#Tree Epsom

[penecruis]

Tree Surgeons Weybridge

Alpha Tree Care are tree surgeons in Cobham, providing tree surgery in Cobham, Leatherhead, Weybridge, Epsom, Woking and throughout Surrey.

[rootsandshootstreesurgeon]

Tree Surgeons: Major Reasons Why You Will Need to Remove a Rotting Tree Stump

If you have tree stumps in your garden, here are some of the major reasons you need to know why removing them is a good choice. Read the blog to know in detail.

[harmeet-saggi]

Top 10 Effective Homemade Remedies For Fungal Infections

https://www.secondmedic.com/blogs/top-10-effective-homemade-remedies-for-fungal-infections

[velvetlilith777]

Fighting Frostbite

Elliott x Fem Reader

18+ NSFW 🌨️ MDNI

Author's Note: heheheeheeeee I saw this post on Pinterest and knew our favorite author would be perfect for the plot! <3 I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A ruthless blizzard has made its way into Stardew Valley, separating you from your beloved poet. When enough is enough and Elliott makes the trek to your farmhouse, his hands get a little too cold...

Disclaimer: I am not someone who subscribes to the popular idea that Elliott isn't rough in bed! That man loves you, and he's gonna give it to you 🫶🏻

CW/TW: there's really a plot here if you squint but it's actually just full on smut, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), deep throating, hand job (female receiving), the poet is hung your honor, praise kink baddies rise, frostbite mentioned but not legit

Minors and ageless blogs do not interact! You will be blocked.

Word Count: ~1.9k

Dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws (trees) and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more (snow) 🖤

🎄Ficmas Masterlist! 🎄

Smut under the cut!

The forecast had been bleak. Well into the deep of winter now, meteorologists had been warning of a vicious snow storm moving in for weeks, with temperatures falling well below freezing. Yesterday she came in fast and with a fury, burying the valley in feet of snow with no sign of stopping in the coming days.

But farm work stopped for nothing, the weight from the snowpack breaking and warping some of the older fencing you hadn't been able to replace yet, having to repair holes you weren't aware were causing drafts in your barns, troubleshooting a broken heater and of course, feeding and caring for the dozens of little lives you kept on your property.

It had been a long, arduous and frigid day, all you wanted was to run a hot bath, warm your skin and relax your muscles. So that's what you did, adding some lavender epsom salt as water fell from the faucet and lighting a few candles to set the mood. You finally sink into the steaming water, skin tingling with warmth as your mind lulls off.

Elliott on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to see you. He knew the weather was bad and you had been busy because of it, but it had been days since you’d been able to see each other. Deciding that enough was enough, he bundled himself in his thick, wool coat and scarf before heading out into the bitter climate. It had been too long since he’d seen his muse, so if a trek through heaps of snow was what separated the two of you, then he’d certainly do it.

Creaks cry out from the old hinges on the farmhouse door, causing your eyes to pop open. You aren’t expecting anyone, but your mind eases when you hear a familiar, deep voice call out.

“Hello?”

Elliott. It’s just Elliott.

“In here!” You melodically call.

“Oh, there you are my love. Staying warm?” His face flush from his trek in the outside elements.

“Trying.” You rest your head and arms on the side of the tub, looking up at the writer fondly. “My heater is struggling to keep up but the water is nice.”

“It looks like it,” He lets out a hearty chuckle at the steam still dissipating in the air as he places his scarf and coat on the counter next to your sink.

Elliott kneels down beside the tub, placing a kiss on your temple as he does so.

“So sorry for arriving unannounced, darling. I simply missed you too much to wait for this storm to pass before seeing you again.” He coos, reaching his hand to cup your cheek.

“Elliott!” You jump at his icy touch. “You’re freezing!”

Taking his hand in yours, you begin to examine his skin. Cherry red flush colors his knuckles and finger tips.

“I don't think it’s frostbite,” you remark, “ but just in case.” In one swift motion you shove his hands into the water next to you. The redhead sucks in a breath through his teeth, flesh burning at the sudden change in temperature. “You should've worn gloves, handsome.”

He chuckles. “Yes I suppose I should've. An unfortunate oversight on my part. I was just in such a rush to get here that I forgot.”

Your brows furrow. “Elliott, you have to take care of yourself for me. What if you lost all of your fingers to frostbite?”

Pulling a hand out of the water and placing it gently between the thighs near your knees, he squeezes the chub lovingly.

“Have I told you that I missed you already?”

“You may have mentioned it.” Your saccharine voice tails off.

“Let me say it again” his voice low, “because I really, really missed you sweetheart.”

Elliott catches your lips in a sensual kiss, his movements slow but firm. Eventually, his tongue pushes through your lips and begins dancing with your own. Your arms wrap around his neck, in an effort to pull him closer despite the tub wall separating the two of you. His hand kneading at the flesh of your leg harder now, sending heat rushing down to your core. A whine finds its way from your throat to his mouth, a growl leaving his in response.

The author pulls away from your lips, dragging your bottom lip for a moment with his. You stare into each other's eyes, mesmerized by your lust.

His large hand slowly slides down the inside of your thigh towards where you need him the most, his sight never leaving your face despite yours watching his wrist sink beneath the water. Your legs spread open as he’s nearing his destination, the need in your stomach growing tighter and tighter.

Gasping as his fingers find your clit, your eyes lock back onto his as he begins to rub small circles around the bundle of nerves. Speeding up to a moderate pace, his lips mold into a soft smile as moans start spilling out of yours. Your gaze never leaving the other’s until the coil in your stomach starts burning hotter. Obscene sounds getting louder and louder, falling out of your mouth more rapidly as you throw your head back. Elliott dips his head down taking a damp nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the mound, making your pussy throb and your toes curl.

“Ri-Right there El.” Are the first words you’ve mustered in minutes. His fingers ruthless against the bud, melting your brain. “Stay there and I’ll cum.”

His digits remain where you tell him, but his pace speeds up. Your core begins tingling, burning as cries are torn from your throat. Water is swirling about the tub due to his movements, sloshing around and mixing with your voice in a symphony of his efforts to have you reach your climax.

“Show me how much you missed me beautiful,” He mutters against your skin, kissing his way up to your collarbone before marking the sweet spot. “Let go for me, love.”

In the following seconds, the heat in your stomach boils over. His name is torn from your throat, and he thinks it may be the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. Cunt pulsing under his touch and muscles twitching as his motions continue. What once was pure water is mixed with your juices gushing out of your sweet hole. Your hands find his shoulders, anchoring themselves on them as your vision goes fuzzy.

You ride through your orgasm, his fingers working you through it as he mutters “That’s it. There’s my beauty.”

You press your lips to his as his movements still, hungrily and desperately. Tangling your hands in each other's hair, gasping and puffing in between sloppy kisses.

“Need more of you,” you pant against his mouth.

He pulls away, your chests heaving in unison.

“You've always been able to have as much of me as you desire, gorgeous.”

Without hesitation, you're picked up bridal style and taken to your bed, being sat at the foot of it.

Your hands rush to his belt as he pulls his sweater over his head, broad chest flexing in the moonlight beaming through your window. Once the button on his pants has been undone, he feverishly pushes them down, his heavy cock springing up as it's freed.

Knees hitting the floor as you sit before him, hand taking his member as you run your tongue along the underside. His long fingers tangle in your hair as your tongue circles around his tip, already dripping with precum. You push his head into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking. He draws in a breath, stopping himself from ramming his dick into the back of your throat, letting you take your time.

You finally give him what he’s craving, working your way down his shaft until you're choking, the vibration against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Your head starts bobbing back and forth, grunts spewing from the man towering above you as you slurp and pump. Refusing to take any less of him than you can, tears start streaming from the corners of your eyes as you continue shoving him into your throat, the imprint showing through your neck. Auburn locks fall around his shoulders as he tosses his head back in ecstasy. Your tongue swirls around his tip as you speed up your ministrations, his fingers pulling even tighter on your hair.

“You're doing too well, love.” He stops your movements, pulling out of your pretty little mouth with a pop and standing you up to kiss you deeply. “I was far too close, and nowhere near finished.

The writer turns you around and pushes you onto the bed, positioning you onto all fours. He leans down and licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance before inserting two fingers, moving them in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

“You're already so wet for me again.” Elliott muses.

You let out a moan, rocking back in his fingers before answering. “When am I not wet for you?”

He laughs heartily, “Is that so, darling? Then you must be ready for this.”

His fingers leave you empty, but it’s only for a brief moment. His thick cock lines up with your entrance, before gliding in to the hilt. Your core is stretching and burning wonderfully as he begins railing into you.

“Three days is most definitely too long to be away from my muse” he grunts out between thrusts. Your tits bounce stunningly as his hips rock aggressively into hours, marks forming from his fingers holding onto your flesh.

“G-god Elliott,” You sob out. “You feel so goo-od.”

Elliott knows your body well, but that doesn't mean his heart ever swells any less when you tell him that he’s working you right.

Freckled skin leans over your back as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Yeah? You're taking me so well my love. So well.”

You feel that same lighting start charging inside of you, sweet little hole squelching around Elliott’s weighty girth as it drags across the velvety spot inside of you. His orgasm isn’t far behind, with you squeezing him just right and moaning out his name sinfully.

“El! El I’m gonna cum again,”

“Me too, dove. Let me feel you cum around me. Cum on my cock, darling.” He growls out.

Those words have your waves crashing into the cliff, cunt fluttering around his mass while your back arches into the mattress below you. He’s only seconds behind, white hot spurts gushing out of him as he ruts into you, thoroughly milking the both of you.

As your highs die down, you both crawl to the top of your bed, wrapping yourselves in your quilt and each other's arms fully spent. Before falling asleep you grab his hand, bringing it level with your eyesight.

“Stopped the frostbite just in time,” you giggle.

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Whatever would I do without you, love?”

“Clearly, we never should go days without seeing each other again so that we don't have to find out.” You smirk. “I happen to like all of your fingers.”

He snorts at your implication. “I know you do, darling. I suppose I’d have to agree. I don't want to go that long without you again.”

[the-teufort-nine]

hiii 😁 can we have your headcanons about how the mercs shower? (if they even do that) (yes sniper i'm looking at you)

Hell Yeah U Can

Scout~

Used to having very short showers, as a result of having eight older brothers.

Irish Spring believer.

Gets himself clean (bro sweats ALOT so this is a must) but doesn't do any extra pampering.

If he has to shave at all, this is probably when he does it.

Spends most of the time after flexing in the mirror.

Actually has an INSANE skincare routine. Shares this with Medic and only Medic (he is the only one who has asked)

Soldier~

Sings in the shower, but like, it's almost always the national anthem.

Or Dolly Parton

Uses very basic shampoo, probaby unscented, along with plain soap.

DOES WASH THO. Poor hygiene is how the enemy wins!

Very comfortable with communal showering.

Doesn't believe in shaving anything but his beard.

The happy trail on this man is probably insane.

Pyro~

Don't even bother trying to catch them showering. You'll never do it.

Demo~

Uses some NICE soap.

Bro smells like fresh laundry or pine trees when he gets out of the shower.

Has to remind himself to actually do it though. There have been many times where he'll neglect his needs in favour of tinkering with his bombs or drinking.

Has fallen asleep in the shower before.

If he's drunk enough, and Soldier's singing something he knows, he'll join in.

Heavy~

Longest shower taker. This is his downtime, and you better not interrupt.

Likes baths too, but doesn't often get the opportunity.

Always consistent with showering. Will NOT tolerate being gross for too long.

Gets super pissed if someone uses all the hot water before he gets a chance to shower.

Likes to shower early in the morning, or right before bed.

Engineer~

Average shower length, but leans towards the longer side when he can.

Usually washes with something that gives off warm vibes, like cedarwood, apples and cinnamon, or honey.

Shaves sometimes, but usually lets his hair grow out quite a bit before he trims it back.

Showers at the weirdest times. 3 AM shower time babey!

Like Demo, he can get into the bad habit of putting off showering if he's too engrossed in his work.

Likes to shower in private, but not opposed to communal showers.

Spy~

Shower? Shower? No, absolutely not. This man is having the nicest baths. Everyday, if he can.

Imported goat milk soap, epsom salts, bath bombs, ect.

Like father like son, Spy is a skincare king.

Smells like vanilla usually.

Get's very irritable if he can't, at the very least, wash everyday.

He will shower, but only if there is no other option.

Probably lounges in a silk robe afterwards.

Sniper~

Stimnky bushman.

Showers, but it's like bathing a hairless cat.

Tolerates the water just enough to not smell.

And he will start to smell if he doesn't get sprayed down.

Shakes himself like a dog when he gets out.

Has a bottle of dry shampoo in his van.

Uses whatevers around to wash with, so what he smells like depends on who left what out.

Or he uses this:

Probably air dries on his bed or on top of his camper instead of toweling off.

Medic~

Likes baths and showers equally.

Showers are for when he's covered in gore and sand and just wants to get clean.

Baths are for when he wants to relax and not deal with his beloved idiotic teammates blowing themselves up for five minutes.

Also has expensive soap.

Smells like lemon or mint. Very sharp, clean smells.

Has to be careful not to let his doves sneak in because they like to sit under the water with him, but he cranks the heat alllll the way up so its not safe for them.

Listens to music whenever he can.

[asidian]

Set breakdown time! Next up: Niko's room.

As before, I've circled the points of interest and numbered them to make them easier to talk about. Cool? Cool. Let's do this!

1: Niko's mom's name! This part is her and Niko's surname. The kanji are 佐々木.

佐 – sa, meaning help or aid

々 – an iteration mark. When you see this, basically it means "exactly what the last one said, one more time." So another sa meaning help or aid

木 – ki, meaning tree

It's really neat that they picked a last name for her that doubles down on her role in the narrative. Just like Niko is there to support and help other characters in whatever way they seem to need, her surname hammers it home by including 佐 not once but twice.

2: Riza (リザ) Niko's mother's given name. Somewhat odd here is that it's written in katakana and not kanji. Without getting sidetracked too much (you can pop over here to read more if you're interested) most Japanese people write their names in kanji.

Katakana seems like a bit of a strange choice here, unless a) Niko for some reason doesn't know the kanji for her own mother's name (weird, given that she's in high school) b) her mother is a foreigner (a possibility; foreigners usually write their names in katakana) c) the set designer/whoever prepped the letters didn't know the appropriate kanji for "Riza" (seems unlikely, given how accurate all the rest of this is) or d) some sort of personal habit. An interesting side note is that her letter to Niko also puts Niko's name in katakana.

3: Cutesy stationery, used for marking your place in a document or book

4: A cute blue purse!

5: Watermelon! Judging by the shiny material and placement near the other bag, I'm going to guess this is another purse

6: Niko's clothes :>

7: Pink luggage

8: Lots of instant noodles

9: A rice cooker

10: Rice vinegar

11: This girl LOVES her some plants

12: Probably food items…? The one on the right looks like it might be a five-pound bag of rice, but I don't recognize the brand

13: Lots of unwashed dishes

14: A toaster oven

15: Chopsticks

16: A cute octopus pillow. I think I saw someone mention that it's from Ikea :>

17: She often leaves dirty dishes sitting on the bedside table

18: A painting of what seems to be a skyscape

19: Brightly colored pillows

20: Metal art in the shape of a moon

21: A decorative window hanging

22: More plants :)

23: Candles

24: Her tv

25: Cute pens with pompoms on the end

26: Regular tape

27: A cute cat statue

28: Marble Pop Ramune, strawberry flavor. Ramune is a type of soda that's a popular festival drink in Japan. It's sealed with a  glass marble and you have to pop the marble down into the little catch basin before you can drink it.

29: Anime wall décor

30: Fruit jelly cups. In Japan, small gelatin based snacks like this are popular. They're tiny, about an inch tall, and you eat them in just one or two bites.

31: Niko's laptop. She has stickers on it

32: Washi tape! It's decorative Japanese tape, often with bright colors and patterns, used for crafting.

33: A lot of cute magnets, including the bunny one, which serves double-duty as a kitchen timer

34: Niko's grocery list. The only thing on here that's here because she wants it is strawberry ice cream. The rest of the items, licorice tea, manuka honey, and Epsom salts, are all natural remedies. She's been trouble-shooting how to get rid of the effects of the sprites. She knows she's sick, but not why

35: Cutesy craft supplies! Sequins, glitter, and pompoms

36: More washi tape!

37: Niko's manga collection. She is that particular brand of organizational mess that does not put her numbered volumes in order. She has made an exception for the series that makes a complete picture when you line them up, though

38: More plants :)

39: Manga posters! Issho is one of the series that she has on her shelf

40: A decorative jar

41: Little metal bird sculptures

42: What seems to be the only framed picture in her room. The angle is wrong to see what the photo is, but it's interesting that they added just one in here. Maybe it's her family…?

[aurummarie]

Self-Care Sunday

Self-care is about prioritizing your well-being and doing things that make you feel good. Feel free to adjust the routine to best suit your preferences and needs. Here's a step-by-step guide:

Step 1: Set the Mood Create a relaxing environment by dimming the lights and playing soothing music. Light some scented candles or use essential oils to enhance the ambiance.

Step 2: Morning Meditation or Stretching Start your self-care Sunday with a short meditation session to clear your mind and set positive intentions for the day. Alternatively, indulge in gentle stretching or yoga to awaken your body.

Step 3: Skincare Ritual Begin with a gentle cleanse to refresh your skin. Follow up with a hydrating mask or a DIY face mask using natural ingredients like honey and yogurt. Take this time to pamper your skin and give it some much-needed love.

Step 4: Nourishing Breakfast Prepare a nutritious and delicious breakfast. Consider options like a smoothie bowl, whole grain pancakes, or avocado toast. Incorporate fruits, veggies, and protein to fuel your body for the day ahead.

Step 5: Journaling or Creative Expression Spend some time journaling your thoughts, goals, or things you're grateful for. Alternatively, engage in a creative activity you enjoy, like painting, drawing, or writing poetry.

Step 6: Relaxing Bath or Shower Take a soothing bath with Epsom salts, bath oils, or your favorite bubble bath. If you prefer a shower, use a fragrant body wash or scrub to refresh your skin. Consider playing calming music or listening to a podcast as you unwind.

Step 7: Hair Care Dedicate time to your hair care routine. Whether you're deep conditioning, trying out a new hairstyle, or simply giving your hair a break from styling, make it a moment of self-care.

Step 8: Mindful Reading or Learning Spend time reading a book that inspires you or teaches you something new. This could be a novel, a self-help book, or an article related to a topic you're passionate about.

Step 9: Nature Connection If possible, spend time outdoors in nature. Whether it's a walk in the park, sitting under a tree, or simply breathing in fresh air on your balcony, connecting with nature can be incredibly rejuvenating.

Step 10: DIY Spa Time Set up a DIY spa area and treat yourself to a manicure, pedicure, or both. Use a luxurious scrub and follow up with your favorite nail polish for a polished look.

Step 11: Mindful Eating For lunch, prepare a balanced meal that includes a variety of colors and nutrients. Eat slowly and mindfully, savoring each bite.

Step 12: Positive Affirmations Spend a few minutes reciting positive affirmations in front of a mirror. Remind yourself of your worth, strength, and beauty.

Step 13: Creative Cooking or Baking If you enjoy cooking or baking, spend some time in the kitchen preparing a special treat or a new recipe you've been wanting to try.

Step 14: Wind-Down Yoga or Stretching As the day comes to an end, engage in a gentle wind-down yoga session or some gentle stretches to relax your body before bedtime.

Step 15: Relaxing Bedtime Routine Wrap up your self-care Sunday with a calming bedtime routine. This could involve reading a few pages of a book, practicing deep breathing, or using a soothing lavender-scented mist on your pillow.

Remember, the most important thing is to tailor this routine to your preferences and make it a day that feels special and rejuvenating for you. Enjoy your self-care Sunday!

[watarfallar]

*staring off into the distance remembering how 3rd Life ended* Oh, you're here too. Huh? Incorrect quotes? Oh yeah, here, have these. *continues to stare off into the distance*

Scar: Wow, great work on the Halloween decorations. Where did you get the fake skeletons? Grian: Fake?

Grian: You can’t have a gun on stage! Scar: WRONG AGAIN! I can have a gun, and I must have a gun, that’s the rule of Chekhov’s Gun: have a gun. And now that it’s been seen, I will have to shoot someone before the end of the play.

Scar: "29-34 Give a particular ecosystem and explain how could it be protected." Scar: Help. Grian: Forests, stop cutting down trees and don't hold gender reveal parties anywhere near them.

Scar: I intend to stay pissed at you forever. Scar: Even if I seem helpful. Grian: Then you're in luck. Grian: Because you don't.

Grian: Scar is forbidden from monologuing.

Grian: Help! I’m drowning! Scar: Calm down. We’re only in six feet of water! Grian: NOT ALL OF US ARE TALL!

Scar: I trusted you! Grian: Why?

Scar: Where did you get that tomato soup? Grian: It’s actually a bowl of ketchup I just microwaved.

Scar: Grian, can you help me? All of my clothes keep disappearing for some reason. Grian, wearing a hoodie that's 5 times bigger than their size: Spooky.

Grian: What's my sexuality?! I don't fucking know! I'm not straight, and that's all that matters. Well, maybe that's unfair to the straights. Some of my best friends are straight! Well, one of them. Well, I know them, and Scar is perfectly tolerable person in small doses!

Grian: I typed "bitch" into my GPS and guess what? I'm in your driveway. Scar: Grian: Vroom vroom, come out already.

Grian: You know me, Scar, I don’t take any shit. You know what I say to my haters? Scar: What? Grian: I say: “Please don’t hate me, I’m really nice.”

Grian: Do you need anything from the store? Scar: Actually, yes. I have a list. Grian, reading: Epsom salts, coconut oil, baking soda, cornstarch, lavender essential oils… citric acid…? Scar: I’m making homemade bath bombs. Grian: Smokeless gunpowder?! Scar: I want to do it right!

Grian: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon. Scar: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic. Grian: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.

Scar: Happy Scorpio season. If you have to burn a bridge, do it safely! Grian: With NAPALM.

Grian: Ew. What kind of tea is this? Scar: I boiled gatorade.

Scar: I’ve never been in a snowball fight before. I don’t know the rules. Grian: What? Scar: Is there a point system, or is it to the death?

Grian: Whatever happened to the concept of less is more? Scar: But if less is more, then just think of how much more 'more' will be!

Scar: Hey, Grian, where are you going? Grian: Well, it depends. When I die, probably hell. Grian: But right now I’m going to McDonald’s.

Scar: I’ve only ever said ‘I love you’ to two people in my entire life: Grian and a guy in a dark club who I mistook for Grian.

Scar: You’re starting to look like me more and more every day— Grian: Bursts into tears Scar: Why are you crying? Grian: You’re ugly! I don’t want to look like you! sobs

Grian and Scar enter a dive bar Grian: Look, I know you’re disappointed but could we at least have a drink. Scar, in a scuba diving suit: I would like leave, please.

Grian: I am a ninja. Scar: No, you’re not. Grian: Did you see me do that? Scar: Do what? Grian: Exactly.

Grian: I feel like everyone on this island is suspicious, Scar. Except you! Scar: But Grian, I think you're suspicious! Grian: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Scar: Cool, any other secrets? Grian: I still sleep with the blanket I had as a baby. Scar: Awww- Grian, stern: I use it as a gag when taking people’s pets hostage. Scar: Scar: There’s no punch line ‘cause it’s not a joke isn’t it?

Grian: So what are your political beliefs? Scar, awkwardly trying to impress them: Well, I think Pikachu would be a lot more powerful if he had a gun.

Grian: I try to avoid pointless group activities. You know like school Christmas Parties or Jury Duty. To me, the most awful sound in the universe is that mangled first note of your peers singing happy birthday. Scar: Cool stance. Counterpoint: these are free cupcakes. Get over yourself and take one.

[highonmarvel]

Bloodbath

Steve Kemp: After a long day, all you want is a nice, warm bath.

A late piece for @ozzgin’s Yantober prompt #11!

warnings: gore, particularly dismemberment. 18+!

“Steve?” you call, hanging your coat up, your voice echoing through the vast corridors. When you first visited Steve, his large house made you roll your eyes, and that awkward charm he had you whipped with seemed somewhat disingenuous now. Yes, he was a plastic surgeon, but for one man, a house this large was so unnecessary as to be purposefully ostentatious, but when he had asked you to move in with him, you got the sense that maybe he was feeling lonely in this place big enough for a family and a few extended relatives to live comfortably in. Sure, his place was so out of the way it nearly tripled your commute to work and back, but the way his eyes lit up when he asked the question made your brain melt and your heart swell, and you couldn’t deny him if you tried.

It’s been a month now, and though being with him all the time feels natural, you can’t say you’re really comfortable in his home. Not because of anything he did, he made sure that you would be as comfortable as if you were in your apartment, but there’s always just this soft, eerie feeling lingering in the corner. The lights are a warm-toned bronze, the wooden floorboards should provide a sense of hominess, yet still you just can’t be at ease. Maybe it’s because the trees near his house cast menacing shadows that sometimes make you bolt up in the middle of the night, clutching your chest as you try to slow your breathing. And when you look over at Steve, he looks so peaceful, and it makes you feel strange, that he doesn’t have any fear—granted, they’re irrational, but if something were to happen, the nearest help is miles and miles and at least an hour away, not to mention there’s hardly any signal here.

Though your voice echoes, you dismiss his nonresponse as him not hearing you. You sigh as you enter his sunken bedroom and immediately flop onto the bed. The long drive really takes it out of you, especially after a long day. You once recall Steve implying you didn’t need to work anymore, that he could take care of both of you, and though you knew that was true, you can’t deny having something to do takes your mind off this weird gut feeling something’s just… wrong.

No. You’re just tired. Lazily rolling off the bed, you grab a bag of epsom salts that’s been sitting in your bedside drawer for a while now, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be used. And maybe you weren’t really feeling any muscle strain, but whatever, you can treat yourself.

Steve’s en-suite has always been too big for your comfort, and the tub is at the far corner so you can’t see if it’s filled until you've walked right up. As you undress, out of the corner of your eye, you’re sure you see the tub is filled with… red water. Something thicker than water. And when the thought strikes, suddenly the scent of iron comes full force, making you crinkle your nose.

Clutching the pretty bag of salts to your chest, you take a few cautious steps forward, eventually shutting your eyes and whispering prayers that it’s not what you think it is. When you feel your toes curl into the mat that sits at the foot of the tub, you rip your eyes open.

You gag and cup your free hand over your mouth and nose, turning away from the horror laying in your home—you saw a few limbs, maybe a torso, but if you go back to really discern what every piece of flesh was, you’d vomit all over the scene and probably implicate yourself in the crime.

You dash out of the bathroom, feeling your eyes water as you slam the door shut behind you, resting your forehead on the cool wood and letting out a shaky breath.

“Hi.”

You shriek and drop the bag as you spin to face Steve, standing on the other side of the bed, eyeing you carefully, but you can’t read his expression.

“H— hi,” you sputter out, clutching your chest again and suddenly feeling very exposed. You grab a towel hanging from a hook on the door and quickly wrap it around yourself. Steve’s silence unnerves you, so you continue, “I was— I was just going to take a bath,” you explain, hoping you sound natural and that Steve can chalk your behaviour up to being tired. But no—your eyes are wide, your body is trembling, your chest is rising and falling so rapidly it’s like a heartbeat in itself: you’re wide awake.

Part of you hopes Steve will panic, think you haven’t been in and encourage you to use one of the other bathrooms, or smirk and reply ‘Alone?’ to distract you. His eyes narrow suspiciously for a moment, before he blinks and returns his stare to challenging, tilting his head ever so slightly with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Go on.”

You gulp and dart your eyes nervously to the door, and then back to him. You want to make an excuse but you can’t, mouth dry and voice gone. When you don’t move, Steve stands and you instinctively take a step back, and when he takes another, and another, you can’t match him, frozen as you stare up at him fearfully, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He gently tugs at your towel and lets it fall to the floor, carefully taking the bag of salt from you and placing a hand on the small of your back, to which you flinch. When he opens the door and walks you forward, you can’t find the strength to plant your feet in the ground and resist him.

The stench becomes stronger and stronger as you near the tub, unable to hold your breath any longer for fear of passing out, which you might do anyway.

When you hear an unmistakable sheath, you try to turn, but Steve’s large hand moves to firmly grip your shoulder. When he steps behind you and presses the cool silver of a butcher knife to your shoulder, you finally allow a tear to fall.

“You’re next.”

♩

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier, @cjand10]

[mist-see]

Shorter Patrick Zweig.

Part 2

Based on the post linked below.

Suggestive theme, tall reader, athletic reader, dom reader, sub Patrick, no smut.

Shorter!Patrick who looks up you when you’re talking about absolutely nothing of importance, but hang onto every word like it’s the most important thing in this world.

Shorter!Patrick who rarely has to look up at anyone. So when he sees a pretty athlete like you- he immediately wanted to see what it’d be like to climb that tree.

Shorter!Patrick who takes any excuse to be even lower than you if he gets the chance. Kneeling down to tie your shoes while you’re on court, purposely knocking down your study materials from the library table so he has an excuse to be a gentleman and get onto his knees to pick them up one by one- hoping he’ll get a praise from it.

Shorter!Patrick who actually encourages you to wear more platformed shoes, telling you to show off them legs because you’re his favorite model. You’re already tall, who cares about the extra 3-4 inches you have over him? He sure doesn’t!

Shorter!Patrick who will drive you to his hotel, run you a warm epsom salt bath then rub your feet and legs to workout your tight muscles.

Shorter!Patrick who complains about having to take you to homecoming but immediately takes it all back when he sees you in 4 inch So Kates, your athletic legs on show as your pretty dress drags behind you.

Shorter!Patrick who begs you to keep the heels on while you complain on your way back to your dorm, not knowing you were about to celebrate being home coming Queen.

[haggishlyhagging]

[Note: Long but extremely instructive quote about a group of indigenous women who fought back against European colonization and lost.]

The [Igbo] women's war began in 1929 in a place called Oloko. The British had recently introduced a system of taxing men and had decided that in order to assess the taxable wealth of all the people, it would be necessary to count women, children, and domestic animals. When Okugo, the chief of Oloko, attempted, under instructions from the local British officer, to count the goats and sheep belonging to Nwanyeruwa, an important woman in the village, she yelled, "Was your mother counted?" at which point they seized each other by the throat. A meeting of women was called, where it was decided to send a palm leaf, the symbol of trouble and a call for help, to all the women in the area. Women poured into Okugo's compound from around the countryside and proceeded to "sit" upon him. To "sit" upon a man is a pidgin English term referring to the punishment inflicted by women on any man who has broken their laws. It has the same meaning as "spoiling" a person's property. The crowd mobbed the chief, damaged his house, demanded his cap of office, and forced the district officer to arrest him and charge him with assault. "The women," said this officer with some embellishment, "numbering over ten thousand, were shouting and yelling round the office in a frenzy. They demanded his cap of office, which I threw to them, and it met the same fate as a fox's carcase thrown to a pack of hounds. The station between the office and the prison ... resembled Epsom Downs on Derby Day."

Despite assurances from chiefs and administrative officers that women were being counted for purposes other than taxation, the trouble spread to Aba, an important trading center. There some 10,000 women, calling themselves "the trees which bear fruit" and "scantily clothed, girdled with green leaves, carrying sticks," converged upon the town. They attacked and looted the European trading stores and the bank, broke into the prison, and released prisoners. After 2 days of rioting, troops arrived and dispersed the crowds without serious casualties.

In another part of Igbo land crowds of women gathered, bedecked in the symbols of war. "Dressed in sackcloth, their faces smeared with charcoal, sticks wreathed with young palms in their hands, while their heads were bound with young ferns," they burned the Native Court and sacked and looted the European store and other property. They declared that the district officer "was born of a woman, and as they were women they were going to see him." When the women mobbed police and military troops, 18 were killed and 19 wounded. In another incident, elsewhere, 32 women were killed and 31 wounded after a mob of women made threatening and obscene gestures against the troops, calling them sons of pigs, and striking at the district officer with their sticks.

The trouble that broke out in early December was under control by the twentieth day of that month. Igbo men did not participate in the rioting. With a few exceptions, they acted as passive but consenting parties to the behavior of their wives. Children were nowhere in evidence during the riots. The rioting was carried out solely by adult women, who sent round the palm leaves to rally their comrades and beat the drums to convey the message of war, just as the drums are sounded to announce a council meeting. Unwilling women were forced to join. One woman, whose daughter-in-law was killed during the rioting, testified as follows:

We met a crowd of women heading to Utu-Etim-Ekpo. The women stopped us. There were plenty too much women, a very large crowd. They were coming along the road and beating their laps and lifting their heads towards the sky and waving their sticks. All had sticks; big sticks. I was afraid of them. They took away my basket and forced me to join them . . . "You are a woman, you must join us." They looked quite different from any other crowd of women I have ever seen. They had nkpatat (wild fern) round their heads. There were no children with them. As they had no children with them that also made me afraid. I do not know where any of the women came from. I was very much afraid of them and did not look at their faces.

The riots were a testimony to the vigor and solidarity of Igbo women. Although the threat of taxation was the immediate cause, they were really fighting to preserve "the spirit of womanhood." Speaking to the subsequent Commission of Inquiry, the women said, "We are not so happy as we were before . . . Our grievance is that the land is changed — we are all dying." Taking these words literally, the British did not understand their meaning. In fact, the women were right — their way was dying, their spirit and ties to the land were slowly being crushed by the new ways brought by the Europeans. The power of the women's councils had been eroded by the institution of a Native Court system composed solely of Igbo men. During the riots these courts were sacked and burned in 16 Native Administration centers. When giving evidence, the women "uttered a flood of criticism against the corruption and injustice of the chiefs and courts." The commission promised that the Native Courts would be reorganized to reflect more faithfully the Igbo system of justice, and that women would sit as judges.

In 1934 this promise had not been fulfilled. The women's councils had lost more power because the government forbade the women to "war," which had been their major means of enforcing their rulings. In rising to defend what they called the "women's world," Igbo women lost the women's war. Believing themselves to be inviolable, the women were shocked at the carnage leveled against them. Despite their assertions of being prepared to die, they firmly believed that the soldiers would not fire on women, that they had no bullets, and that women were never killed in war. As rioters, they compared themselves to vultures, which in Ibibio (a neighboring tribe) means the "messengers of God." One woman said to the commission:

I was surprised to see the soldiers fire as we were women we call ourselves vultures as we did not think soldiers would fire at us. Vultures go to market and eat food there and nobody molests them nobody will kill vultures even in the market, even if it kills fowls. We only fling sticks at them if they take our chop and so we thought soldiers will not harm us what we may do.

European education, Christianity, and the desire for European goods also contributed to the end of the "women's world." A fitting epilogue is delivered by Sylvia Leith-Ross, a concerned British woman, who wonders how long it will be before education can "give the girls something as important, as satisfying, as pervasive, as the land gave to their mothers." And so a new sex-role plan is imposed by the conquerors on the conquered.

-Peggy Reeves Sanday, Female Power and Male Dominance: On the Origins of Sexual Inequality

[rootsandshootstreesurgeon]

What’s the Role of Tree Surgeons in Landscape Gardening?

Tree surgeons impart an elegant touch to your garden. There are several reasons to hire experienced tree surgeons for landscape gardening.

Read more at https://www.rootsandshootssurrey.co.uk/whats-the-role-of-tree-surgeons-in-landscape-gardening/

[heisenposting]

Imagine taking Karl Heisenberg by the hand and leading him to the bathtub. You ask him to let you pamper him. You give no judgement about his hygiene, because there have been periods of time when you didn't, you couldn't, take care of yourself.

Perhaps it's a long soak in the tub, gently scrubbing his back and rubbing his shoulders, using Epsom salt with eucalyptus oil for his sore, neglected muscles. Perhaps it's less ritualistic, a shower in which you use a washcloth to massage a pine-scented body gel into his skin, covering him in suds and rinsing him off. You use tea tree oil shampoo and conditioner in his hair, you whisper for him to close his eyes while you gently exfoliate his face ("you only have to do this once a week," you assure him. Of course you'll be there to help if he wants. Of course.)

He feels a little overwhelmed. You can see it in his eyes and his posture. You smile warmly at him and kiss his eyelids, and he lets out a sigh that he didn't realize he'd been holding in. You thank him for his patience, and you dry him off with a loving touch.

You apply medicated powder where needed. You sit on the toilet and wordlessly prop his foot on your knee. You rub away the dry skin from his neglected feet with your thumb, and before he can protest, you trim his nails.

He's glancing away from you. He swallows hard. He holds his arms against his chest.

"Too much?" You ask. He finally meets your eyes, and he shakes his head no.

"I'm fine," he says. He's uncharacteristically quiet.

You stand up and take his hand. "We're almost done." You take him into your bedroom, and you sit him down on the bed. His eyes light up when you rub cocoa butter into his arms and legs, his hands and feet, when you work it into his stomach and chest and his back in small, slow circles. He holds you while you straddle his lap and apply a little more lotion to his face and neck, and he's smiling by now.

One last touch—you reach for your lip balm on the bedside table, and you gingerly hold his chin as you apply some to his lips. They're already so kissable, you tell him, but you want to protect them from the hard water.

He's quiet the rest of the night. He holds onto you tightly as you sleep, stroking your hair until the both of you are about to fall asleep. He whispers a small "thank you" before he closes his eyes.

[kansas-sun-witch]

Spa Day!

It's my UPG that there are times that the deities want you to take time for yourself and recharge. Not out of vanity but self care. I call it souping.

Currently, I'm using the Healing Blend epsom salt from my local store. Its eucalyptus, mint, and pink salt. I use only about two teaspoons, it's what my skin can handle. Then, I'm using a skin care pack from Dollar Tree. I definitely feel better and pretty.

[kittenwivfangs]

Went to the library, the comic book shop, the garden centre, my local wellness shop for loose tea leaves & Epsom salts, then my local grocers for some olive oil before walking home

New strawberry 🍓 planter to hang on my fence and some new baby plants for me & a small orange tree that was on sale for my mom.

[nikethestatue]

The Agreement

Chapter 11

Elain Archeron

Elain woke up when it was still grey outside. The sun was barely up this Monday morning.

Her body felt raw. Everything ached. 

But she smiled, her grin so wide, so happy, her cheeks hurt. She ached and yet she felt elated.

When Elain was ten years old, she got lost in the woods near their house–back then, it was an estate–and as she wandered around, she came upon a small meadow. It was hidden behind a copse of trees and she walked upon it by sheer accident. It was a perfect little spot: the grass emerald green, and wildflowers growing in abundance, sprinkled around like tossed gemstones. It was a lovely summer day–the sky was so blue it looked turquoise, and there wasn’t a cloud around. Beyond the meadow was a book, which bubbled with water.

Instead of being frightened and concerned over her location, instead of wondering how she’d find her way back, Elain lay in the grass, spreading her arms and legs like a starfish. The sun was warm, and she took off her shoes and stockings, and allowed the rays to burn her pale, thin legs. It was the first, and perhaps the only time in her life when she felt completely at peace. Safe. A princess in a fairytale, where all the forest creatures were her friends, the water in the brook was cold and sweet, and the berries that she spotted growing on the bushes were juicy and plump. Not a worry in the world. 

As she lay in Azriel’s arms, her head tucked under his arm, his hands holding her gently, but firmly to his warm, masculine body, she felt it again–safe and happy. 

The world was out there–even on the normally quiet, quaint streets of Belgravia, she could hear the neighing of horses, the rumble of carriage wheels, and somewhere, far in the distance, the calls of a paperboy, announcing today’s news. 

Here, however, it was peaceful and quiet and perfect. She still luxuriated in post-coital bliss, but awareness slowly seeped into her sex-addled brain. Azriel felt incredibly good next to her, his heavy leg thrown over her thighs, and he kept her so close to himself, it felt to her as if he was afraid to let her go. She knew that she was taken with him, completely, and probably foolishly, but she couldn’t help herself. However, she was also quite sure that the man was taken with her no less. Whatever Azriel felt, she daren’t call it something lofty like ‘love’, it was definitely there–last night, Elain had felt it acutely. His passion. His desire. His need for her. He was a man unleashed and somehow, she was sure that she was the only person in the world who’d seen the ‘true’ Azriel. A man of emotions and feelings and incredible warmth. 

The things that they’ve done though. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t even know that they were possible only 24 hours ago, but here she was, aching and dripping all over. Last night, after he’d removed himself from her bottom, and she lay there, boneless, exhausted, flustered, yet completely satisfied and happy, Azriel went to run her a bath. He took care of her if it was his favourite thing in the world–he’d carried her to the bathing room, set her in the tub, and then washed every inch of her body with his bare hands. The man was not exactly ashamed of his utterly perfect body, so he sat on the edge of the tub completely naked, and Elain couldn’t help herself and just stared at his massive manhood. He’d added something to the water once she got inside and explained that it was epsom salt, for her muscle soreness. Frankly, the sorest thing on her body weren’t her muscles, but her ass. It was aching and burning something fierce. Elain didn’t tell him that, but it seemed like he’d guessed, especially when the hot water touched her battered anus, and she gasped with pain. He was both gentle and invasive, as he lathered her, foregoing the loofa, inspecting the bruises that he left on her skin–her thighs and hips were slowly turning blue with his fingerprints, and he seemed to relish in the evidence of his hands on her flesh. He washed her breasts, then her hair, soaping her head up with jasmine-scented balm, and as he massaged his long, strong fingers into her scalp, Elain thought that she might as well just fall asleep in the tub. The epsom salt was definitely working–the burning in her rectum subsided, and her tense body became soft and malleable as time went on. She was tired and brimming with anxiety, yet more relaxed than she’d ever been in her life. It was an odd combination of emotions that were swirling inside of her. She was still not entirely comfortable with her nudity–a feeling that she suspected would last a while longer–but Azriel was a forceful man, and she knew that he wouldn’t suffer her foolish modesty gladly. She was too tired to argue with him, or tell him that she was perfectly capable of bathing and washing herself on her own. At last, once he was done with washing her, he let her soak, while he stepped into the shower enclosure and quickly soaped and rinsed his incredible body. Elain lay there, watching him through the steamed up glass. 

“Hungry eyes,” he teased her.

“You are nice to look at,” she admitted simply. 

“You are not so bad yourself, lass.”

After he was done, he picked her up from the bathtub and wrapped her in no less than three towels, rubbing and wiping her thoroughly. In the end, she stood completely naked in front of him, exposed and uncovered, and Azriel, who was on his knees in front of her, pressed a long kiss to the bare mound of her sex. 

“And before you ask,” he told her, as she gasped with surprise and pleasure, “no, you may not have a nightgown for sleeping. And no, I will not dress either.”

She chewed on his lip, because that was exactly what she wanted to ask him for. Something to sleep in. He was smirking at her knowingly. 

“I want your pussy firmly planted on my thigh,” he decided and then hauled her back to the bedroom. In bed, he slotted his leg between hers, having her slit splay over his thick thigh. And Elain couldn’t complain.

-

…“Never met a woman who thinks so noisily,” Azriel’s morning voice was especially husky, and deliciously gravelly.

His arm tightened around Elain’s body, and he brashly squeezed her bottom.

His face nuzzled into the top of her head and she felt his lips on her hair.

“Morning, pretty girl.”

“Morning…sir?”

He chuckled at that and kissed her again,

“You aren’t sure?”

“I am not sure what to call you right now,” she admitted.

“We are still alone. Still in bed. I would say ‘Azriel’ works just fine when we are together.”

Elain sighed contentedly and pressed her face into his arm, her finger tracing the patterns of his tattoos.

“It’s still odd for me,” she said quietly. “To be with you. In coitus…”

“We are hardly in coitus,” he argued with a smirk and squeezed her ass cheek harder. 

Elain finally looked up at him and Azriel glanced down at her sleepily. He was handsome even now–his skin was golden in this morning light, his eyes soft and observing her with lazy curiosity, the thick, black hair unruly against the white cotton of the pillows.

His fingers brushed against the crevice of her bottom, before sliding upwards and slipping between her folds.

“Are you still filled with me?” he murmured warmly, lips skating over her forehead. “Still dripping my seed?”

Elain blushed violently, and didn’t answer, which made him laugh softly.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart,“ he told her. “It fills me with unbridled male pride that you are.”

“Was I satisfactory?” she asked quietly, her hand sliding over his firm chest, the finger still tracing the swirls of black ink.

“You were. As I told you last night,” he reminded her, “you were wonderful. A dream come true. Truly.”

He smoothed his hand over her tangled hair and smiled at her. It was warm and genuine. 

“How did you get these?” she queried, drawing her finger over the tattoos on his shoulder.

He looked down, as if he’d forgotten that he had them inked into his skin.

“Ahhh…my mother’s people’s custom,” he said vaguely. “Do they bother you?”

She shook her head no and said, “not at all. I think they are beautiful. But men of your stature usually don’t have tattoos. More of a sailors’ thing than a duke’s.”

He huffed an amused laugh and nodded, “That it is. However, my mother’s people think differently. The tattoos are given as marks of luck and glory on the battlefield. When I turned 18, I was expected to take the Grand Tour. Visit all the famous countries in Europe–France, Italy, Greece, as well as Austria, Germany, Switzerland…so far as St. Petersburg.. 

“That’s what my parents thought I’d do and believed me when I was posting them letters and postcards from Vienna, Geneva, Florence and Pisa.

“Instead, I boarded a ship in Genoa that took me down to Constantinople and from there, I took another ship, I sailed down to the Levant.”

“Why did you want to?”

He thought for a moment, and then disclosed, “there’s always been a missing piece, a gaping hole in my very self, in the essence of me as a man that stemmed from my not knowing much about my mother’s culture. My father did just about everything to eradicate it from our family, but I am just as much my mother’s son, as I am my father’s. 

“Unlike the current trend of aristocrats being enamoured with ‘noble savages’ from different parts of the world, especially those with features that do not match ours exactly, my father harboured no such feelings. He was a true believer in English supremacy. And we are a fine and brave nation, but I am built on the bones of two cultures. I’ve been a perfect Englishman all my life. It was time to explore the other side of my family. I wanted to see what made me me. What my mother’s culture added to the mix. How I was forged,”

“You speak so eloquently, sir,” Elain whispered, listening to him with rapt attention. 

“So I learned as much as I could about her people from my mother, keeping it a secret from my father. She wrote me letters of recommendation, and I was on my way.”

“How was that?” Elain asked, staring at him wide eyed.

“Hot,” he responded.

“Be serious!” she demanded, pushing at him and he laughed.

“I am being serious. It’s incredibly hot. Dusty. Beautiful. Sunny. Scorching. Vibrant. Bustling. I’d spent some time exploring–visited Jerusalem, the Pyramids of Giza, went to Damascus,”

“Truly? That is incredible!”

“It was. And then I went to meet my mother’s family–they are wealthy and well-respected, holding a high position in society. My grandfather was the ambassador to Britain, and that’s how and why my parents met in the first place. But there are also ancient customs that I encountered. Some lovely. Some savage. 

“I’d participated in a brutal coming of age ceremony–they call it the Blood Rite–,”

“Jesus,” she breathed. 

“Sounds about as fun as it was to go through it. But anyone, any young man, who completes it is permitted to take their rightful place in society. 

I suppose it’s not so different from the Spartans, who put their youths through similar ordeals, or even the Scots, or the Vikings. Coming of age rituals, which included feats of strength and survival of the fittest aren’t anything new. But they sure were eye opening to a little stuck-up lordling from London!” he laughed and Elain smiled, though it seemed that this Blood Rite was a rather traumatic event, despite Azriel’s dismissive attitude. 

“Anyway, by the end of it–and mind you, this little lordling ended up coming in the top three!--I was honoured with the markings on my flesh.

“Do I think that they are imbued with some special powers?” he shrugged, “I am not a superstitious man, but I’ve been in two wars and I came back in more or less one piece. You be the judge.”

“Thank god for them then,” Elain said firmly, stroking his chest. “For luck and glory.”

“For luck and glory,” he repeated. 

Suddenly, the door opened and in came Nuala, wheeling a cart with breakfast and a pot of hot water. 

Elain jerked in Azriel’s arms, and let out a strangled gasp.

“Good morning, Nuala,” Azriel greeted the servant nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t naked in bed with an equally naked Elain.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said cheerfully. “Miss Elain. I brought breakfast. I thought you might want to dine in the privacy of your bedroom today.”

“Very thoughtful,” Azriel nodded. “Thank you.”

“Nuala, you must knock next time,” Elain cried out, hiding under the covers. 

“Oh, Miss Elain, no need to be bashful. But if that is your wish, I certainly will.”

“Yes! I am…indecent!” Elain gasped.

Azriel laughed. 

“Cerridwen made a little bit of everything,” Nuala said. “I hope it’s to your liking.”

With a small curtsey, she didn’t wait for the dismissal and left the room.

Azriel gently pulled the blanket and the sheets down, and whispered, “are you going to crawl out there any time soon?”

“No! I am mortified!”

“Why?”

“Why? Why? Because I am in bed, naked with a man who isn’t even my husband!”

Azriel blew his breath and then sat down, swinging his long legs on the floor.

“Wouldn’t be the first, wouldn’t be the last woman to be in bed with a man who isn’t her husband.”

He got up from the bed and didn’t bother with undershorts or britches, as he sauntered to the trolley completely naked. Elain admired his self-confidence with the same passion as she admired his carved behind, which was so muscular, it was square, and she’d bet that if she’d bounce a penny off it, it would indeed bounce right back.

He lifted all the cloches off the serving platters, saying, “we have eggs, fruit, toast, cream and butter, even sausages and mushrooms,”

“I’ll just have toast,” Elain told him, as she slipped out of the bed while he wasn’t looking and rushed to the bathing room. She quietly closed the door behind her, relieved herself and then glanced in the mirror.

She looked…different.

She couldn’t think of another word but deflowered. 

There was a new, wanton look about her–her hair was tangled, thick and lustrous. Her lips were terribly swollen, and she blushed at the thought that it was because of the number of kisses that he had placed on her face and mouth. And her nipples. Because they were also dusty pink and swollen. And there was a shadow of a bruise on her left breast, which she could tell was his fingerprint. 

She grabbed her hairbrush and brushed through her hair aggressively, attempting to detangle it. This was the reason why she always braided it for the night, but of course last night wasn’t like any other night.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth with mint and bicarb powder and then groaned, seeing as there was absolutely nothing in the bathing room to wrap herself in. They’d used all the towels last night, and there wasn’t even a dressing gown on the hook. All her manoeuvring was for naught, for she would still have to come back out completely nude.

She sighed and then pulled the door just a smidge.

Azriel was standing right in front of her, a teasing smirk on his lips, her dressing gown hanging off his index winger.

“Looking for this?” he cocked his brow at her.

“Yes, thank you,” Elain attempted to take the robe from him, but he pulled his hand back and tsked.

“Very stealthy, Miss Archeron. Very. But not stealthy enough,”

“Why can’t I dress?!” she demanded, even stomping her foot. 

He chuckled and commented, “oh, I do love a temper tantrum. Please continue.”

She glared at him, but had no other choice but to step into the bedroom. 

Relenting a bit, he added, “perhaps, you can dress after we’ve eaten.”

“My dressing gown was on the hook in the bathing room yesterday,” she hissed. “I remember.”

“Ahhh, stealthy and observant! We’d make a fine spy of you yet. And you are correct, it was there. Only I woke up earlier today, got myself presentable for the morning and moved the gown here.”

He smiled at her innocently and Elain glared back at him.

“Coffee?” he offered. “Tea?”

Elain took a seat in an armchair, primly crossing her legs at the ankles and tried covering her breasts, though she kept forgetting about them, as her gaze snagged on Azriel’s powerful back. The thick muscles. The perfect line of his spine. The golden brown skin. The divots above his perfect behind. The long lean legs.

“Tea, please,” she requested. “And toast.”

“And what else?”

“That would be all.”

Azriel kept loading the plate and then he turned around and she saw fruit and pastry and eggs on the plate.

“As we’ve agreed before, I would like for you to eat properly,” he reminded her. “Toast is just dry bread. I need you to eat more,”

“For the baby,” she murmured.

Azriel chewed the inside of his cheek, as he came over and sat on his hunches in front of her.

“Not for the baby,” he said at last. “For you. I want you to be healthy and well-fed. For you.”

He handed her a cup of tea and then sat on the arm of the chair and muttered, “forgive me and my balls next to your face.”

Elain sipped her tea and murmured without looking at him, “I’ve had both your manhood and your…” she cleared her throat, “balls much closer to my face than this.”

He barked a laugh and nodded, “that is true.”

Azriel prodded her mouth with a triangle of buttered toast and she bit into it eagerly. 

“You need to make sure to drink,”

“Why?” she asked curiously, chewing the bread.

“Because sexual relations dehydrate you. Speaking of my balls, they are empty.”

She choked on her toast and stared at him, while he picked up a wild strawberry, and fed it to her.

“I’ve been thoroughly emptied,” he said. “Even if I wanted to make a babe, I am not certain I would be able to right now.”

Elain giggled, feeling strangely prideful. Because she did this to him. 

Azriel picked up a jar with cream and added a splash to his coffee. But then, he set his cup aside on a side table and suddenly dipped Elain’s bare breast into the jar, coating her nipple with the cream. She jerked back, staring at him in astonishment, because he picked another strawberry and then swirled it in the cream over her breast. Before she could even say anything, his mouth clamped on both the strawberry and the nipple. He sucked and chewed on them, pulling her tit deep into his mouth, his tongue lashing her sensitive flesh, as he swallowed the berry. Holding her breast in his warm palm, as if it was an offering, he dipped it again into the cream and then licked her aching, fleshy globe with wide swipes of his tongue. 

“Azriel,” she finally managed to utter, her voice raspy and needy.

“Mmmm,” he moaned appreciatively into her breast, sucking the cream off her nipple. He proceeded to then drip a bit onto her other nipple and catch the thick white droplets on his tongue.

“I can’t wait until you have our baby sucking on your heavy, beautiful tits,” he grumbled into her breast, licking and sucking on it hungrily.

“Azriel…I …I…” she began mumbling, but he tore a piece of flaky, buttery almond croissant and stuffed it in her mouth, effectively shutting her up. 

“I want to fuck you,” he told her, as he kissed her lips.

He tasted of strawberries and cream. 

He tasted of comfort and home. 

Were they a family now? Elain wondered to herself, as she kissed him back, opening up for him and taking his tongue inside her mouth, licking strawberry juice off his lip. Were the occupants of this beautiful white estate a kind of family now?

“But I know that you are sore,” he said, “so I will attempt to be a gentleman…And leave you be until at least the evening,”

“Attempt?” she chuckled.

“It’s not easy, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

He rose to his feet and looked at the clock on the mantle.

“I ought to be getting ready for the day,” he said. “I want you to finish your breakfast and relax for the rest of the day.”

“Are you going to your job?” she asked, while he licked her breasts clean. 

“Unfortunately, I have to. Today is not a day I am able to miss. But maybe it’s for the best–you can heal without me pouncing on you,” he grinned and Elain laughed.

“Here,” he handed her the dressing gown, which was so sheer it would barely cover anything. 

-

Elain watched him leave the bedroom, and as usual, he seemed not to care that he was naked. She supposed that he didn’t have to, as he was the master of the house, but it still amused her. He was so different from anyone she’d ever met before. She still didn't begin to untangle the the convoluted web that was Azriel, Lord Night.

She tucked her legs under her and picked up the plate of food. 

Oh…she didn’t have utensils, she realised too late, since they were still on the cart.

Only a week since they’ve met, and she was so used to him feeding her that she’d half-forgotten what it was like to feed herself. It was preposterous, of course, yet, there was something so intimate and desirable in the way he took charge. In the way he cared for her. And for what it was worth, Azriel certainly cared for her. Often, he perplexed her, but she preferred not to dwell on it. 

-

It was less than fifteen minutes later that he returned to her bedroom.

He was freshly shaved, his hair tamed with some pomade, his white shirt half buttoned, though he was already wearing black trousers and socks. His waistcoat was hanging loose, also unbuttoned. Elain had noticed that his trousers were very finely tailored and he did not rely on braces to hold them up. They moulded to his waist perfectly. 

“Couldn’t stay away too long, I suppose,” he said, somewhat sheepishly, looking at her.

Elain smiled at him and he stood still for a few moments, simply observing her, before saying almost to himself, “you are so beautiful.”

“Azriel…my lord,” she gushed, adjusting the white silk ribbon that wrapped around her head and held her hair away from her face. 

“Your lord finds you attractive,” he said bluntly. “Shouldn’t it be so?”

Azriel then threaded his cufflinks into the cuffs of his shirt and said, sounding casual and almost disinterested,

“I was thinking,”

Elain was still eating, standing by the window in her sheer little robe, looking outside at the garden below.

When she didn’t respond, he continued with the same nonchalant tone, 

“I’d like to renegotiate the contract,”

Before the last syllable left his lips, Elain’s head whipped toward him, her eyes flaring with shock, and her messy braid jerking over her shoulder.

“What?” she gasped. “You want to renegotiate?!”

He stopped momentarily, considering, and then in a gentle tone, like he was soothing a wild animal in distress, said,

“It’s nothing drastic, sweetheart,”

“But you aren’t happy with what we agreed upon?” she insisted, her cheeks colouring with an angry shade of poppy. 

“It’s not that I am unhappy,” he started again, but she cut him off and slammed her tea cup on the windowsill with such force, the saucer cracked.

“Elain,” he started with surprise, but she barrelled forth,

“I am not going to change the contract, Azriel. We agreed. You can’t do this when you’ve taken my virginity…you’ve…” she stuttered, trying to find the right words, eyes blazing with fire and tears, “you have…used me…”

At that, Azriel winced.

“That’s unfair,” he snapped at her, his brows creasing. 

“Oh is it?!” she cried out.

“Yes. It was on offer. I didn’t take anything from you that we hadn’t agreed upon prior.”

Not necessarily true. Their agreement was of course for traditional relations, and he’d gone much beyond anything that was expected. But she didn’t stop him. She welcomed him into her body. Begged him. Enjoyed it. Moaned and cried from the climaxes that he had offered her. 

“I didn’t ‘use’ you, Elain,” he continued, half-angry, half-pleading. “I’ve made it as enjoyable for you as I could,”

She was biting her lower lip, as lone tears were streaming down her pink cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” he stepped closer to her, his voice quiet.

“Because you want to change the contract,” she whispered, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Because you didn’t like it and because,”

“Stop,” he ordered her firmly. “I already told you that I loved being with you. You questioning me every time makes me think that you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that,” she protested softly. “I do believe you…I just,”

“What, Elain? You haven’t even heard my proposal yet,” he reminded her. “And yet you are being highly emotional and contrary,”

“I am not!”

“You are indeed.”

She sniffled and added, “And you’re calling me Elain all the time,”

“That is your name,” he said in confusion.

“But I like it when you call me nice nicknames. I don't like Elain,”

“Well,” he sighed, buttoning his waistcoat, “nice nicknames are reserved for when we are in harmony. Right now is not that time.”

She swallowed and watched the brown mess of her strong tea drip down the windowsill and onto the floor.

“What did you want to change?” she asked finally, seeing how he all but stopped talking and was now tying his silk tie with angry movements.

“I think it’s immaterial now,” he said dryly. “Clearly you aren’t willing to listen,”

“I am though…You’ve sprung this on me quite suddenly, my lord. Should I not be upset? What if I came to you today, a day following our…consummation…and demanded a change in the contract?”

He thought for a moment, his lips pursed, until he finally said,

“You are right. Perhaps it is unfair of me to bring this up. It was thoughtless. Forgive me.”

He pulled on his jacket and said, “I shall see you at dinner. Have a good day.”

Elain turned to him fully and tugged on the sheer lacy sleeves of her dressing gown.

“Wait, sir. Please,” she begged softly.

He stopped.

She approached him slowly  and then stopped next to him, as he glowered at her from his massive height.

“What did you want to change, sir?”

He sighed deeply, and then let a curl of her hair spiral around his finger.

“Only that if you do not become pregnant within the six months, we…wait,” he said quietly. “We do not part ways. The money would still be paid as we agreed upon,”

At that, she wrinkled her nose.

The last thing she wanted to discuss now, the morning after their first conjugal relations, was money. 

Truth be told, if she could, she wouldn’t even take his money.

Yes, it was absurd–she was well aware–but the money cheapened everything. She knew that that’s exactly why she was here: to get paid, to make her and her sisters’ lives better, to change their fortunes. But if she could, she wouldn’t take the money. He already paid exorbitantly for everything, lavishing her with every comfort and beyond, and further discussion of wages made her uncomfortable.

“But, we give it as much time as we need to. Even if it takes longer. A year. Two…” he concluded.

His gaze was hopeful, and Elain wanted to make him happy. She wanted to please him. But she asked instead,

“And afterwards? You are willing to keep me here for as long as needed before the baby. But afterwards…I would be leaving?”

Something in his eyes shuttered and the warm amber of them became cold and calculated.

“Yes, he said firmly.

“Ahhh,” she kept her cool, though her chest was caving in.

He added, “Nothing about that part of the contract is changing.”

“I see,” Elain said at last.

“Is that a problem?” he pressed.

She shook her head no and said quietly, “it is what we’d agreed upon. Only nothing would be changing in the contract, my lord. Nothing. It’s six months or earlier.”

His jowl ticked and she knew that he was annoyed. Perhaps even angry. But she stood her ground. 

At last, Azriel asked, “So you are unwilling to accept new terms then?’

“I am,” she confirmed, her voice steady. “The contract will remain as is.”

“As you wish,” he barked and then turned around and left. 

Yes, she wanted to please him. But Elain heard what he was unwilling to speak out loud–he wanted her. He wanted her around him. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted her in his house. He wanted to be inside her body. He wanted her to bow to his will, and enjoy what he was giving her. But he was unwilling to budge on the future. Once the child was born, she would be released of any further obligation and on that, Azriel wasn’t going to change his mind. The contract was not changing around that. 

So be it. 

They had six months. And if nothing came of it, then she was going to leave. Not as wealthy as she would like to, but well off nevertheless. And that would have to be enough.

-

Alone, she finally changed into one of her nice house dresses and then went to lock the door.

As much as she enjoyed the twins’ company, she needed to be alone today. Much too much has happened to her in the past 24 hours, and she needed time to reflect and adjust. Mainly to her sore ass, if she was being honest with herself. The seed that was still dripping out of her body. To her new status as a woman, and no longer a maid. To the fact that she’d come here on a whim, answered a bizarre add in the London Times, and all of the planning, the worrying, the travels, the lies that she told to her sisters, the preparations–all of it culminated in last night. She was taken roughly, deeply and exquisitely. Nothing in her meagre imagination about carnal relations prepared her for the reality of Azriel’s hot, naked body writhing on top of her, her own animalistic hunger for him, their incredible, painful, raw, glorious joining and so many other things besides. He licked her. Down there. He licked her everywhere. He touched her everywhere. He saw her maidenhead. She did things to him that were not something that she could ever share with a living soul. Not with her virginal sisters, even Nesta, who had read some illegally published explicit romances. Nesta would be just as unprepared as she was. No amount of romances and even erotica could ever come close to the practical essence of what she had experienced.

Therefore, because she couldn't speak to anyone about her experiences, Elain decided on the only thing that was always there for her. It listened. It did not judge. It did not talk back. She could spill her deepest darkest secrets to it, and it would keep them.

Paper.

And her pen. 

The idea for the story had come to her after she’d met Lord Night.

She’d change the names. She’d change the settings. She’d even take on a male nom du plume, for she knew that she’d never get published as a female. Not what she was about to write. She doubted that she'd even be published as a man, but there were slightly better chances of that.

She was going to take no prisoners. She was going to take Azriel’s own words and put them on paper. She was going to write sexual scenes. She was going to write about a relationship between an upper class man, who is married to an invalid, with a lower class penniless woman.

Settling on a plush day sofa, which was kind to her butt, Elain took out a couple of blank pieces of paper and dipped her pen into the ink pot.

On top of the page, she scrawled with flourish:

Lord Chatterley’s Lover