#dude i cried so hard reading yolk it was SO good

[katierosefun]

do you just ever read a book and you realize that you want to write something like that. like, not necessarily that you want to write something with that kind of plot or those kinds of characters, but you want to write something like that, which is to say, something that moves a person so deeply that they burst into tears

[selfignitingimagines]

Stiles- Maybe We Could Both Benefit

Request-  could you write a stiles one where you guys get caught for doing something the other did so y/n egged someone's house but stiles gets caught for it bc they were running in opposite directions and ran into the direction of the other's "crime scene"? the ending can be up to you! thanksss :))

A/N- Promised this one forever ago, but work has been killing me and I’m writer-blocked trash. 

Your sneakers pounded on the concrete as you raced across the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds. The streetlights above you cast a glow over your dark hoodie, and although you were terrified of being caught, the exhilaration you felt was like a drug racing through your veins. Maybe it was a little immature to be egging your ex-boyfriend’s car, but what else were you going to do about the fact that he had cheated on you? Yes, you were vengeful, and you had to admit that clouded your judgement. But when you stopped at the grocery store earlier that day to pick up ice-cream to mend your heartache, you saw the eggs through those glass freezer doors, and they were just too tempting to resist. You had been so caught up in the thrill that when you smashed half the carton of eggs against his windshield, you didn’t realize his dad had been taking the trash out. By the time you noticed him, the damage was already done, leaving you with no other option than to run, still carrying the half-empty egg carton. You ran down the street as he yelled out to you, and you turned the corner with the threat of the police being called hanging over your head. Luckily you had your hoodie on, so he didn’t recognize you, but your relief quickly ended when you saw the cop car turning around the corner. What the hell? you thought. There was no way he could have called the police that quickly, but even though you were confused, you weren’t going to risk being seen in case they weren’t headed toward a different call. You quickly ducked behind some azalea bushes, and sank into the dirt, hoping that your dark hoodie would provide enough cover. Twigs stabbed you through the fabric as you shifted against the bush, but you weren’t going to move until you were sure they were gone. You waited for a few seconds, until you heard the tires of the car rolling past you. It seemed to take forever to pass, but you were able to glimpse it going steadily up the road. You calmed down a little bit as you told yourself that they might not have even gotten a call. You glanced up the road and saw that they were far enough away now that they wouldn’t see you unless they looked back, so you slipped out of the bushes. As soon as you did, something hard and big slammed right into you, causing you to slam to the sidewalk on your back. “Shit!” you heard a voice cry. You blinked in the little bit of the light the streetlamp provided and sat up, but when you reached out to pat yourself and make sure you were okay, your hands came away sticky, wet, and red. “What the hell?” You glanced up at whoever had slammed into you, and the first thing you saw was their yolk-covered hoodie. It was then that you realized the egg carton was no longer in your hands, and the ones you hadn’t gotten a chance to throw were all over this guy’s clothes. You weren’t too torn up about it though, because he had a can of paint and a wet brush in his hands, and you were guessing that was what was all over you.  “Dude!” you cried. “I am so sorry,” the guy breathed. “But, uh...it looks like you got me too.” Your lips twitched. “Yeah. My bad.” It was hard to tell in the dark, but you could see he had kind brown eyes, and hair cropped close to his scalp. If it wasn’t a trick of the light, he might have had some moles dotting his face too. “Egging someone’s house?” he asked, gesturing to the broken carton. “Car,” you corrected. “My boyfriend cheated on me.” He nodded in appreciation. “Respect. It’s a little old school, but totally retro.” “What about you?” you questioned. “Is this...red paint?” “Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s all washable though, so don’t worry about your hoodie...you know Jackson Whittemore?” You snorted. “Who doesn’t?” The guy’s lips tilted up. “Yeah, so, he said some really shitty things to my friend Scott on the lacrosse field today, so I wrote ‘asshole’ on his porsche with this.” “No way,” you said with a grin. “Only problem was, Jackson likes to take late-night walks, and he came home and saw me.” “Did he see your face?” you demanded. He shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think it’d matter if he did. I doubt he even knows I exist.” “Maybe that’s a good thing.” The blare of a siren suddenly hit your ears, and you whipped your head around the find the same cop car from before driving toward you. You guessed they had looped back around, and you cursed yourself for not considering that as a possibility. “Oh shit,” Stiles said, tossing the paint-can and brush into the bushes. “Should we run?” you demanded. He sighed. “No, they’d just catch us.” “I saw them pass by before, but why are they back?!” “There’s a cul-de-sac at the end of this road,” he told you glumly. The car whooped as it pulled to a stop beside you, and you glanced down at the red paint covering your hoodie. The other guy wasn’t much better, considering his shirt was sticky with yolk and there were eggshells on his jeans. Yeah, you definitely looked guilty. The slam of the door caused you to jump, and you stood there nervously as an officer stepped out of the car. “Hey, Parrish,” the boy next to you said, scratching the back of his neck. You shot him a wide-eyed glance, but he paid no attention to you as the young deputy walked over with his arms cross. “Egging a car, Stiles?” You swallowed, but Stiles just met your eyes and straightened up. “Well, not exa-” “Not your best,” the deputy commented. “I’m still gonna have to radio your dad, though.” Behind him, the passenger door opened and another officer stepped out, this time a woman. She had dark hair twisted back into a braid, and as she eyed you carefully, you saw that her nametag read Clark. “I think we found the vandal.” “Two vandals,” Parrish corrected. “Stiles?” Deputy Clark asked. “You were egging someone’s car?” “I’ve been told it’s not my best.” She sighed. “And this is the one who got Whittemore’s porsche?” “Well, she is covered in paint,” Parrish remarked. “Brilliant deduction work guys,” Stiles remarked dryly. “Actually, though-” “Yes!” you blurted. “It was me. I painted over the car.” Stiles’ head whipped toward you, wondering why you would be covering for him. He had only just run into you on the street, and splashing paint on a porsche was definitely worse than egging a Toyota. He didn’t have time to ask you, but you didn’t think you could have given him a solid answer even if he had. You didn’t quite know yourself why you had covered for him, just that you really liked him. “Alright guys,” Parrish announced. “Get in the car. We’re going to the station.” “Aw, Parrish, come on,” Stiles groaned. “Stiles, you can’t get away with everything just because your dad’s the Sheriff.” The guy huffed, and ran a hand over his short hair. “Yeah, yeah. Story of my life.” Parrish walked over to the car and held the door for you. At least he’s chivalrous, you thought, as you slid into the backseat. Stiles followed after you, and Clarke and Parrish got back into the car and pulled on their seatbelts. “Your dad’s the Sheriff?” you muttered to him, once the car pulled away from the curb. “Hey,” he said, shooting you an offended look. “I’m not a nark if that’s what you’re thinking. And apparently you aren’t either.” You sighed. “Jackson would flay you alive if he knew it was you. You’re the Sheriff’s son. Mr. Whittemore would have a field day with that.” Stiles pursed his lips. “True...but if you take the fall for me, I’m gonna owe you.” “Oh yeah? Owe me what?” “Maybe...maybe a date?” You began to grin. “Wouldn’t that be me helping you out?” “Well, yeah. But I think I’m a pretty cool dude, and you seem like a pretty cool girl, so, uh, maybe we could both benefit from that?” You smiled and leaned back into the seat. “Sure, Stiles.” He beamed. “Awesome. That’s...awesome. And, uh, by the way, what’s your name?” “Y/n,” you told him. “Y/n,” he repeated. “Alright then, Y/n, how much do you wanna bet that I can get Parrish to turn the lights and sirens on?” “No,” came the firm reply from the front seat. “Aw, come on. You know you want to!” You sighed in content as you listened to them bicker back and forth. Maybe you should have been freaking over the fact that you were in the back of a police car, but somehow, it didn’t seem so bad. The night had started out with heartbreak and bitterness, and you hadn’t thought that would go away anytime soon. Now, sitting beside Stiles as you rode through the darkness, it seemed to be ending with the promise of a new beginning.