fugitive. To your face.”

Derek shrugs a shoulder. “I’m still a person of interest.”

“You were exonerated!”

Derek has the audacity to roll his eyes again. “This entire room is filled with FBI agents. I wasn’t exactly expecting to show up and have no one notice that my face used to be plastered all over your ‘most wanted’ boards.”

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love letters straight from your heart

For the lovely @poetry-protest-pornography, who listed one of their favorite tropes as “doing something nice for the other and getting caught.” although this didn’t quite turn out to be that, I hope you enjoy anyway ♥

It seemed like a good idea at the time. How much of Stiles’ life was shaped by those words? But this? This was probably one of the worst decisions he had ever made.

After two years of living in the dorms, Stiles was faced with a choice. Either find some people to get a shitty apartment with, or move back home. Between nightmares and training with Deaton, moving back to Beacon Hills made the most sense. The commute was only an hour and he had managed to schedule his on-campus classes to meet only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Everything else he could take online.

But he just had to go complaining about moving back in with his dad to Derek over the summer. In his defense, he never expected Derek to offer his spare room. Because Derek had a house now. A very nice house. And a job.

Honestly, the idea of living somewhere he could be independent, yet still see his dad whenever he wanted was too good to pass up. But now, standing in the fancy kitchen and staring at the yellow sticky note on the coffee maker, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d made a mistake.

DO YOUR OWN DISHES, spelled out in Derek’s blocky hand writing stared back at him. Stiles sighed, scrunching up the yellow square and setting it beside his mug. It was the fifth note he’d found in as many days. One in the bathroom (PICK UP YOUR TOWELS), one on the refrigerator (DON’T DRINK MY BEER), and several others scattered across the house.

It was infuriating. This was the reason Stiles had wanted to sit down and draw up a roommate contract, but Derek’s only stipulation was ‘pay the rent on time.’ Stiles rinsed his mug and dropped it into the dishwasher. It hadn’t even been a week and he was already worrying about making this work.

—

Stiles was stubborn. He told his dad this was for the best, so he was going to stick it out. And Derek wasn’t a bad roommate, really. He worked odd hours because he was the newest deputy on the force, but he was always quiet and neat. Sometimes Stiles didn’t even know he was home.

After the first month, Derek convinced him to take the Toyota to class. It had much better gas mileage, plus meant less wear and tear on the Jeep. So Stiles parked Roscoe in the garage with the Camaro and hung the new set of keys off of his keyring.

All in all, Stiles though they were doing well. Even if they rarely saw each other. (Which, considering the massive crush he had on Derek, was probably for the best. No need to make it weird.)

It had been two weeks without a damn sticky note, so Stiles figured he’d cleaned up his act enough to make Derek happy. Until one morning he came down to a note reading PICK UP YOUR SHIT. It was stuck to the wall above the pile of shoes and sweatshirts and textbooks that had accumulated in the living room.

Stiles sighed heavily before gathering up the mess to take to his room. “This is why we need the expectations outlined,” he grumbled, not even caring if he woke Derek up.

He dumped everything on the floor, grabbed his backpack, and shut the door a tad bit harder than necessary. KEEP YOUR DOOR CLOSED OR CLEAN YOUR ROOM had been the last message and Stiles tried hard to comply. But hell, it was exhausting trying to remember all of the rules. Maybe he should have kept the notes instead of crumpling each one and throwing it away.

—

For the first two months living together, Stiles could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually spoken to Derek. Part of it was his crazy schedule, with classes and training with Deaton and hanging out with his dad. And the rest was Derek’s apparent preference for night shifts. In fact, it wasn’t until mid-October that Derek finally confronted Stiles about his sleeping habits.

Stiles was neck deep in practice tests when the door to the garage swung open. Derek dropped his work bag on the kitchen floor and slipped into the chair across from him. There were notecards, loose leaf papers, and multiple notebooks spread across the table between them.

Derek took in the chaos and sighed. “Why are you still up?”

“Stupid exam tomorrow.” Stiles didn’t even look away from his screen. The words stopped making sense an hour ago, but there was no way he could remember this many conjugations.

“Go to bed.” Derek gently slid the laptop out of range. “You can’t learn anything when you’re this tired.”

“But…” Stiles’ protest died as Derek fixed him with a look. It clearly conveyed that he wasn’t listening to arguments. Defeated, Stiles leaned back in his chair and yawned widely. Ugh. It was almost four in the morning.

The next day was brutal. Stiles rolled out of bed at eight o’clock to an alarm that he didn’t remember setting. He stumbled down the stairs, trying not to wake Derek with his heavy footfalls. But when he went to pull the milk out of the refrigerator, the sight of a yellow sticky note on the door made him freeze.

In neat capital letters, it said: GOOD LUCK TODAY. There was even a smiley face. Was this the Twilight Zone?

Stiles stared, then blinked several times. But the words didn’t disappear.

He smiled the entire duration of his morning routine, stopping to stick the note to the inside cover of his Latin textbook before he left. Then he hopped into Derek’s Toyota and drove to school.

He aced the exam.

—

Several weeks passed and Derek was already out on his night shift when Stiles shuffled in from school. He’d had an incredibly long day, filled with lectures and labs and finishing a stupid group project. Finding a familiar yellow note hanging from the microwave didn’t fill him with dread anymore. Especially not when it said: DINNER’S IN THE FRIDGE.

Stiles heated up the leftovers, feeling exhausted and content. Derek had even made his absolute favorite because he knew today was going to suck.

It was difficult not to read into Derek’s little acts of kindness, and Stiles was crushing harder with every note. The newest one was going to hang alongside DON’T FORGET YOUR LUNCH, and SCOTT SAYS HELLO, and DON’T WORRY I’LL BUY MORE COFFEE TONIGHT, and HAVE A GOOD DAY. That last note had Stiles grinning like a lunatic, to the point where Deaton asked if everything was alright.

So all in all, life with Derek was good. Stiles just had to keep reminding himself that Derek was a friend and not his co-lead in some rom-com about a werewolf and a spark who live together and fight crime. Although that would probably be an awesome idea for a TV show.

Shaking his head at the thought, Stiles loaded his dishes into the dishwasher and headed up to bed.

—

Halfway through the semester, Stiles’ three accelerated online classes had finals. He was super excited because that meant he’d be down to only two classes. His work load was about to be so much easier, and he might even have time to catch up on Netflix

The only problem was that the exams had to be scheduled at the proctoring center on campus. And because he was an idiot, he scheduled them all back to back. How he was going to survive six hours of testing was a mystery.

But Derek stayed up with him every night for a week, flipping through notecards and quizzing him on what he knew. Plus, he promised to take the night off and have a movie marathon once Stiles got home. Because Derek’s house was ‘home’ now and Derek was one of his best friends.

Sure enough, a yellow square saying: YOU’VE GOT THIS was already in his spot on the kitchen table. Stiles grinned at the note, peeling it away so he could add it to his collection.

—

On a typical Thursday night, Derek tapped at the door and stepped into Stiles’ room. Which he had never actually been in before. It seemed kind of weird, now that Stiles thought about it. He glanced over at the mountain of three week old laundry in the corner that was offensive to even his human nose and, well maybe not.

Marking his page, he set the textbook on his desk. “Hey, what’s up?”

Derek didn’t respond. He was staring at the bed with a slightly dazed expression. Then Stiles remembered the little yellow squares affixed to the headboard in neat rows.

He flushed, not really sure what to say. “Was there something that you wanted?”

Derek tore his eyes away. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

Right. This morning’s note read WE’RE HAVING DINNER WITH YOUR DAD. It was a nice reminder of the fact that Derek was taking fewer night shifts. Sometimes he was even around to hang out with.

“Give me a second.” Stiles glanced down at his ratty sweatpants and stained t-shirt. Man did he need to do laundry.

He emerged from his room in more appropriate clothes and followed Derek out to the Camaro.

They were halfway to his house when Derek broke the silence. “You kept the notes.”

“Yup.” Because, obviously.

—

Stiles rushed home from school. It was the last day of the semester and normally he’d be ecstatic to have his freedom back. But this time, he was too nervous. Honestly he had no idea what he was thinking that morning. Maybe he could still get back in time to take that idiotic note off of the counter.

He parked in the driveway and sprinted to the door, hands shaking as he unlocked it. When the door finally clicked open, he crashed into the kitchen. The shower upstairs was running. Fuck. Maybe he could call it a friend dinner? People probably made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town for friend dinners all the time. Right?

Stiles’ panicked eyes landed on the note. His hurried scrawl: Dinner at Luka’s? 6pm was followed by Derek’s blocky print spelling out: IT’S A DATE and underlined three times.

Sagging against the counter, Stiles took a deep breath. He knew he hadn’t imagined the last few weeks. Derek was home all the time now, only taking shifts while Stiles was training or at school. Which meant they spent most of their day bickering over recipes and watching crappy television.

It was awesome and domestic and Stiles couldn’t wait to date the hell out of Derek Hale.

—

(And five years later, they visited Luca’s again. But this time, Stiles’ drink came with a sticky note asking WILL YOU MARRY ME?)