It had been innocent enough when you first started writing them. A friend had suggested you write letters to yourself, to try and work through and understand your own feelings. Only, writing to yourself had felt stupid.
With a dry smile, you had decided to write a letter as if you were writing to Dracula himself. The idea was amusing enough, and surprisingly, you were able to be genuine with your letter, though you still didn’t express too much of how you felt.Â
The next day, feeling a touch of childish whimsy, you took it with you on your walk, and put it in the mailbox in town. it had no address or return address, but you thought it amusing all the same. Until a reply showed up at your doorstep a few days later.
It unnerved you at first, that someone had not only replied, but somehow known where to reply too. They seemed to have taken great care to make it realistic too, the paper of both the envelope and letter itself, feeling expensive and thick, and the writing done in elegant cursive.Â
After a few days, you decided that the correspondence couldn’t hurt, and so you replied to the curious letter, explaining the reason for your first, and apologising. It took only two days for a reply to come, after you had mailed yours, the same way you had before. There was acceptance there, and a tentative offer for you to continue. And continue you did.
Before you knew it, you had been writing to your stranger for over a year. Your letters with the stranger (call me Vlad, my dear) had become more personal, the two of you sharing things that you hadn’t really been able to voice before. It was nice to pretend that Vlad was real, and genuine with his stories and emotions. They chased away some of the darkness in your mind, and made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t so lonely and detached from the world.
Not all good things could last however. Your home life was only getting worse, and despite being an adult and having a job, you knew there was few options for you, if you left.
You started to lag in your responses with Vlad, your comments becoming darker and shorter. Eventually he questioned you about it, and you admitted that things were getting worse, and that your mind was taking you to increasingly dark and dangerous places. You honestly weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on like this.
By the time his next reply came, you didn’t have it in you to check. You knew it was all a lie, something funny and amusing to pass two peoples time, but it had felt like more than that for a long time, and your foolish heart apparently didn’t know the difference either. Your replies had become prompt with each other over time, never taking more than two days to send to the other, but your mind and heart were too clouded, and your motivation had died. A few weeks passed, and the letter sat unopened still, as did two more that had arrived.
You were in the midst of a loud shouting match, or rather being shouted at, when there was a knock at the door. They cursed at you and stomped over to it, going to see who it was, while you stared blankly at the wall, tucking all the emotions away. You flinched as your name was shouted, and hesitantly made your way to the front door, wondering who the hell would be looking for you of all people.Â
Standing there, an umbrella held overhead to block the rain, was an incredibly tall and broad shouldered man. His pale skin stood out starkly against his expensive black suit and long black hair. Pulling his sunglasses down off his face, you found your eyes locking with the dark hellfire seeming to burn within his own. His expression softened slightly from the cold intimidating look he had held, and he gave you a small smile.
“Hello my dear….”
Looking up, I felt all colour draining from my body. “Y… you’re real,” I whispered, fear mingling with awe and euphoria in my voice as a tear fell down my face.
He gently reached a hand out, cupping my cheek as he nodded. “You thought I was…otherwise, devotchka?”
So short, but made my heart ache (in a good way). Thank you Darling.
(I did send this on anon to thelandgoncooperative but it’s the dirtiest thing I’ve written yet and was happy with it, I might work up the guts to put it on my other blog later. It’s pure sin, just take it and go.)
When you bring up trying thigh riding to young Michael he was excited at the concept but not so sure when you get to trying it out.
And getting rather embarrassed that he’s stripped down to only silk-like boxers (which you bought him special for more fun teasing sessions) and with you having taken your shirt off so he doesn’t feel like the only one exposed really hasn’t helped, because now he’s flushed up to the neck, not sure if he’s more uncomfortable from feeling perverted wanting to stare at your breasts or just how hard he already is.
You gently coax him to sit on your clothed thigh, jeans waiting to become his mess.
Tentatively he comes over to you, feeling more naked than ever under your lustful gaze as you pull him closer and help him to be correctly seated on you, grinning at his hardness pressed against your leg, he shakily inhales at the sensation.
“Don’t worry baby boy.” You murmur, carding your fingers through his hair while he gets more comfortable.
One hand resting on his lower back, fingers rubbing lightly above his waist band of his underwear making him shiver.
You lean up, lips brushing against his ear, hot breath making him harder by the second.
“Take all the time you need.” He jolts feeling you nip his earlobe, already giving a quiet moan before he slowly starts moving, releasing breathy whimpers as the fabric of his boxers catch slightly on your jeans, your hands firmly grip his hips urging him to continue.
His blush goes all the way down to his chest, between voyeuristic-like embarrassment of being in such an open room and so turned on his skin feels like fire.
Compared to your cool hand going to the back of his neck, pushing his face into your neck as he moans, curling in against you, his grinding becomes uneven when your lips attach to his neck. Michael turns the best he can to give you more access as you start sucking, biting him and marking him as your own,
He yelps as you bite again, pinching one of his nipples while he grinds faster, the other hand slipping down the back of his boxers to roughly grab his ass and groaning as you squeeze him
“Such a good boy for me” tears prick his eyes from stimulation and your praise. He moans again, this time louder as you grip his ass tighter, so close, his boxers soaked with precum as he desperately pushes against you again and again.
Whimpering so sweetly, "P-please"
You grin, nails coming to scrape his bare back causing him to arch against your touch, ragged breaths as you continue to mark his neck, already enjoying the color blooming on his normally pale skin.
“Come for me baby.” He jolts, grinding against you one last time with a shaky moan, cum shooting into his boxers, he can feel it dripping a bigger mess against him as he rides his high, whimpering into your neck and arms wrapped around your back holding you against him.
Stuttering hips are dragging it out and pushing him further against you in his euphoria as he begins to soften.Â
His entire body is shaking as it ends, Michael slumps against you, out of breath and panting while you soothingly rub his bare back.
“Such a good boy”
You kiss his hair and carefully move so he falls onto the bed beside you, splayed out on the soft covers and chest heaving as you move to lay beside him, propping yourself up on one arm and wiping away the tears that escaped him.Â
Michael looks at you smiling, exhausted and glad he did good as you soothingly pet his hair, only moving just enough so he can snuggle against you to rest.
My first Michael Langdon writing and the dirtiest thing I’ve made to date. Please enjoy~
Listening to your religious co-workers murmur about angels and miracles, is always a little awkward for you. They had asked you before, if you believed in angels. You had hesitantly agreed, and to your relief they had asked nothing else on the subject, though they seemed surprised that someone like you, believed in angels.Â
The mental image of their reactions if you told them the truth though, are enough to have you giggling a bit. You had gotten a few odd looks for that, not that such a thing would be anything new, but luckily they had shuffled off a few moments later.
The idea of telling them that you had once smashed a vase over an angels head when they had appeared in your bedroom, or even the fact that they stuck around and have taken to calling you “Little Miracle”, is more than a little amusing. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t take such “blasphemy” well.
Your heart pounds heavily in your ears, deafening you to the rest of the world, and all you can do is stare up in shock at the person hovering over you protectively. You’re not sure what happened. One moment you were just walking down the street, and the next, there’s heat, brightness, pain and then them.Â
As you finally, dazedly break their gaze, to look around you, you realise that the entire street has been destroyed, and that the person hovering above you, just saved your life. Blinking blearily back up at them, you watch as they try to speak to you, unable to hear or process what they are saying.Â
What you do notice though, is their piercing eyes, and the large shimmering scythe, held in one of their hands, having been used to deflect the blow of some of the debris.Â
In general, Being a monster hunter is a thankless job. There’s always someone willing to complain about the damages, despite having been saved from a fate worse than death. Or someone calling you a murderer no matter how many lives you saved through your actions.Â
The days are long, the wounds many, and the gains barely enough to get by most days. But looking down at the small child in your arms, seeing their eyes full of tears of relief as the dying cries of the creature that captured them, sound in the background, you know that all of the pain is worth it.Â
Plot twist:
The child is actually a supernatural creature and the creature that captured them was a human.
You are a monster hunter. You hunt monsters. And sometimes, humans act more vicious and more evil than the one they label as the monsters. Sometimes, they are the monsters.
You are a monster hunter. You may be deemed as a murderer but the lives you have saved, both supernatural and humans, make it all worth it.
You are a monster hunter. And you hunt monsters down.
I was so desperately hoping that someone would go down this path. I have such strong feelings about the use of the word Monster. Love this so much
Toad's Cave 