also omg imagine... snowed in at Duck Tape w/ Clyde.... spiced ciders & huddling for warmth...
A/N: Thank you so much for this prompt! I hope that you enjoy this short and sweet little something :)
1.4k, just fluff!
Clyde is doin’ his damn best not to go breakin’ anymore glasses. He’s already managed to drop three while you’ve been here in his bar, standin’ up on step ladders in those nice-fittin’ leggin’s of yours, reachin’ up to hang paper snowflakes that you’ve made from the rafters.
Concentrate, he’s got to concentrate -- lest he go hurtin’ the one hand he’s got left.
You don’t notice, thankfully. Clyde has decided that this was the year he was going to confess his true feelings for you. He sure as hell knew not to rely on luck for this, the Logan curse would surely bite him in the ass real quick. No, this was a highly calculated plan, one that would have to be performed with military-like precision. Jimmy and Mellie were both on board, the surprise was all ready for Christmas Eve...he just had to not blow it all before then.
Christmas Eve was a week away, which by all accounts was soon enough the Clyde should be able to control himself, but whenever you’re around him, he just turns all red-faced and sweaty again. If you notice, you’ve got the decency to keep your mouth shut about it.
“Alright honey, I think that about does it for me here.” You say, clappin’ your hands together in triumph, gettin’ his attention.
“You all finished already?” Snappin’ his head up from the task at hand, Clyde manages to not drop the glass he’s been dryin’. There’s a slight edge of panic in his voice, just because damn, he enjoys your company so much, and he feels like he didn’t get to pay much attention to you today.
He had mentioned off-handedly the other day, that he felt bad the bar still had no decoration around it to make it fit for the holiday. Clyde didn’t mean anythin’ by the comment, just that he had been so busy with everythin’ else in his life -- the plan mostly -- that it slipped his mind. And now, with a week to Christmas, Duck Tape looked like a regular ol’ spot, not even a strand of twinkle lights to be seen.
“Yep,” You grin at him, eager and hopeful for his reaction, “What do you think?”
You of course, had simply arrived this mornin’ with your car loaded up with bins of decorations, and set to work. Clyde knew better than to stop you, not that he wanted to. You made everything better, just by your bein’ there. And if Clyde could get some added time with you, then he sure as hell wasn’t complainin’.
“I think it looks stunnin’ darlin’. Duck Tape ain’t never been so pretty.” Clyde marvels, his eyes goin’ wide at the way you’ve transformed the place.
Homemade boxwood garland was hung around each and every archway, wrapped around every pillar, intertwined with sparkling lights, red and green and gold baubles fixed on the branches. Pots of poinsettia flowers were artfully arranged at the host stand, paper snowflakes hung and swirled gently from fishin’ wire suspended from the ceilin’, at different heights too, to make ‘em look like they were really floatin’. Big red velvet bows were tied to the backs of the chairs and barstools, and the booths all had novelty christmas salt and pepper shakers sittin’ on ‘em, that Clyde knows for a fact came from your own personal collection. He knew that outside you had strung up lights to outline the roof and all the windows, even nailed up a santa claus and reindeer on the roof, makin’ his humble bar look like one of them houses that folks would drive past just to admire the setup.
But all of that paled in comparison to the glowin’ tree that sat right in the front of the bar where folks first come in. It wasn’t very big, mostly because all the big trees had been bought from the Lowe’s already, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. Much like the rest of the bar, the tree was decorated in red and gold, with tinsel and lights and baubles galore. A big star shone up on the top even, fillin’ the space with a warm light.
Clyde doesn’t know what to say, as he steps from behind the bar and takes in the sight, but that ain’t nothin’ new for you. You simply smile and look around at all your hard work with a pleased expression.
“Good, I even switched out some of the old vinyls in the jukebox for ya.” You say, pointin’ to the big vintage thing in the corner, “Ya know, in case folks might be in the mood for some atmospheric cheer.”
“Did’ya test it?” Swallowin’ around a lump in his throat, Clyde’s voice is almost hoarse as he keeps his tone light, playful, “Best to make sure it works.”
“Oh yeah, of course.” You nod and chuckle to yourself, knowin’ that he doesn’t want you to leave yet.
That was good, you figure, because you don’t want to leave him either.
When you drop a quarter in, you select one of the old orchestral records and let somethin’ soft play, before goin’ back to Clyde and lettin’ yourself get real close to him. He looks at you with blush on his cheeks, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say somethin’, before he notices the window and clears his throat.
“Uh, darlin’?” He frowns, “I don’t think it’s safe to drive right about now.”
Your attention goes to the window too, which looks almost like nothin’, nothin’ but a blanket of white that falls heavily and blows around outside.
“Oh shit, we’re snowed in, aren’t we?” You rush to the side, cuppin’ your face against the glass. You can’t even see your car it’s so dense already, and it looks like it ain’t fixin’ to stop anytime soon. “I thought that big storm was coming later this week!”
“I wouldn’t even try openin’ the door if I were you.” Clyde scratches the back of his neck, silently praisin’ whatever powers that be, for sendin’ this snow his way.
“You’re right, I doubt it’ll even budge.” You say, and Clyde can’t help but notice that you don’t sound so disappointed about it. His suspicions are confirmed, when you turn away from the window and smile shyly at him, “It’s a good thing though, that we’re here together.”
“Why don’t you come a little closer and let me keep you warm.” Clyde hears the words comin’ out of his mouth before his brain can catch up, and he winces. That was much to forward, too strong, he’s gonna --
“Got anythin’ hot and spiced back there?” You’re suddenly right against his side, the heat of your body radiating against his own.
He could kiss you, right there and then. He wants to kiss you, he wants to hold you tight and never let go you. Jimmy and Mellie would kill him for ruinin’ the surprise, for foilin’ his own plan, but damn you smell so good and you’re so warm and right there...
“For you darlin’? I’ve got just the thing.” Clyde says instead, steppin’ away and goin’ back behind the bar with a shy blush on his nose, lookin’ at the little ring he’s got stashed behind the counter, and knowin’ that it’ll be worth it to stick with the plan.
He’s been waitin’ for you for years, a few more days couldn’t hurt, not when he loves you this much.
You weren’t sure when exactly your husband had snuck out of the house, but as the sun had set on Thanksgiving day, you found yourself with one of your best friends sat at the big table in your dining room.
It’s quiet in the house, just you and your friend happily finishing off the last of your plates, when they bring up the fact that Clyde is nowhere to be seen.
“Hey (Y/N)?” They ask, looking around.
“Yeah?” You stifle a big yawn and stretch out your legs, the button of your jeans popped open to accommodate how pleasantly full you were from the feast that you and Clyde had prepared for your friends and family.
“Where did that man of yours go off to?” Your friend gives you an incredulous look, under a false impression that he might be tryin’ to get out of helpin’ clean up.
You only smile, because that ain’t the case at all. In fact, if there was anyone hell bent on gettin’ Thanksgivin’ cleared away, it was Clyde. You lean in, even though it’s just the two of you at the house, all the other guests having left about an hour ago, and explain, “Clyde’s family has this tradition where they get the Christmas tree after Thanksgiving dinner.”
“That early? Wow! Thanksgiving’s not even over yet -- we’re still eating.” This news surprises your friend, who blinks as their eyebrows shoot straight up.
When you and Clyde first started dating and he was livin’ in the trailer, you had been surprised too that they didn’t wait until at least the first of December. But then you had learned that it was a tradition his Ma had started, because Christmas was her favorite holiday, and suddenly it all made sense.
“He doesn’t get excited about very much, who am I to deny him the joy of getting the tree?” You shrug, standin’ up to collect the last of the plates and bring them to the kitchen to be forgotten until the morning. “Besides, with him and Jimmy gone, that means we don’t have to watch football all night long.”
“Ahh I see, smart.” You friend smiles when you wink at them and take the remote.
Switching the channel to put on the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special, you grin gettin’ cozied up on the couch, figurin’ that you could squeeze out a little more Thanksgiving celebration before Clyde gets back and starts the Christmas explosion.
Clyde doesn’t come back in time to say goodbye to your friend. He’s still gone when you package up the leftovers in tupperware containers. Even when you’re turnin’ off the lights -- save for the little one in the kitchen so he don’t go trippin’ over anythin’ -- and goin’ up the stairs to go to bed, there ain’t no sign of his truck in the driveway.
Shakin’ your head with slight fond exasperation, you wonder just what kinda tree he was goin’ to be bringin’ home. Your mind flashes to the movie Elf, thinkin’ about how Buddy chopped down one from the park and chuckle to yourself. Clyde had no problem committin’ felonies, when he really wanted to.
It isn’t until you’ve finally fallen fast asleep after a long day of runnin’ around and entertainin’, that he decides to come home and wake you up with that gentle baritone of his, makin’ his way up the stairs too callin’ for ya, “Darlin’? Honey you in here?”
You coulda bet money that he’d wake you up, and when he sits on the side of the bed and rubs at your back with his good hand, you groan and grumble, rollin’ over to try and capture him in your arms, pullin’ him down to join you under the covers.
“Clyde, please, it’s almost three in the mornin’.” You complain, not wantin’ to open your eyes one bit.
“I know but -- ”
“No buts.” Interrupting him, you let sleep come over you once again, snugglin’ into the pillow as you pat his side of the bed, instructing, “Come to bed, whatever it is, it can wait ‘til morning.”
Clyde does not, of course, go to bed. Or maybe he does, and he just gets up very early the next mornin’, because on that Friday when you wake up, it’s to an empty bed. Somethin’ delicious wafts up to your nose from the kitchen, lettin’ you know not to panic. He’s just downstairs makin’ up a breakfast for you to enjoy, the crispy sound of onions sauteing for Clyde’s famous hashbrowns music to your ears.
As you descend the stairs, you don’t even get that far before the first floor comes into view, and you see the absolute winter wonderland that Clyde has seemingly set up overnight. The grandfather clock in the dining room sounds off nine chimes, which by all accounts ain’t even that late in the mornin’, and yet, every inch of the house that can be decorated, is decorated.
Garland is wrapped around the banister of the stairs, with ornaments and lights hanging onto the fake green branches. An army of nutcrackers are positioned in clusters all around the living room, on the piano, on the bookshelves, everywhere you look. Snowglobes and wreaths and snowmen even those little animatronic statues are all set up, surrounded by string lights galore.
“Oh...my god.” You can’t help but grin, going down the stairs a little bit more.
A Christmas village is set up on a long table, complete with an ice-skating rink that plays music and has the little ceramic skaters actually move around the surface. The tree looks like Clyde had cut it down from the woods somewhere -- it was enormous.
When you and Clyde got married, and he surprised you with a house that he purchased with some of the heist money, he told you that he bought it mindful of where the Christmas tree would go. At first you were a little upset that he had just gone ahead and bought a house without lettin’ you help, or have a say for that matter, but just like with everything else about Clyde, he was so thoughtful in everything that he does, that the house wound up bein’ the most perfect place you coulda imagined.
And the tree looks perfect there at the bottom of the twin staircases in the foyer of the house, the high ceilings accommodatin’ the nearly fifteen feet of the fir. You thought that it was very sweet of him to leave the tree undecorated, and the stockings were not yet pinned to the fireplace, an activity that the two of you could now do together.
“Merry Christmas baby!” Clyde notices you noticin’ his decorations, and picks you up off the stairs to carry you down the last couple steps.
“It’s still November, you know.” Filled with joy, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him deeply, letting the holiday spirit fill you even as you tease him.
“So? Christmas ain’t a date, it’s a state of mind.” Clyde winks at you with a great big toothy grin, makin’ you beam. Clyde wasn’t one to show a lot of visible emotion, hell the man only smiled three times in the first six months of y’all datin’. So to see him get this happy about something was a present in and of itself.
“It looks incredible honey, how did you even get all this done?” You have to ask as he carries you through the fake snow banks.
“Oh it ain’t done, not yet. We’re goin’ shoppin’.” Clyde sets you down at the kitchen table, which looks relatively normal still.
That sends a wash of dread over your body, and you fix him a look as you try to convince him otherwise, “But it’s Black Friday, the stores are going to be packed. You remember what the news was like last year, all those people fightin’ over TVs and XBoxes. Why don’t we just stay home and cozy up by the fire instead?”
“No way darlin’, I saw the most perfect thing at the Lowe’s and I think it’ll look perfect on the roof, but we gotta go as soon as breakfast is over.” Clyde shakes his head, and you sigh.
As badly as you want to say no, you think of all the times that Clyde has willingly gone out with you to do things he didn’t want to do, simply because he knew it made you happy.
“Is it cold outside?” You ask, basically conceding and makin’ his smile widen.
“Nope.” He replies, but you cross your arms over your chest and raise a brow.
“Will I be cold if I go outside?” Asking what you really meant, Clyde scratches at the back of his neck and chuckles,
When the both of y’all are bundled up as much as you need to be so that you don’t complain about the cold bitin’ at your fingers, Clyde gets into his truck -- a recent birthday present you had surprised him with after bein’ sick of not bein’ able to fit anythin’ in his tiny damn two seater -- and you both go to the home improvement store.
Just as you feared, the place is jam packed with men women and children of all ages wantin’ to get their hands on that new snow-blower, or a toolkit, or hell even a grill for the summer time since the deals are so good. Clyde isn’t phased by any of this, even though the sight of the swarmin’ crowds make you a little uneasy.
Like the steady anchor that he is, Clyde simply takes your hand, and leads you through the aisles to the Christmas section that all these stores have right now, and you have to admit, the displays are dazzlin’. There’s all sorts of illuminated snowflakes and faux trees that twinkle, projectors that can turn the sides of your house into a light show, snowmen that wave -- you name it, they've got it.
And somethin’ tells you that you’ve already got all of this at home, waitin’ in boxes in the garage for Clyde to go assemble it. You were no detective, but you knew Clyde had raided the stores last new years to take advantage of all the clearance sales.
There was one thing that you didn’t have though, and that’s the new set of reindeer made out of lights. The display in the store shows them all lined up and ready to go, with Rudolph leading the way. There’s even a sleigh that lights up, but nothin’ could glow the way that Clyde’s face is beamin’ at you right now.
“It’s perfect, don’t you think?” He asks, nearly breathless, his good hand flexin’ and clenchin’ in yours.
“Yeah, I do.” You nod, restin’ your head on his shoulder, “I love you, Clyde.”
There wasn’t a person alive who liked Christmas more than your husband, of this you were sure. And you couldn’t blame him, after all that he’s been through, and everything he’s done to get to where he is today, why wouldn’t he want to celebrate his favorite time of year?
He looks down at you and blushes a little, clearly aware of how much of a little kid he must be lookin’ like right about now, and he leans down to kiss you right there in front of all the people of Lowe’s without a care in the world.
“I love you too honey, now what say we buy these, go home, and I fix up some leftover lunch for us?” He offers, as your stomach rumbles with the thought of a nice turkey and cranberry sandwich.
“Only if you heat me up a cup of cider to go along with it.” You agree, givin’ his hand a squeeze, so in love... before the two of you figure out how the hell you’re goin’ to get all these boxes into the back of the truck.
hey baby, its not like a normal request cause i have nothing specific in my mind but nsfw with clyde PLEASE. you're my favorite writer i couldnt ask anyone else!!!
A/N: Thank you so much for sending this in! I've been sorely missing some good old fashioned Clyde content on the blog, so I hope that you enjoy this little ficlet!
1.1k, NSFW (dirty talk, oral sex [f receiving], PIV)
When you blink your eyes open one beautiful autumnal mornin’ in your slice o’Heaven, West Virginia, it’s to an empty bed. Clyde’s side of the mattress was still warm, so you know your husband ain’t been gone for too long, but still, the chill of wakin’ up alone makes you want to grumble.
Havin’ a handsome man so big and wide as Clyde meant that you got to snuggle up against him before gettin’ up and ready for the day, and you’re fixin’ to grumble to him about takin’ that away from you.
That is, until, you smell somethin’ delicious waftin’ through the little home that you share, and your mouth starts to salivate. Any grouchiness that might’ve started has officially vanished, because really, how could you be mad at him when he’s makin’ that famous breakfast of his?
You know the smell of buckwheat pancakes anywhere, and you smile when you slip your robe on and make your way through to the kitchen, where you watch him move around the small space with bleary eyed, tired sluggishness.
“You’re up early baby.” Wrapping your arms around his middle, you press your cheek against his back, hugging him with adoring affection.
At once, he perks up, like the sight of you makes his tiredness go away, even though you know that ain’t the truth. Clyde looks over his shoulder at you, and with a smile, presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Mornin’ darlin’,” He turns back to what he’s doin’, always a man of concentration, “Thought I’d surprise ya with a little somethin’ warm this morning.”
“Consider me pleasantly surprised.” You pat his stomach before pullin’ away and leanin’ against the kitchen counter as he expertly flips pancakes. “Can I help with anythin’?”
The sound of the coffee maker bubblin’ away tells you that he’s already gotten that covered too, and your heart beats in time with it, so grateful that you’ve got a husband that cares about you so much. You knew lots of folks weren’t so lucky to have a man half as wonderful as Clyde.
“Nope.” He shakes his head with a shy smile, pointin’ his spatula to the “You just sit your pretty ass right at that there table and look beautiful.”
With a smile, you do as he tells you, and it ain’t long before he’s stacking a high pile up on a plate and settin’ it down in front of you.
“Wait -- these all can’t be for me?” You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise, when you see that he doesn’t bring a plate over for himself. “What are you gonna have?”
“You.” When Clyde replies, it takes you a second to register what he said, and when you do, your fork stops halfway to your mouth.
“Oh?”
“I want ya real bad darlin’.” He licks his lips, and heat immediately spreads through you faster than any breakfast could.
In five minutes flat, he’s moved everything to the counter, pulled away your robe, and has you flat on your back on the kitchen table with your legs around his shoulders as his tongue is thrusting into your wet pussy.
“Oh fuck -- Clyde!” You moan loud loud loud, no one around for a mile to hear you shout his name, your toes curlin’ in that soft fabric of his pajama t-shirt, “Fuck that’s good!”
Clyde eats your cunt like he’s a starvin’ man and you’re the first meal in days. He’s messy, sloppy, all teeth and tongue and lips and his hand is grabbin’ at ya and it’s delicious, the sounds your pussy makes as he sucks down your slick make you drool. His nose is rubbin’ against your clit and he knows it, the swollen little thing achin’ for more pressure that he holds out on givin’ you, wantin’ to make it last.
“I’m gonna come soon Clyde!” You warn him, making him abruptly pull out and shuffle around a bit to get his cock lined up instead.
The sun come in blindin’ bright through the orange red yellow leaves, the song of the birds chirpin’ filters through the open windows, and in return you share with the mountains around you, the sound of your loud cries of pleasure and the rhythmic scraping of the wooden table legs against the floor.
“I’m gonna keep you just like this all day.” Clyde grunts as his cock slides between your slick folds with a harsh brutal thrusting pace, his teeth clenched, eyes shut tight as he moans and groans, “Legs spread like they ought to be.”
“Shit, faster Clyde, please!” You beg, your own eyes rolled back into your head, holdin’ onto the edge of the table for dear life, “What -- oh fuck -- what are you going to do to me?”
With his good hand, Clyde palms one of your breasts and pinches at the nipple, makin’ you whine loudly, makin’ your back arch off the table and press up against him as he rails your gspot. You’re gonna have marks on your body from this, and you don’t ever want him to stop.
“Pretty girl, gonna make you come on my cock ‘til tomorrow.” His chest is heavin’ as he fucks you hard, “Gonna fill you up ‘til you can’t walk.”
“Yes!” You scream, feelin’ that blazin’ heat travelin’ up your spine, makin’ your limbs shake, makin’ your body crave the release of orgasm, “Yes -- please, please!”
“And when you can’t take no more, and it’s spillin’ down your thighs, I’m gonna make you eat it, lick it off my fingers as I fuck it back into ya.” Clyde grunts in your ear, his body completely coverin’ yours, thrustin’ into your cunt until you’ve got thick tears of pleasure spillin’ over your cheeks, “Hold still baby doll, hold still, I’ll make ya see stars.”
Lettin’ go of your nipple, his hand drops to your clit as he rubs and rubs and rubs with hot hard friction, until your body snaps up and shudders with a rush of adrenaline from coming, all over his cock, just like he said.
Clyde follows shortly after, and you hum as you can feel the heat of it spreading through your body, unable to move as your own muscles are limp, a lazy grin on your lips as shapes swirl in front of your closed eyes.
“Damn.” You breathe, voice ragged, “All day, huh?”
“Yep.” Clyde chuckles, and you’re glad for whatever got your husband in the mood for a marathon of sex on this particular mornin’.
You’re more than happy to oblige, but the both of your stomachs growl loudly right then, causin’ you to both giggle in post-orgasmic bliss, and you let him cover your face with gentle kisses when you playfully suggest, “Maybe we should finish breakfast first.”
My love! Have I got a Spooky prompt for you: “don’t you want to be fully consumed by what loves you?”/kiss of death with my big bear. ♥️
Can’t wait to read everything you come up with! Ily!
A/N: Mrs. Logan my QUEEN! I hope that you enjoy this little thing that I've come up with for this prompt, love you forever and always!! :)
1.6k, lots of blood talk in this one lol
He hears ‘em sometimes, late at night in the bar. Hears the laughter from the trees right off the interstate, the walls to keep folks on the path. Doin’ shifts on weeknights wasn’t too popular at Duck Tape, so Clyde often finds himself takin’ on a double just to pass the time, just to hear them. He likes listenin’ to them, likes listenin’ to ‘em sing. If he lets his mind wander, sometimes, he imagines that they’re singin’ just for him.
The bell jingles at the door, makin’ Clyde frown. He’s wipin’ glasses dry to the tune of Bob Seger, even though he’s already done that twice tonight. It’s three o’clock on the dot, Clyde knows this because the clock stops workin’. The bar technically ain’t open, not really, Duck Tape closes at two on the weeknights.
It’s a Thursday, so they hadn’t been so busy anyway, but still, Clyde was sure that he had locked the door.
He ain’t complainin’ though, when a lone woman passes through the threshold, lookin’ chilled from the cold. Autumntime in West Virginia wasn’t too frigid, but the temperatures could drop real quick way out there at night. Bein’ a good host, Clyde greets the woman with a nod, and somethin’ that he hopes is a smile.
“You alrigh’?” He asks, takin’ stock of your appearance.
You’re wearin’ a pair of faded blue jeans and a t-shirt, an outfit closer to fittin’ summertime weather than the crisp forty degrees that the little thermometer was readin’. Clyde notices that you’re barefoot, notices that you track mud in with every step, even though it ain’t rainin’.
“Better now that I see you’re open.” You say with an easy smile, your face lightin’ up with charm and warmth. There’s somethin’ off about your face, but he can’t quite place it, can’t quite place why your skin looks a little too dull in the dim lighting of the bar.
“I’m not.” He replies, makin’ your smile drop into a frown, makin’ your eyes harden. Somethin’ about the whiplash expression has Clyde wantin’ to take a step back, somethin’ deep and primal in his bones tellin’ him to put some distance between him and you.
“Oh.” Your voice sounds so plaintive then, and you nod in understandin’, turning around to head back towards the door, your muddy footprints goin’ back.
“But you can stay, if you need to.” He blurts, feelin’ like less than the gentleman than his Mama raised him to be. He would never turn away someone in need, ‘specially not a young woman like yourself, ‘specially not at night. He clears his throat and averts his eyes, “I was just finishin’ up.”
“Thank you.” Perking right back up, you look at him with relief, and that dangerous pit in Clyde’s stomach softens a little.
He realizes then, that the bar is quiet, the jukebox turned off. There ain’t no more singin’ out there beyond the trees anymore, and it’s eerie. The wind howls and caresses the windows, and you’re takin’ a seat at the counter, your back rigid and straight, your eyes unblinkin’ as they stare into his.
“Can I uh,” He busies himself with something so that he doesn’t blush under your scrutiny, “Do you want a drink?”
You’re so beautiful. It was shocking almost, how stunning he found you. He had thought he knew every damn person in this town, and he sure as hell would’ve remembered a face like yours, a body like yours. He wants to stare right back at you, but he can’t, that wouldn’t be polite. The least he can do is offer you a drink, but you shake your head, and he feels like he could panic, wanting to keep you there with him, your face intoxicatingly pretty.
“No thank you, I don’t have any cash on me.” You explain, turnin’ out the pockets of your jeans. There’s nothin’ in them -- no phone, no wallet, no keys. Who were you, and why were you wanderin’ around barefoot all alone with nothing?
“It’s on the house, what’d’ya like?” Clyde already is reachin’ for a shaker, for some ice, when you give him a cryptic sort of smile and request,
“Somethin’ that’ll warm me up.”
Clyde just so happens to have some fresh made apple cider from Mellie, she had dropped it off earlier that day for the weekend crowd. Fixin’ you up a hot cup of that and a dash of bourbon for the hell of it, he slides you over the glass and you happily accept it. You lift the cup to your lips, but take the tiniest sip imaginable. Clyde ain’t so sure you even got any in your mouth.
“You’re Clyde Logan Logan, ain’t ya?” You ask then, with a sort of confident interest that has Clyde blushin’ again.
“Yes ma’am.” He can barely speak, thrilled that you know his name. You know him, maybe you came here for him and not just for shelter from the cold.
“I’ve heard lots about you, all my friends have told me such good things.” Grinning at him, Clyde gets that distinctly uneasy feelin’ once again, like maybe your teeth are too sharp, your smile too wide. It don’t look natural, but then as quickly as it arrived, the feeling flees.
“That’s mighty kind o’ya to say.” Fumblin’ ever so slightly, Clyde drops the glass he had been dryin’ and winces as the shards cut his hand when he goes to pick up the pieces off of the floor, his palm pulsin’ where blood begins to pool, “Ah shit -- ”
“Wait.” Suddenly on the other side of the bar top -- how the hell did you get there? -- you cradle his bleeding hand in two of your own, your eyes wet and wide as you whisper, “You need to lick the wound closed.”
Your eyes stare into Clyde’s, waiting with bated breath, until he swallows a lump around his throat and he nods. Almost at once, your tongue laves across the sweat-salty palm of his hand, lapping up the blood. It wasn’t a deep cut, he’s not bleeding profusely, but it’s enough to make your lips seal around his fingers and suck them clean, sighing happily.
“What are you doin’?” Clyde whispers, standin’ stock still, as you kiss the pads of his fingertips, kiss the knuckles, kiss his little horseshoe ring.
“I think you know.” When you look up at him again, he gasps the smallest bit.
Your skin brightens, a vibrancy of your skin tone revitalized, your lips plumper, your hair shinier, but most of all your eyes -- your eyes had now taken on a crimson color, the same color that matches the bloodstains on your teeth as your tongue licks it away, not wanting to waste a single drop.
Immediately, Clyde tilts his head up for you, elongates his neck, the sound of his pulse hammering in his veins a symphony of permission, of pleas. He shuts his eyes, braces himself for the way you immediately latch onto the hard muscle of his throat, your incisor teeth elongating sharp, razor sharp, piercing through the flesh.
Pain blooms at the twin points of pleasure, and Clyde’s instincts have him fighting, have his body writhing, and oh he is so much taller than you, bigger than you -- but not stronger.
“Shh, shh, it’s alright honey.” You pull away for a moment, his blood staining your t-shirt where it has soaked through the fabric, your chin slick with the sticky syrupy elixir of life. Petting his hair back, you press bloody kisses to his cheek, to his lips as his throat continues to bleed, precious crimson that you quickly move to lap up, your tongue silky and velvety against his flesh as you murmur, “Don’t that feel nice? Don’t you want to be fully consumed by what loves you?”
“Yes -- fuck, don’t stop.” Clyde’s gasping, pushing himself closer to you.
“If I don’t stop, I’ll kill you.” You shake your head, wanting him to know exactly what he’s asking for, “You’ll be like me, forever and ever.”
“Can we be together? Can I stay with you?” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he knows it sounds correct, knows that it’s what he’s wanted for so long.
The singing is back now, but it’s inside his brain, it’s so loud, booming, thrumming through his body as you suck the blood out of his body, draining him of it, until not a single drop is left. And then, when all is gone and you are full of this handsome man’s delicious blood.
“Of course, that’s why I came, Clyde.” Your voice speaks with the etherealness of a being a thousand years old, and your eyes glow ruby with the blood filling you up, your fangs dripping a silver venom like liquid mercury.
You plunge your fangs back into Clyde’s throat, but this time instead of taking, you give. You give him the gift of eternal life, you give him the possibility of otherworldly abilities, of untold strength, of immeasurable power. But most of all, you give him the promise of your companionship for all time, and this more than anything is what he has sought after for so long.
Which is why, though he has no tears left in his body, Clyde feels emotion welling up in his eyes, as he feels the love that you pour into his body, the love that he has hoped for his entire life, the singing growing louder and louder in his mind, when he realizes it’s been you all alone. But still, still through all of that he can hear you whisper,
dailybridgerton
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