Summary: Your family has instilled a fear of forests into since you were young. When you move back to your mother's hometown after your grandmother falls ill, you find it hard to stay away from the woods- and the horned god living within.
Warnings: Slow (ish) Burn, eventual smut, mentions of violence, blood, emotional and small amounts of physical abuse.
🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7 (Coming soon)
See my Pinterest board for the aesthetic and scene inspirations.
See the Spotify playlist that I listen to while writing, designed by @outlawadvocate
Series Warnings [18+]: smut, unprotected sex (reader is on an undisclosed form of birth control), wife kink, praise kink, breeding kink, lots of dirty talk
New Neighbourhood
As the first part of your undercover mission, you and Billy move into your new house - only to find that the house is bugged.
White Picket Fence [18+]
You and Billy commit to your roles as husband and wife in your undercover operation.
Morning Routine
After the first night of you and Billy sleeping together as fake husband and wife, you’re both feeling particularly affectionate. But your words are just part of the act - aren’t they?
After Work [18+]
Billy has a long day at work, and as his wife, you seize the opportunity to improve his day.
On the Road COMING SOON
You and Billy have a small briefing in the car on your way to the store.
Warnings: car accident, vampire stuff, blood is its own warning.
You're body was shaking, as you crawled your way out of the wreckage of the car. Something warm trickles into your eye and you use the edge of your sleeve to shakily wipe it away.
You could hear your father's stern voice in your ear, that you should have just hit the spooked deer, instead of swerving, because now you wouldn't be in this deadly predicament.
You lower your body and shimmy out of the broken window of the car. The car lies on its back under the amber coloured hue of the single streetlamp. One of your headlights has been broken, the other shines into the line of trees beside the road. You're too tired to find your phone, too shaken, your hands refuse to hold you upright.
The night is cold, a misty cloud everytime you exhale. More warm liquid drips into your eye, you wipe at it.
Maybe a few moments to rest, you tell yourself, and then I'll find my phone, just a few minutes.
Then you're slumped against the frame of your crumpled car, falling into something that may be sleep, or a very peaceful death.
The next time you have any kind of consciousness, you feel weightless, limp, but the world shakes around you. Rhythmic steps, cold arms, being carried somewhere and you can't say a word, can't utter a sound, the only functional sense you have is your nose, catching hints of pine and old books.
It's the aching of your throat that wakes you, your stomach cramping and begging for a sip of something delicious. You suck in a slow breath, feeling like literal death as your senses come back to you, one by one.
Something's different, but you figure everything is likely to be irritating and painful after what you've been through.
Your eyes burn when you open them, and you shut them immediately, trying to abate the sting.
Everything's too loud in your head, you feel like you can hear the silence of the room ringing in your ear.
You make short blinks- letting your eyes grow accustomed to the sting, letting your body slowly accommodate.
You dread moving, knowing that each little turn is going to ache.
It does, your entire body screams as you try to sit up, your body gives a small tremble but surprisingly holds its position.
You let out a groan, and then immediately flinch at how loud the sound echoes in your ear.
You notice him then, chair turned to face your bed, dark eyes fixed and studying your every move. Black pants and a white shirt, the top two buttons undone.
"You had quite the spill, little one." He whispers, but it sounds like he's talking at a normal tone.
The room is coated in absolute darkness, no source of light at all- so why can you see so clearly?
His skin is pale ivory, his eyes are darker than the night, his lips are a surprising shade of pink- decorated with a finely trimmed beard.
You want to ask who he is, how did he find you, where you are, but the words won't come. Nothing.
"You need to eat, sweet girl, before I answer the questions you obviously have."
He moves to the side of your bed, and you watch his hands with curiosity as he unbuttons his shirt, your eyes catch on his razor sharp nails, that you're sure would be able to cut your throat in one swipe.
The bed dips when he sits beside you, pine and ancient pages flood your senses, mixed with something more. Your mouth waters inexplicably.
"Don't be frightened. I'll take care of you." He murmurs, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, the material pooling behind him.
His fingers slip into your hair, and you feel like you're in some sort of trance, moving your face into the crux of his neck.
Your brain can't fabricate a question as you get a pure hit of his scent for the first time. Delicious, something savoury and metallic calling out to you beneath the surface of his skin. You bury your nose in his neck, pulling in slow breaths. Your throat aches.
Need pulses in your body, spears into your heart and blooms in whatever shreds of soul you have left.
Your tongue traces a spot, where the call is loudest, and then you feel a sharp pinch in your mouth, under your gums.
The next part is instinct, coming from somewhere you've never felt before and then you're biting into his skin.
You hear his moan, and close your eyes in bliss as the most delectable taste fills your mouth.
You fight the sheets you were under, crawling out of them and into his lap, arms wrapped around his body daring him to pull away.
He's delicious, he fills you with satisfaction as you swallow mouthful after mouthful of his savory lifeblood.
You shift your hips and feel something rock hard between his legs but you don't dare pull away from his neck. You drink deeply, without care, until you're full and sated.
Even when you unlatch from his neck, you keep your tongue on the puncture wounds for as long as possible, until you've realised they've closed of their own accord.
Then, you finally look up at him, his hand still fixed in your hair, your brain establishing him as a lifeline under these precarious situations.
"Welcome to the rest of your life." He says inexplicably.
Some comforting oatmeal for breakfast with vanilla, cinnamon and gingerbread spice, agave syrup, raspberries and peanut butter 😊 perfect for the first snow 😍😁👅🍴❤
Rice + curry 😛 Seriously sooooo good 👌🏼 I have a recipe in my new YouTube video, click the link in my bio to watch (recipe in description) 😄
Heading out for lunch later to meet the amazing @lind.slaaay, so pumped! Literally one of my biggest inspirations ever 😁✨
Hope you all have an awesome day! 🙌🏼
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