#ripping the shades off dramatically for that sweet sunlight at the last desperate second

[dyrewrites]

Informing my son that Dracula did not burn up in daylight in the novel was possibly the best thing I've ever done.

He's been having so much more fun coming up with his own little vampires (they usually end up becoming some kind of terrible lich with an army of undead but that's alright too).

"So it doesn't hurt him?"

"Nope, but he doesn't seem to use his shapeshifting in daylight so it's possible it weakens him a little."

Vampires being hurt by the sun became a thing with Nosferatu, because it's more tragic and that was the point of that film.

And it is more tragic and fun to play with...but don't forget that gran-daddy Dracula took strolls in broad daylight and wished his captive, boyfriend, house guest a lovely morning with relative frequency.

You can let them outside, they'll be okay--unless you want them to be cursed to roam the night for eternity.

[parkeraul]

pull me in — 1

a/n: i wanted to insist on grease!shawn and if you like it, i’ll publish the other parts. not sure it’s gonna be longer than 5 chapters, but hands up: badboy!shawn ahead.  warnings: cursing, mentions of hook ups.  words: 3,7k

She doesn’t know how many hours she spent awake instead of going immediately to bed after a long day. That was typical of her to avoid resting in order to sit down in front of her mirror and brush her hair, strand by strand, to let the thick light-brown locks be correctly fixed even though no one’s going to see her in her sleep. Also, she always had this compulsive manner of rolling her bangs into that big & pink hair curler her grandmother gave to her a few years ago for her birthday — because OH-MY-GOD a lady should always be prepared to every situation, no matter the time; you HAVE to look good. Who knows if the love of your life isn’t coming for you at anytime? It’s hard to deny that her grandma does have a point and, to be honest, there’s nothing else in the world that she loves more than spending time alone to take care of herself. People at school call her preppy and it would be a lie if she said she doesn’t agree [or isn’t kinda proud of].

At the moment she feels her eyes heaving and her body giving into the softness of the blankets and mattress, the glass of her window pulls her out of her serenity with a loud bang. She huffs and turns around, thinking it’s just the rain getting thicker and shooting ice stones all over the neighbourhood.

Another loud bang.

Snapping her eyes open, she breathes deeply to keep her patience centered. Since she was a little kid, patience was never her strong characteristic and everyone who knows her barely well can confirm this. There was never a possible second option, there was never a plan B — if she wants something, she’s gonna get it and good luck to the one who dares stepping into her way, because it’s certain that it’ll be the beginning of World War III.

Just when she thinks about grabbing another pillow to cover her ear, comes one more crash with more rocks at the same time.

The sound of the thin rain outside can’t ease her nerves like it always does; the cozy bedroom and the warm temperature of her covers can’t stop her from growling furiously like an angry little puppy while she sits down on her bed to remove the hair curler and toss it away, her grandmother’s voice annoying the inside of her mind with those classic words “You never show up to a guy without at least a decent hair” and God she never knew she’d hate the sweet but shaky tone of that voice so much. Getting up on her feet after pulling away the white fluffy covers, she grabs her curtains with all the rage she’s feeling to drag it across the window. Her face is scrunched in all possible ways, the cheeks turning into a dark shade of pink while the short hairs of her bangs are trying to come down back to her forehead. Holding onto the wooden base of her window, she moves it up and finds the reason to all the crashes against the glass. “What the fuck you think you doing?” She tries to scream and be low at the same time, spitting her words through gritted teeth at Shawn down in the middle of the street, holding two rocks in each one of his hands as the raindrops slips along his leather jacket. "Open up, Lyssa,” He yells back, dropping the stones to bring his palms to the sides of his mouth like she can’t listen to him being loud enough already to wake up her family. “You know you want to!” “First of all, asshole,” Inching her body closer to the lower edge of her window, she sets her head a little bit to the outside so she won’t need to yell. “From now on, for you only, it’s Alyssa Stempford,” Shawn rolls his eyes so intensely that Alyssa can get the sight of them going to the back of his head from where she’s standing on the second roof of her house. He crosses his arms, holding back that stupid smirk she doesn’t know if she loves or hates so much. “You done?” Shawn asks sarcastically, earning a roll of eyes from her too. “Second of all,” She prompts right after, tugging a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If it depends on me, you’ll putrefy outside while the rain makes the job of melting your body little by little.” Her frantic words are making her head tilt quickly as she speaks, those charming bangs that Shawn loves so much shaking lightly as she pulls back to pin her window down again. “Alyssa—“ “Good. Night.” The window slams shut after she pronounces her words in a paused rhythm, leaving the curly-haired boy still left in the wet asphalt with his white tank top getting soaked and he’s sure he’s gonna get a cold but whatever, something about Alyssa makes him crave her even in her angriest form — it’s sure a challenge for him and the tougher it is, the more he wants.

She’s back in bed, giving no fucks about curling her bangs again while the two heavy blankets cover her body again. Would she start crying? Never in Shawn’s wildest dreams. No ma’am. He can go on and call her heartless like he did once or twice, she’ll proudly wear it out and even wait for a trophy if you may, with golden-bright letters across it saying “Alyssa Stempford, the coldest bitch in Canada. Pickering, 1958.”

She has no time to facepalm and rub her face to vanish the stress away, the knocks are back along with his smooth voice she never admitted she loves hearing.

“Lyssa!” The sound of his tone is muffled by the closed window, as the rocks keep on hitting the glass repeatedly and he starts to reach notes like he’s performing a romantic serenade for everyone to listen how fucked he is for Alyssa. “Oh, Lyssa, don’t you go breaking my poor little heart…” Seriously? She growls again, leaving her bed one more time to open her wardrobe feverishly in search of any extra pillows to cover her ear because the truth is that she doesn’t wanna fall for him and his stupid ways to compel her. She’s tired of letting him think he’s in control when he’s actually just being the fuckboy everyone told her he is. There is a sudden silence that drags her to the moments when she first saw him jumping off his huge motorcycle, catching everyone’s eyes as he released those smooth curls from the helmet and got up, fixing his outfit and running a hand through the messy locks. She’s sure her jaw was threatening to fall down like it did when he started chatting with the people surrounding him, acting like a fairytale prince towards all the girls and making the boys jealous of his intimidating posture. Alyssa was fresh new in Canada, coming from one of the various countries she’d lived in due to her father’s job but finally landing somewhere she wouldn’t struggle so much with the language or ambient. And it would be so much easier with that broad boy, handsome as ever, sun cascading over his defined features and reddening his cheeks—

“Oooooh, Lyssa! You’re tearing me apart, baby, yeah…”

She’s so nervous that she wants to laugh desperately. Her fingers are curling to the inside of her hand, red nails punishing the skin like they’re about to rip it open and she stands on her feet for the millionth time that day — dramatic addition just like classic Alyssa does — and she doesn’t care to close the wardrobe door, going straight to the front of her window to open it, hopefully, for the last time that night.

“Shut the fuck up?!”

He grins quietly, staring up at the most beautiful girl in his humble opinion.

“I just wanna be with you, ooh with you,”

“I swear to Lucifer!”

“Stop screaming, darlin’, and kiss me instead…”

“I’ll fuck the shit out of you.”

“I’ll let you do anything, babygirl…” He clears his throat, smirking devilishly and thinking about the best rhyme he can do to get her weakening. “If you let me splay you… All over my bed—“

“Shhhhh!” Alyssa hisses urgently. If her father ever listens to this, it’s a fact that both Shawn and her are going to drop dead the next morning.  “What do you want after all?” His boyish smile seems to grow more and more, remembering about those days where they were making out so passionately in his bedroom. And in the back of the school’s building. And inside the diner’s restroom. And Brian’s house at the living room. Oh, and inside his dad’s car. There was also that time after French class after everyone was gone and the teacher left to look for the keys to the classroom’s door. The couch of his basement. The library. The parking lot after Elvis Presley’s concert. The backyard under the sunlight; the field next to the lake when they went out for a picnic; the movies; the garage of her house in the middle of the night; the locker room of the hockey team—.

“You didn’t give me a chance to talk to you today,” He says, theatrically pouting and feeling his poor little heart ache. There’s not a single second away from her that doesn’t punch him in the chest. “Mm? What do you say?” “You really think I’m talking to you after what I saw on tuesday?” “I was looking forward to this,” What a cocky piece of shit. “See? You read my mind, Lyssa,” Shawn bites on his lip to hold back a laugh and spread his hand open in front of him, like he’s coming out defeated by a bigger force. “Sorry, Alyssa Stempford.”

He’s ridiculous. That’s what she thinks. How can a boy be so beautifully annoying?

“Where do you think you’re going?” Alyssa interrupts his steps towards the front door, his frame nearly disappearing under her roof. “Gonna see if you finally remembered about using your keys this time.” Shawn managed to break into her house silently sometimes, unable to stay away from her cuddles and being surprisingly successful on not getting caught by her parents, tiptoeing upstairs in a way Alyssa would never understand — considering that he loves being pretty loud when he’s next to her, just to catch her attention and make her laugh so his chest and stomach would get all of those butterflies filling him up with love. “Uh-uh,” She clicks her tongue in denial after humming. “You stay right there, you’re not coming inside.” “But Lyssa, it’s raining in here!” Shawn whines, making puppy eyes to melt her heart as the water straightens his curls, hair clinging to his forehead and face getting all wet while the rain intensifies. “Go home then,” She says as if it’s simple for him. “There’s nothing stopping you.” “But you’re my home—“ “Oh, no! Ew!” He bursts into laughs, not surprised to have this reaction from her because she does that everytime he gets way too passionate for her taste. He can’t say he doesn’t love this, because it always leads him to the perfect opportunities to tease her until she gives into his kiss and stops being such a cold-hearted girl. His cold-hearted girl. Or at least it’s what he dreams of. “Let me in or I’ll start singing again.” “Why don’t you sing to your motorcycle? Oh, better: Why don’t you give your ex-girlfriend a ride to school while you make up those silly lyrics like you did two days ago?” He can tell she’s furious by the way she avoids looking at him, sticking a finger after the other to elect the phases of that horrible episode she had to see on tuesday. “I—“ Shawn exhales, puffing the air off his lungs to his cheeks and then out of them. He’s having a hard time staring at her, the waterdrops insisting on get into his eyes as he squints his eyelids to cover his irises partly. “I can explain that!” “Good!” She widens her eyebrows, faking an excitement. “Save your words to put them into a song. The paper is sure way more interested than I am.”

And just like that, stubborn as always, she storms away to the corridor and leaves Shawn talking to the sky above his damp body.

They’re both working quickly.

She’s fast to go downstairs and find the keys to set inside the lock, twisting the cold metal until she hears the soft click while the tree next to her window is dancing from side to side slightly, Shawn’s silhouette swinging with it as he does his best climbing all the way up to jolt his middle forwards and reach the window that she’d left open with the arm that’s not holding the wood for dear life. And of course it’s not his first time doing this. If there’s something Shawn can add to his resume is the gift of being a very talented and skilled tree-climber. God knows how many times he ran away from his own house and some other houses using trees and tricks he’d been learning for good years.

On top of the tree and holding onto the wooden piece that draws the base of her window, he brings his other arm and, when he finds the perfect balance, he releases his legs from the tree to push the material down — body rising as a consequence — until he’s able to set his leg inside her bedroom and feel the floor underneath his foot, promptly bringing the rest of his limbs with him.

He’s preparing to jump out of this window as quick as he got inside through it, because he’s soaking the carpet of her bedroom but just to make sure she won’t throw him, he closes it once more and fixes his hair, hand eventually coming down to wipe the droplets from his rosy face. Hearing soft footsteps trailing the way from the beginning of the corridor to Alyssa’s room, Shawn closes the curtains and freezes in place, not sure where to hide but hoping that the darkness wouldn’t let someone recognize his figure. As if.

But he immediately identifies the pattern of her breathing.

Yes.

The fuckin’ pattern of her breathing.

He had her sighs memorized from the many times he kissed her wonderful lips until she went breathless and from the moments watched her sleep in peace curled against his body at the times he broke into her house by the window or when she lied to her parents that she’d spend the night with her best friends to be on Shawn’s bed, rolling across it with his body hovering over hers and vice-versa until the sunrise.

She’s careful to close her door discreetly, the silk-blue nightdress swinging lightly when she spins in place to face the doorknob she’s holding, pushing it slowly until it’s closed. Too concentrated, she hadn’t noticed a taller frame coming behind her back with arms open and ready to embrace her.

“Lyssa, listen,” He whispers.

And there’s the perfect recipe for disaster.

“LORD JESUS C—“ She turns around, trembling.

“No, no, no,” Shawn instantly covers her mouth, holding her waist with his other arm still whispering as lowly as possible. “Shhh, it’s me, baby, it’s just me.”

Her eyes are wide open, mouth still parted against his palm and it’s almost like he can hear her heartbeat increasing insanely. Yeah, good luck for him to get out of this alive.

“Gotta keep quiet, love—“

“Don’t call me love!” She murmurs after pushing his arm away, hating him even more for smiling and graze her with both arms like she’s not even 1% mad at him. “Get out!”

“Not before you listen to me.”

“You’re ruining my carpet, you dumbass—“

“I’ll lick it clean if you close that pretty little mouth and let me explain why I took Bea to school that day.”

“Bea?”

“Beatrice Fitzpatrick, Alyssa Stempford. Better?”

“It’s the bare minimum.”

“C’mere,” He travels his big hands to cup her pretty face, watching her frowned eyebrows and the honey bangs being moved by his breath coming out of his nose, fanning the little locks. “I want a kiss first, eh?” He licks his lips before pressing them against hers and fuck it’s so delicious to have his mouth, all wet and smooth pecking hers slowly and repetitively. They’re both humming, this simple action sending a wave of desire to both their most sensible parts already and it would be even better if Alyssa hadn’t stopped when she felt his tongue poking out to slip past her lips. “Babe, stop! You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being what?”

“You know that there’s no reason to be jealous of her! We broke up ages ago,” They’re both sounding squeaky through their breaths, trying not to disturb anyone else. “Come on, Aly.”

“Okay,” She mumbles, walking to sit at the end of her bed and she’s a sight for him right now. Silky legs crossed, her arms stretched at her sides and giving him a slight view of the swell of her breasts and her tempting face tilts to the side, lightening a fire under his dirtiest thoughts. “You have 5 minutes.”

“Ha! Very funny—“

“Four and fifty-nine…”

“Really, Alyssa?” He puts his hands on his waist.

“Four and fifty-eight…” She lifts an eyebrow, internally warning ‘you better start before I change my mind’ towards his confused expression. She’s unbelievable; she’s impossible.

“Stop!” Shawn whines again, laughing and crushed. Alyssa’s stubbornness is tough to deal with and after months, he still doesn’t know how to act with it. After all, she always gets him on his knees for her, his heart says he’s gotta have her. “You’re being such a brat, Ly.”

“Four and…” Each of her fingers is coming forward to touch her thumb, her mind pretending to be working on simple math. “Fifty-six?! Time’s running, Peter Raul.”

“Alright, look,” And so he knees in front of her, facing her sweet legs and moving his wet curls away from his hazel eyes. “Mrs. Fitzpatrick called me, ‘kay? Saying that her car ran out of gas and she couldn’t reach her husband at that moment to bring someone to fix that. The car wouldn’t move, you know, Lys?”

Alyssa’s face is softening, although she’s still serious and not blinking, too distracted by his loving raspy-low tone and the little scar on his rosy cheek. She keeps quiet, waiting for him to go somewhere coherent with this.

“I can’t help it, the moms love me,” Shawn shrugs, grinning like an idiot. “Anyways, she asked me to pick Bea—, Beatrice up and give her a ride otherwise she would be late for class, which she can’t be because she’s been missing lots of classes.”

“Oh, how do you know that?”

“Mrs.Fitzpatricktoldme.” Hurrying his words to make it clear he isn’t making shit up, he says as his fingers come up to touch her shins and his mouth goes forward to place a sweet kiss on her knee. “You know me! I’m such a family boy, I wouldn’t say no to a favor.”

“Mm,” She resists, ignoring the knot on her lower stomach showing up as he drags his red lips up to the beginning of her thigh. “That’s all?”

“All, Lyssa,” He shuts his eyes close, feeling the warm flesh under his mouth as he plants open mouthed smooches on her leg. “Promise ya nothing else happened, that’s just it. Don’t be mad at me, babe.”

“Great,” Alyssa says, regretting treating him so bad but still not ready to say she’s sorry. “Now pull away, you’re soaking me.”

“That’s the intention, dumbass,” He inches closer, making a trail of wet pecks up her thigh as the skin shows goosebumps and chills take over her neck. “Let me stay the night?”

“Shawn—“

“Come on! I’m being good, I told you everything.”

“It’s too risky, we—“

“I’ll be quiet! No one’s going to know I’m here.”

“Who’s being stubborn now?”

“At least I’m being rational.”

“Do you wanna stay or?”

“I do! Please, please, please, please…”

He grabs handfuls of her legs and goes over her, kissing her exposed chest all the way to her neck — sucking softly at the sensitive sides — and stops at her mouth, brushing their noses and lips together while whispering his please over and over again. She lets her middle drop down on her mattress, looking up at the ceiling while she considers all the pros and cons of letting him stay. What if her dad sees them? What if he can’t sneak out by the morning? What if her brother invades her room like he does sometimes without further warnings? What if Karen finds out he wasn’t at Brian’s and comes to reveal her parents all the things about their relationship?

“Lyssa?”

Her mind is still somewhere else, thinking about a safe way to let this happen.

“Lys?”

She could make him hide inside her wardrobe on that big space she used to keep her blankets before moving them to the basement.

“Lyssie?”

Or she could lock her door and just tell her parents she’s having one of those terrible period cramps she gets sometimes.

“Alyyyyssaaaa…”

Better! When everyone’s ready to go to the Montgomery’s annual party, she can say that she’s too busy with Biology homework.

“Ly. Ly, Ly, Ly, Ly, Lyssa, Lyly, Aly, Aly-ly-ly,”

“What?” She nearly yells.

“Watcha thinkin’? He asks in a childish tone, chin placed perfectly between her round breasts covered with light freckles from last summer days. His fingers are drawing twisted lines along her sides, threatening to come up and cup her nipples pearling through the thin fabric. Shawn never gets tired of glancing at every detail on her body, smiling like the fucked boy he is for her only.

“Promise you’re gonna be quiet?”

“A hundred percent.”

“Not gonna break into the kitchen in the middle of the night?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Won’t snore?”

“I don’t snore!” Shawn comes out high-pitched, totally offended. How would a handsome guy like Shawn snore? No way.

“That’s the spirit!” Alyssa says ironically, raising her middle a little and Shawn doesn’t inch a millimeter, face still glued to her chest. She tugs at his wet locks, bringing him closer. “Gonna take those clothes off for me?”

“Would rather having you undressing me, pretty girl.” He whispers against her lips, biting at the lower one and pulling it to himself before letting the swollen flesh spring back to its place.

“Whatever keeps you away from wetting my entire bed.”