Autumn: An Excuse To Read Witchy Goth Werewolf Vampire Smut on the T

By Anonymous | Photo by Ana Savitt

It’s a beautiful autumn day, and I enter the back doors of the T with no destination in mind wearing a purple flowing skirt, a black vest, four crystal necklaces, my chunky platform docs that could curb stomp a bitch, and that silver belt thing everyone seems to have (you know the one). I cross my legs, don a mysterious yet neutral expression, and open my brown Smiths tote bag to pull out my Kindle because I like to read and that makes me different from other girls. The plethora of rings I have on all ten of my fingers clang together as I navigate to the page I left off at in my book, and I begin to read.

He growls in anger, his eyes darkening. “Who did this to you?”

“It’s nothing,” I answer. Blood drips from my arm, but the way he’s prowling towards me makes me fear what is coming next.

“Answer me,” he growls again. He reaches the table I’m sitting atop and sets himself standing between my le-

I am drawn away from my witchy goth werewolf vampire smut by the feeling that someone is watching me. As shivers run down the back of my neck, I look up to find the T conductor looking straight at me, head fully turned from the wheel (of the train) still barreling at full speed down Comm Ave. He notices me staring, and quickly turns back to the front, just in time to blow the horn at some people standing a centimeter past the yellow line. I turn back to my book - it’s getting good.  

“It was an accident,” I say, desperate for him to be farther away from me and closer at the same time. 

He leans in, his breath hot on my face. He is practically shaking with anger. “I thought you understood that, when our pack claimed you, you weren’t supposed to go around getting yourself hurt, especially not by those vampire scum.” 

I am taken aback. Is that worry in his voice? 

“I…uh.” I struggle to find words. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” 

“It better not.” He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm down. Then, he looks at me again, his gaze ranking over my face, then my arm, then the rest of my body, then returning to my lips. 

I heat up, my-

My breath quickens (my face remains neutral like the 21st century woman I am), but I feel another shiver up my neck, and I look up to again see the train conductor staring at me. This time, he doesn’t look away, and I am able to better see his face. He is ruggedly handsome, with wild brown hair and a scruffy beard and the largest, most muscular arms I’ve ever seen. He has tattoos of constellations and the moon running the length of his neck, and his eyes have a slightly yellowish tint to them. He is unlike any man I’ve ever seen. He is…otherworldly. 

After meeting my eye, he turns away again, bringing the T to a screeching halt as he barely makes a red light to avoid hitting pedestrians crossing. Shaken, I return to my book. 

Suddenly his lips are on mine, his hands in my hair, and I’m eagerly reciprocating. I can feel his hard c-

I can feel the conductor watching me again, and this time I’ve had enough. I shove my Kindle into my tote bag and march up to the front of the T and to the conductor. 

“Why do you keep looking at me? Am I doing something wrong?” I ask him.

He grunts. “Nothing wrong.” He says, keeping his eyes straight ahead, his voice gruff like a dog’s bark.

“Then why do you keep staring at me?” I press on. He is silent for a beat as if contemplating what to say to me next. Then, he turns his head to face me. His eyes are fully yellow, his expression dark, handsome, and hungry. 

“Because you are the one I’ve been waiting for.”

Looks like this witch no longer needs her Kindle.