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[1800titz]

HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip. 

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying. 

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar. 

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss. 

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away. 

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock. 

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows. 

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way. 

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental. 

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that... 

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks. 

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. 

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does. 

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter. 

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi. 

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her. 

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.” 

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her. 

“Easy.” 

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?” 

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders. 

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement. 

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet. 

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again. 

“Hey, you.” 

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?” 

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly. 

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over. 

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair. 

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry. 

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?” 

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug. 

That’s dangerous. 

She’s glad he isn’t. 

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.” 

Her breath stutters. 

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?” 

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear. 

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.” 

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.” 

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work. 

“Would you like that?” 

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently. 

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.” 

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs. 

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch. 

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased. 

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest. 

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?” 

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.” 

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth. 

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.  

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon. 

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more. 

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled. 

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…” 

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?” 

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign. 

It’s not. 

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp. ��

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters. 

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks. 

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though. 

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress. 

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.” 

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head. 

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists. 

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” 

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.” 

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.” 

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.” 

The pointed little end grazes over his balls. 

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.” 

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.  

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that. 

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her. 

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first. 

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.” 

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. 

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth. 

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?” 

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth. 

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.” 

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene. 

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face. 

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.” 

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds. 

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans. 

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” 

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.” 

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.” 

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together. 

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”  

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.  

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.” 

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach. 

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway. 

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.” 

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that? 

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile. 

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?” 

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back. 

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.” 

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter. 

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock. 

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?” 

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat. 

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?” 

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back. 

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull. 

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath. 

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts. 

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence. 

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.” 

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before. 

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends. 

Just friends that fuck.

[kivaember]

some soft viv621... post-LoR ending where Rusty lives bc I'm wilfully delusional about his survival ok

-

The outpost was more like a makeshift camp congregated within the walls of an old industrial complex. The electric grid was functional here, still chugging along after a planetary disaster and decades of neglect (say what you will about the Institute, but they built things to last), identifying it as a suitable base of operation for this sector's clean-up.

'Clean-up' being hunting down the last dregs of corporate interlopers and ejecting them from Rubicon - usually by shoving them off the mortal coil. There'd been reports of a few Arquebus loyalists holed up in an old water refinery plant, and they had two HCs in their possession, making them an intolerable threat...

Also, the Liberation Front also wanted that water refinery plant. While it wasn't fully functional, a bit of elbow grease would have its fresh water production rise from 1% to at least 20%, and from there they could start rebuilding the city's ruined infrastructure from the ground up - the first step in Rubicon's revival.

But Rusty was getting ahead of himself.

Reconstruction, independence... that was outside of his current cares or duties right now. The only thing he needed to focus on was rooting out the last of the corporate ticks still stubbornly clinging onto their world, and while it was a tedious slog sometimes, dispersed as they were and hunkered down amongst valuable infrastructure, he could admit to some malicious vindication at finally getting to bare his fangs and tear them to shreds.

He was disappointed Snail hadn't survived the Xylem, really. He would've loved to have him witness the slow fall of Arquebus on Rubicon by being hunted down like a rat. Ah well. You couldn't have everything in life, he supposed.

Rusty sighed as he leaned back on his rickety fold-out cot, fighting the urge to rub his eyes to clear the slight blurriness from them. He was sitting in his 'tent', a small one that could just about squeeze two cots in with enough room to walk between them, the plans for the water refinery plant sprawled out on his lap. Someone had managed to find the hardcopy of them, miraculously, but it meant Rusty was forced to use his Mark One Eyeball to study the layout, rather than having a digital version his implants could reference on demand.

It was important they got this water refinery plant without causing any further damage to it... but damn, Rusty felt like he was going cross-eyed, staring at the tiny print and thin lines...

A rustle drew his attention, and he looked up to see Raven skulking into their tent with a displeased air about him, a gust of snowy wind chasing his ice-crusted boots.

Rusty smiled.

"Cold, buddy?" he asked teasingly, looking his friend up and down. Raven was bundled up in what looked like two thick coats, a scarf concealing half of his face and a beanie crammed over his head, dark curls peeking out from underneath its hem. Snow stuck to his legs in thick, icy clumps, and Raven stood unhappily at the tent's entranceway, trying - and failing - to stomp the frozen snow off of him.

"Ah, hold on. Let me..."

Rusty folded up the plans and tossed them carelessly onto his cot, before standing up and moving to assist Raven. Carefully, he prised off the icy snow with his bare hands, the bite of cold against his fingers not really bothering him. Raven made a vague, appreciative noise when Rusty was done, and they moved to sit on their respective cots facing each other.

The heater positioned between their cots was promptly cranked up a few degrees. Raven still didn't shed any of his warm kit.

"How're you finding the rough living?" Rusty asked, already knowing the answer. Raven had been exuding an aura of pure misery for over a week now. "Not too hard on you, is it?"

Raven gave him a dead-eyed stare.

"Well, give it a few weeks, and we might get an actual building we can set up base in," Rusty said, trying not to smirk at Raven's - admittedly adorable - sulking. "Won't have to go outside to take a piss and risk getting a frostbitten dick, then."

Raven outright grimaced, and he fumbled with his pocket to withdraw his communication device. After very reluctantly removing his thick mittens, his fingers pale and stiff, he typed: «I don't know how you stand it.»

Rusty's smile turned sympathetic. "Experience."

Raven grunted at that dissatisfactory answer.

"You'll get used to it eventually." Or, maybe not, as Raven had been on Rubicon for months and still wasn't used to it. Maybe it was a Gen Four thing, the lack of cold resilience? Or, more likely, a Raven thing. "But for now..."

Rusty leaned back fractionally and held his arms open. "How about I help you thaw out, hm?"

Raven didn't hesitate. He rose from his cot and did a 180 turn to primly sit down on Rusty's lap. The bottom of his coat(s) had chunks of frozen snow sticking to it, so Rusty got a delightful shock of cold on certain, erm, areas that had his toes curling in his boots from the sharpness of it before the chill faded. He ruefully resigned himself to having a distinctive wet patch on his crotch for a bit.

"There we go." Rusty wrapped his arms around Raven's midriff, and gently caught his hands in his own. Raven's hands were tiny compared to his, easily engulfed in his own, his fingers like ice and almost stark white, they were so bloodless. It made the pink scars along the joints stand out vividly.

He rested his cheek against Raven's beanie, the wool a little scratchy. It smelled of exhaust. Probably spent time in the makeshift garage they had set up. He could feel Raven shiver, the double-coat layer not hiding how skinny he was beneath the fabric's bulk.

"No wonder you're always cold... you're basically skin and bones," Rusty murmured. "I'll ask if you can have your rations increased, get some bulk on you."

Raven made a vague, humming noise of acknowledgement.

They sat like that for a while. Raven stopped shivering, and Rusty admittedly began to drowse off, even if he started to lose blood circulation to his legs. Outside of the tent, the noise of a bustling camp filtered through: the growl of heavy-duty trucks, the thrum of heli-transporters arriving and departing, and shouts and chatter and laughter. Morale was high amongst the Liberation Front, for obvious reasons.

The PCA had been chased off the planet, its precious 'System' nothing but mangled metal deep in the Depths. The corporations had been humiliated and left with a broken nose, with only pockets of loyalists that had been abandoned by their corporate masters to die was 'rogue elements' on a planet actively hostile to them. Slowly but surely, the Liberation Front was reclaiming their home, mile by painful mile.

It was hard, gruelling work. The infrastructure was intact in only a few, certain locations, and most of them military complexes. Attempting to rebuild domestic and civilian infrastructure from that was slow going, but possible, and now that they weren't actively fighting for survival from the PCA or the corporations... they were finally making progress.

They were going to rebuild a city here, with running water and electricity and homes, and establish a sustainable hydrophonics and mealworm farm, and bring online the long-neglected fabrication foundry nearby. It'll take time, a lot of time, but it was a goal every single one of them were fixated on achieving - while they had the time.

Everyone knew the corporations were going to come back. In larger numbers, and with UEG backing, more likely. In that time, Rubicon needed to shore up its defences, finishing seizing and integrating PCA's weaponry and tech into their militia, and see if they could regain control over the Institute's rogue C-Weapons that were aimlessly milling across the countryside, freed from the frozen, subterranean tomb.

Rusty still couldn't believe it was happening, really. He'd dreamed of it, of course, had aimed to achieve this exact thing... yet still, he couldn't believe it. It had such a low chance of success, and it only worked because of...

He tightened his arms around Raven's waist, giving him a squeeze. Raven made a quiet, prompting noise.

"...not sure if I ever said 'thank you'," Rusty murmured, his voice muffled by Raven's beanie. "All of this... we couldn't've done it without you, buddy."

Raven was still for a moment, before he fumbled for something. His communication device.

«You did all the hard work. I just helped at the end.»

"Still..." Rusty butted his head gently against Raven's. "Thanks."

Raven made a shrugging motion, still awkward and uncomfortable in the face of honest gratitude. It was slow going, deprogramming him from his days as a hound lacking in any agency, teaching him to say 'no' or to express his opinions. But much like Rubicon's reconstruction, Raven was rebuilding himself too, day by day, inch by inch.

Slowly but surely.

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 4

< Chapter 3

Words: 2852 (I still cannot write short chapters)

Content: Is it still called smut when it’s intrinsic to the plot? And if you’re incapable of writing sensuous prose and end up with something a little awkward? Anyway, there’s some of whatever it is

-----------------------------

“Wow, I don’t envy poor Rick having to carry his drums up and down these stairs.”

“Amps and speakers aren’t a whole bunch of fun either. We thought about trying to put in some kind of pulley system, but the risk of dropping something you’d spent months saving for was too scary.”

They got to the top of the second flight of steep, narrow steps and Steve put his key into the rusty lock and jiggled it until it turned and he could push open the door. It was almost as cold inside as outside and the first thing he did was switch on the two electric heaters. 

Katie looked around at the mishmash of old furniture, threadbare rugs, band posters, and a drum riser apparently built from packing crates nailed together. “Aw, you made yourselves a little clubhouse,” she teased.

“I’ll have you know we are serious musicians and this is a bona fide rehearsal studio,” he retorted with mock affront. 

“Of course, my sincere apologies. The next best thing to Abbey Road I’m sure. How much does it cost?”

“Fiver a week, so a pound each, which is not too bad. And that includes the electric. Wouldn’t want to run this lot,” he waved his arm at the assembled instruments and equipment, “off a meter.”

“Suppose not. Can I?” she asked, gesturing at Rick’s drums.

“Sure, there'll be some sticks on the floor somewhere I expect.”

Katie sat down on the stool and tapped out a few rhythms, pretending not to notice that Steve took this opportunity to hastily take down the topless glamour girl picture pinned to a cupboard door!

“Will you play something for me?”

“Noooo,” he demurred, “you don’t need to hear me make a noise.”

“I do, and it’s not a noise. I bet you’re good; you spend every hour you’re not at work here, so you must be by now!”

“I’m alright,” he mumbled. “Okay, fine, I’ll play.” He couldn’t continue to say no in the face of those big round imploring eyes. 

He clicked open the catches on one of the guitar cases and pulled out a honey-coloured guitar.

“Ooh, pretty.”

“It’s only a copy. But one day I’ll have a real one.” He slipped the strap over his head and bent to switch on his amp and plug in, then stood in front of the drum riser checking the tuning and running through some scales while staring thoughtfully at the wall. “What shall I play?”

“Anything you want. I’d like to hear one of your favourites.”

Steve started to play something, a slow, yearning ballad, that sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. 

“That was lovely.”

Steve continued to move his fingers on the strings without strumming and didn’t look up, but she could see him smiling to himself. Then he straightened up, stepped his legs wide, and, with his eyes closed, belted out the opening riff to, easily recognisable even to Katie’s untrained ear, Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin. 

When he finished and struck a pose, arm in the air, she clapped enthusiastically. “Wow. You are… amazing. No, seriously,” she reiterated as Steve shook his head vigorously, “really, really, REALLY good.”

“Oh stop it. And don’t look at me like that,” he begged, all the rock star bravado of a moment ago gone. 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… Elvis or something.”

“You’d better get used to it, buster. Because thousands of people are going to look at you like that one day soon! That is… are the rest of your band as good as you?”

“I think… we’re all pretty good in our own ways. But together… yeah, I think we’ve really got something.”

“Well, sign me up as your first fan.” She jumped up from the sofa and gave him a sideways hug, avoiding the guitar.

“First groupie?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Play your cards right,” she replied, coiling her arms round his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Some minutes later, and sunk into the slightly musty cushions of the old sofa, they didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs or the door hinges creak, but they did hear Joe’s laugh, “Jesus, Sav, not again.” And as Steve’s head jerked around, “Ooh, not Sav! Well, well, this is a turn up for the books - Mr Clark getting his end away!”

“Sod off Joe, we weren’t… we were just kissing,” protested Steve, pulling his shirt down and running his hand through his dishevelled hair.

“Oh aye, and the rest! You know you’re supposed to hang your jacket on the door handle when you’re using the place for that kind of caper. What if innocent little Rick had walked in instead of me? He’d be traumatised!”

“Firstly, ‘innocent little Rick’ has had more girlfriends than both of us put together, and secondly, we WEREN’T doing that. Look, trousers on and everything!”

“Oh give over yer daft 'apeth, I’m only kidding. You gonna introduce me to your lady friend?”

Katie, who had stayed hidden behind Steve’s shoulder, peeked out and waved awkwardly.

“Joe, Katie; Katie, Joe. Our singer. And resident comedian.”

“Nice to meet you Katie, and sorry about interrupting your, err…”

“What are you even doing here - practice isn’t for hours?”

“Mum’s got friends round and the sitting room’s full of knitting and giggling. United are away, so I thought I’d come here, try and do a bit of writing, and then listen to the match on the radio.”

“So you’re here the rest of the day then?”

“Yeah, sorry mate, it’s pissing down and I’ve nowhere else to go. You’re welcome to stay, as long as you behave - I’m not watching you two slobber over each other all afternoon!”

Steve and Katie exchanged not particularly thrilled looks. “Weeell, my parents are supposed to be going out, I could phone the house and check if they’ve gone yet?” she suggested.

“There’s an idea.” He turned to Joe, “We’ll be off then, enjoy the… who are they playing?”

“Blackburn,” he answered gloomily.

“Oh dear, I won’t say enjoy the match then. See you later.”

With Katie pulling on her anorak and Steve just flicking up the collar of his denim jacket (he never seemed to have a proper coat), they left Joe regarding both an empty sheet of paper and his team’s prospects without enthusiasm.

-----------------------------

The smooching session that had started in the rehearsal room, continued on the bus back from town, and paused only long enough to make sure the rest of the Raffertys definitely were out, had reached fever-pitch with shirts removed, hands all over, and bodies entwined on the narrow single bed.

With a groan, Steve pulled away and rolled onto his back.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something…”

“Oh no, it was really nice. Just… it could get… err, messy if we go on much longer.” Embarrassed, he avoided her gaze, looking up at the ceiling and adjusting the waistband of his jeans to try and make everything less squashed.

“It would be less messy if you… took it out?” suggested Katie hesitantly.

“I… oh… really?”

She nodded, and so he unbuttoned, unzipped, and wriggled his jeans down. He was wearing blue boxers, that were displaying a distinctly tent-like shape! 

He looked back at her for reassurance. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Maybe!” she teased, then made her face serious. “No, I won’t laugh. Promise.”

He pulled the underpants down too, revealing, well, she had no real comparison to make, but from things she’d heard from girlfriends, it seemed quite impressive. 

“Can I touch?”

“If you want,” agreed Steve, feigning nonchalance.

Katie ran a finger gently down the length, and giggled when it twitched at her touch. 

“Like this?” she asked, wrapping her hand around the base, “And this?” as she slid her hand upwards.

Steve swallowed audibly, “Uh huh.”

When she hesitated, not wanting to do it wrong, he put his hand over hers and guided it up and down for a few strokes. She concentrated on keeping that rhythm going while studying, subtly so he wouldn’t get self-conscious, the piece of equipment in her hands. It was sort of fascinating - the only penis she’d really seen up ‘till now was in that mortifying sex education film at school, and she’d certainly never got up close and personal with one before. Steve held quite still, and when she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted, letting out ragged breaths.

“Is that okay?”

“Perfect.” It came out raspy.

She leaned over and kissed him, and he kissed back, increasingly sloppy and uncoordinated, until she dragged her lips to the corner of his mouth, across his jaw, and down to his throat. She pressed them to his collarbone, his chest, anywhere she could reach, and felt his hips rocking beneath her hand. The only sounds he made were a muttered request for ‘faster’, and then almost-silent grunts on every stroke until, with a final sharp intake of breath, he shot warm white goo over her hand and his stomach.

Katie wasn’t quite sure what to do then. She reached over to the nightstand for tissues and wiped her hand. Steve had thrown his arm across his eyes and she prised it up.

“Are you hiding from me?”

“No! Yes.” Finally he met her eyes. “That was amazing. Thank you.” She handed him a wad of tissues and he mopped carefully at the mess, making sure not to get any on the sheets.

De-gunked, Steve held out his arms and Katie snuggled up to him, her head on his chest. He trailed his fingers up and down her back.

“I’d like to… I want to touch you too, if you’d like that? But I’m scared I’ll be crap at it.”

Katie hugged him tighter. “Aren’t guitarists supposed to be good with their hands?”

“Hehe, I suppose so. But I don’t know… girl bits sound… complicated.”

Picking up on the ‘sound’ part, Katie guessed, “Because you’ve never done it before?” She had an odd feeling asking that. Blokes were supposed to be experienced, weren’t they? But she found she felt suddenly proprietorial, jealous of any girl that had been there before.

“No,” admitted Steve, “but I’ve read three issues of Cosmopolitan if that helps!”

“It’s a good start,” she laughed, “and it’s not that complicated, I could show you. Oh,” she had a sudden thought, “we should wash our hands first, just in case there’s any of that… stuff hanging around.”

They padded across to the bathroom and washed; Steve kept his hands under the hot tap for an extra-long time so that they’d be warm. Back in the bedroom, Katie took her skirt off and they got under the covers. Steve ran his hand down her side to her thigh, getting acquainted with new places he hadn’t properly got to touch before, then back up to her stomach and over the lace of her bra.

“Can I take this off?”

She nodded and he reached behind and unsnapped it.

“See, nimble guitarist fingers!” she exclaimed.

“If you can play an E flat added ninth, bra clips are a piece of cake.”

He slid the strap over her shoulder, kissing the faint red mark it left behind. Katie pulled her other arm through and dropped the garment off the side of the bed.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, trailing his fingers gently round the curve of her breast. It tickled a little and Katie tried not to giggle.

He ducked his head and kissed first one nipple and then the other, followed by an experimental lick and then, very gently, sucking. A quick intake of breath from above made him pause, but fingers squeezing his shoulder encouraged him to continue. He swirled his tongue and was rewarded with a shuddering breathy ‘ohh’. He repeated the trick on the other side (wouldn't want it to feel left out) to more appreciative noises, and then lifted his head.

“You like that?”

She nodded, a little flushed. “How did you learn how to do that?”

Steve shrugged one shoulder, “That was me learning it.”

“Clever boy. Do it again?”

“Yes ma’am.”

With multi-tasking skills honed by many hours of lathe work, he also reached down and slipped his hand under the waistband of her knickers, stroking around her hipbone and across her lower belly. “Do we need these?” he asked teasingly.

“We do not,” she replied, and he tugged them down far enough that she could kick them off completely.

This was definitely new territory and he explored tentatively, sliding fingertips over the soft skin of her inner thighs and curving his hand over the mound in between. “Teach me what to do.”

Katie reached for his hand and guided his first two fingers. “So I guess the main, um, landmarks, are here,” she moved his fingers in a circle, “and here.” She took his hand down lower, to what felt to Steve like a confusing pattern of soft folds that he mentally tried to match with the diagram in the biology textbook and some magazines he kept hidden in a box of sheet music at the bottom of his wardrobe. “And it helps if you lick your fingers first,” she added.

Steve did so, noticing the exciting new smell on his skin just from those brief touches. 

“So like this? In circles?”

“Uh huh,” she muttered, slightly distracted as she got used to the weirdness of someone else touching her in that way, trying to remember the details of what she did when she was alone. “You can vary speed and pressure and… oh I don’t know - improvise!”

“Got it.”

He propped himself up on the other elbow and went to work, moving his hand in slow, deliberate circles.

Katie giggled as she looked at his face with its furrowed brow, “You look like you’re taking an exam!”

“Shush, you. I’m concentrating. Close your eyes.”

She did, and that was better, shyness dissipating and just the pleasurable feeling of Steve stroking her and his warm breath on her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her, and that was even better. She moaned into his mouth as he hit a particularly good rhythm, and felt his lips curve into a smile. When she pulled back to take a breath, he moved his head down to kiss her neck, licking and sucking gently down to her collarbone and back up. 

He sensed her body relaxing and she bent her knee to open her legs wider, which he took as an invitation to move his fingers lower. 

“Ooh slimy!” he observed without thinking about it.

“STEVE! Euw!”

“Sorrysorrysorry! But that’s what’s supposed to happen isn’t it?”

“Yes. Just don’t say it like that!”

“Sorry. Wet. Slippery. Silky.” He punctuated each word with an apologetic kiss. “That’s what I meant.”

“Better.” She smiled and settled back on the pillow, closing her eyes once more. 

Steve wiggled his finger around searching for the right spot and then, when he found it, eased his finger in, smooth and easy once he got the angle right. As he slid the finger in and out of the slick, welcoming warmth, he briefly got distracted, wondering how it would feel to put his… no, this was about Katie, not him, he had to focus. She seemed to be enjoying his ministrations, but how could he make it even better for her?

He broke off from kissing her neck to ask, “Two?”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered without opening her eyes.

His fingers were bigger than hers but the extra stretch wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, after a moment to get used to it, it felt good, great. She angled her hips to get more contact and he seemed to understand what she needed, adjusting his position so that she could press against the heel of his hand. Remembering a particularly informative magazine article, he twisted his wrist and found that, yes, he could reach her clit with his thumb at the same time, and she gasped and clenched around his fingers. It didn’t take long after that for her breathing to quicken and turn to panting, then her head arched back and she came with a long ‘ahh’ and he could feel her knees shaking as well as the spasming inside. It felt like such a privilege to watch that, to be the cause of that, a fantasy come true. He moved to cradle her head, brushing away a tendril of hair that had stuck to her forehead and pressing a kiss to the damp skin. He waited until her breathing slowed and the grip around his fingers loosened before carefully easing them out and resting his hand on her thigh, where he could still feel the occasional twitch of a muscle. 

Katie blinked, coming back to Earth, and her face broke into a grin. “‘Scuse swearing but holy shit, Steve! How does a nice boy like you know how to do that?”

“Um, is it bad if I say from Playboy?”

She laughed, “I think I need to send a thank you letter to the editors!”

Chapter 5 >

[hindonheater]

The Benefits of Micro Coil Heaters - Hindon Electricals

In the world of industrial heating, precision and efficiency are paramount. Micro coil heaters, often referred to as small but mighty, are innovative heating elements designed to provide localized heating with exceptional control and reliability. Here are some of the key benefits of using micro coil heaters, proudly offered by Hindon Electricals, your trusted micro coil heater manufacturers:

1. Precision Heating

Micro coil heaters excel in providing precise temperature control. Their compact size allows for targeted heating, which is ideal for applications requiring exact thermal management. This precision reduces the risk of overheating and ensures consistent product quality, making them indispensable in industries like plastic welding, packaging, and medical device manufacturing.

2. Energy Efficiency

These heaters are designed to deliver high thermal conductivity while minimizing energy consumption. The efficiency stems from their ability to generate heat quickly and maintain the desired temperature with minimal fluctuation. This results in lower energy costs and a more sustainable operation, aligning with modern energy-saving initiatives.

3. Compact Design

The small footprint of micro coil heaters makes them perfect for applications where space is limited. Their compact design does not compromise performance, allowing for easy integration into machinery and equipment without requiring significant modifications. This flexibility is particularly beneficial in high-density manufacturing environments.

4. Rapid Response Time

One of the standout features of micro coil heaters is their rapid response time. They can quickly reach the desired temperature, which is crucial in processes that require fast thermal cycling. This capability enhances productivity and reduces downtime, leading to more efficient manufacturing cycles.

5. Versatility

Micro coil heaters are highly versatile, suitable for a wide range of applications. They can be customized in terms of shape, size, and wattage to meet specific requirements. This adaptability makes them an excellent choice for industries such as aerospace, automotive, and electronics, where diverse heating needs are common.

6. Durability and Longevity

Constructed with high-quality materials, micro coil heaters offer excellent durability and longevity. They are designed to withstand harsh operating conditions, including high temperatures and corrosive environments. This reliability reduces maintenance costs and ensures long-term performance.

Conclusion

Micro coil heaters provide numerous benefits, including precision heating, energy efficiency, and versatility. Their compact design and rapid response time make them ideal for various industrial applications, ensuring efficient and reliable performance. As industries continue to seek innovative solutions for their heating needs, Hindon Electricals stands out as a premier micro coil heater manufacturer, committed to delivering superior heating solutions for modern manufacturing processes.

[lor-e-lai]

Kind of a random question but you post more about cooking than anyone else I follow: should I get an electric wok? My mom's said she wants one before and I'm thinking of getting one for her bday, but I'm on the fence about it. A lot of stuff I'm reading says that they're not worth it and can't handle the kind of heat woks usually get over an open flame- but we don't have that kind of setup, just an electric countertop heater, and she already makes stir-fries in a cast-iron pan anyway, which has like the same temperature range iirc. So basically my conclusion is that like it might not be as good as a normal wok but it works the same as what we're already doing but more convenient. I hope this is like comprehensible at all, and I'm sorry if it's a weird question, but you just seem like you know your shit when it comes to cooking and I'd like to get your opinion :) I hope you have a good day regardless!

i actually have an electric wok! i don't use it much, but it definitely doesn't serve the use of a traditional wok as we know it. You're very right that most woks want a strong open burner that casts radiant heat on the bottom and up the sides. Even heating is super important for even cooking in a wok, which is super hard to do with an induction burner. I'm pretty sure electric woks use internal coils for heating or like an integrated element in the base (like the one I have) which is good for even heating but it doesn't get as hot as a traditional wok on a flame. Can you cook with it? Absolutely! But you wont really get that specific wok flavor which is created when oil aerosolizes and goes smoky in the pan. this specific thing is actually called wok hay, and it's like kind of a huge reason why so much wok cooking is so rich and smoky. You do not NEED wok hay to make tasty food, though. It really depends on what kinda stuff you wanna do! Simple stir fries are totally doable in an electric wok, but they're also just as doable in a standard non stick of sufficient size. Non sticks also, yknow, have the benefit of being insanely easy to take care of. also works well with most induction heaters! Only problem is they dont have great upper heat tolerances. anyway id say look up the specific wok and what temperatures it can get to and its material. also where the heating element itself *is* in the wok. makes a huge difference

[thewordworrier]

:( just some 3am hour blues

I can’t sleep because I’m scared and stressed.

The electric company I’m with want to take my direct debit payment, double it and add on a lil extra. If i don’t change this myself via the app, they’re gonna do it anyway. In the next 10 days I think?

But it’s okay! There’s another way of preventing this! I can make a top up payment of OVER A THOUSAND POUNDS, right now. Piece of cake.

I don’t have that kind of money. I can’t even afford the new payments they want. Not that we use that much electric a month anyway.

I’ve been panicking about this all day. I’ve tried WhatsApping the company like they suggest, but did they bother getting back to me? Nope, not yet. And probably not until like, 7am when they know most people will be asleep so they can be all - well guess you don’t need this chat anymore!

Not my fault that your opening call times are when Matt’s at work. Because I like it when I can pass the phone over to him - almost like good cop bad cop kinda deal. Plus they always seem to listen to him more. Feels like they fob me off because I’m female. Idk.

The way we live hasn’t changed. The only thing that’s changed recently is the electric company that we’re with and it’s like our costs have doubled and it’s just like… How are we supposed to afford this on top of everything else rising too?

Like, we already don’t turn the heating on. Not only because we have storage heaters and they’re awful, but because we’d probably use double the electric we’re using now and… God, we can’t afford that. And we live in the roof of the apartment block we’re in so it’s a lil extra drafty? Draughty? How the hell do you even spell that?

This isn’t a way for anyone to live. If I had known this place was going to be this cold when we were looking at it, I wouldn’t’ve opted for it, we would’ve kept looking. Can’t really save up to move somewhere else - everywhere is more expensive and we don’t have a lot of money left at the end of the month to put into savings anyway.

Matt works full time pretty much, I work as many hours as I’m capable without crumbling, we hardly do anything so there’s not a lot to cut out. And you can’t cut everything out anyway as, well if you have no little joys in life then what’s even the point?

I’m sure once we can get some kind of response from the stupid company it will be fine, for a bit. But until then I’m just really anxious and I hate this. I have to work tomorrow and I can’t fucking sleep because I’m fucking scared I’m not going to be able to deal with this in time and it’s going to financially ruin us for a month. And then we’re going to spend forever catching up to that.

Matt always asks me why I can never relax and be happy - “you’re coiled so tightly” - and this is why. I was FINE, almost cheerful even, and then boom, email from the electric company and BAM whole day ruined.

This is why! I dare let myself be happy for even just a day and then something comes along and ruins it.

I’m so tired of everything being a fight. I’m so tired of feeling like I’m barely surviving.

[near-canton-ma]

Tankless Water Heaters

A tankless water heater heats water as needed without needing a storage tank. It passes cold water through a heat exchanger, rapidly warming it to the desired temperature before delivering it to the faucet, shower, or appliance.

Tankless water heaters primarily provide hot water for various domestic purposes, such as bathing, washing dishes, and doing laundry. Unlike traditional water heaters with storage tanks, tankless models offer several advantages, including energy efficiency, space-saving design, and an endless hot water supply since they don't run out as long as they have a sufficient flow rate and appropriate sizing. They are especially popular in homes with limited space and for users looking to reduce energy consumption and utility costs.

In commercial settings, they can meet the demands of various applications such as hotels, restaurants, and industrial processes, ensuring uninterrupted supply, lessening operating costs, and optimizing space.

HVAC Professionals

Green Energy Mechanical’s HVAC technicians perform essential tasks related to heating, cooling, and indoor air quality systems. Their responsibilities include:

Install heating and cooling systems, including furnaces, air conditioners, heat pumps, and ventilation units. They ensure proper system placement and connection.

Conduct inspections, clean components, replace filters, and identify potential issues to prevent breakdowns.

Diagnose the problem and carry out repairs. This includes fixing leaks, replacing faulty parts, and restoring proper functionality.

Recommend and implement system upgrades or replacements to improve energy efficiency and meet evolving HVAC standards.

Inspect, repair, or replace ductwork to ensure efficient air distribution.

Educate customers on proper system usage, maintenance, and energy-saving practices.

Provide emergency repairs for unexpected system failures.

The company is dedicated to delivering high-quality heating and cooling solutions, ensuring comfort, energy efficiency, and indoor air quality for residential and commercial clients. Choose them if you're searching for HVAC near me in Canton, MA.

Air Conditioner Repair and Maintenance

Air conditioners can break down for various reasons, necessitating services like those provided by Green Energy Mechanical in Canton, MA. Common causes include:

Neglecting regular maintenance, such as cleaning coils and changing filters, can reduce efficiency and breakdowns.

Dirty filters restrict airflow, causing the system to work harder and potentially freeze, leading to breakdowns.

Leaking refrigerant can reduce cooling capacity and damage the compressor, resulting in system failure.

Problems with wiring, circuit breakers, or capacitors can disrupt the electrical components, causing the AC to malfunction or not turn on.

Insufficient airflow or refrigerant issues can cause the evaporator coils to freeze, affecting cooling performance.

The compressor is a critical component, and its issues can lead to costly repairs or AC replacement.

As air conditioners age, their components can wear out or become less efficient, increasing the risk of breakdowns.

If you're searching for AC repair near me in Canton, MA, choose Green Energy Mechanical.

[powerpackelectricals]

Efficient Industrial Heating Solutions with Advanced Heating Coils

Our industrial heating coils are built to last long and distribute heat efficiently. Increase the quality of your operations with precisely designed solutions that guarantee efficient and reliable heating in various settings.

[airex03534]

"Poppin' Perfection: Airex's Stainless Steel Popcorn Machine Heating Element

When it comes to crafting the perfect batch of popcorn, precision is key. Airex, an acclaimed industrial heater manufacturer, brings you their cutting-edge stainless steel popcorn machine heating element. This electric heater is designed to take your popcorn game to a whole new level!

Airex is renowned for its expertise in crafting industrial heaters, and this heating element is no exception. It's not just any heating element; it's a testament to innovation and quality. Whether you're running a bustling movie theater, a cozy snack bar, or a bustling carnival stand, this temperature sensor-equipped electric heater ensures that every kernel gets the right amount of heat.

[stacheproducts]

Future of Dabbing: Introduction to Electric Nail Dab Coil Heaters

The future of dabbing is here! Electric nail dab coil heaters are the latest technological advancement in the world of dabbing. This innovative device heats up quickly and evenly, delivering the perfect dab every time. It’s portable, easy to use, and eliminates the need for a torch. By using a coil heater, users can enjoy the full flavor of their concentrate and enjoy a cleaner, smoother dabbing experience. There is the perfect way to take dabbing to the next level.

Visit Us - https://www.froggyandthemouse.com/future-of-dabbing-introduction-to-electric-nail-dab-coil-heaters/

[serveantage]

An Easy Guide to Fixing a Clogged Water Heater

Clogged water heaters can cause problems in your home, from overflowing toilets to frozen pipes. If you're experiencing clogged water heaters, it's essential to have it checked out as soon as possible. A water heater that's not getting hot enough or is contaminated can cause severe problems down the line. Following are some things to consider if you think your water heater needs repairs:

How to fix a clogged water heater

If you are experiencing a water heater issue, there are a few simple steps that you can take to restore normal function.

First, flush the unit with clean water several times to clear out any deposits or contaminants that may have built up over time.

Second, use a degreaser and scrubber on the tank's exterior until it's free of residue.

Finally, pour a potable or disinfectant solution into the unit and run it through its cycle twice (once hot and once cold). These simple procedures should help quickly get your water heater back in working order!

If anything does not resolve the problem, then it may be necessary to call a emergency plumbing services Utah to unblock your pipes efficiently.

How to troubleshoot a water heater repair

If you're facing water heater issues in your home, don't wait to call a technician. Many things can go wrong with your water heater; if left untreated, these problems can become much more challenging to fix.

There are a few tips you can do to troubleshoot water heater repair:

1. Check the system for signs of leaks or flooding. Suppose there is any indication that your water heater may leak, flood damage, or an issue with the valve-and-turbine assembly. In that case, it is essential to call a professional immediately.

2. Test the temperature and flow rate of the hot water tank using a hydrometer or thermometer calibrated in degrees Fahrenheit (or Celsius). It will help you determine if something is wrong with your unit's thermostat or the heating coil.

3. Ensure all gas lines leading into and from your water heater are correctly connected, secured, and gaged so as not to create an unsafe situation in case of leaky pipe insulation.

Things to avoid when repairing a water heater

Few things that you should avoid when repairing a water heater. For example, don't try to fix it yourself if you aren't experienced. Water heaters are big and heavy equipment, and if you don't have the right tools or knowledge for the job, you could end up causing more damage than good.

Please do not use harsh cleaners on the unit or its components. This can damage the heating element and cause it to fail prematurely.

Another thing to remember is safety: never work near an open flame when working on your water heater repairs.

Additionally, never puncture or tear the electric wires that run beneath the cover of your water heater to reach underlying problems. Doing so could result in severe electrical shocks and even injury.

Finally, always wear safety goggles and gloves while working with power tools around hot surfaces like water heaters!

Instead, call a emergency plumber Utah who is familiar with repairing water heaters.

Tips for maintaining and repairing your water heater

There are a few simple tips that you can follow to help keep your water heater running and working smoothly and prevent it from breaking down. If you have a newer water heater, there are some simple things that you can do to maintain and repair it. Here are a few tips:

1. Keep the housing clean - Regularly wipe outside the unit with a cloth or sponge dampened in mild soap and warm water. Be careful not to pour any liquids onto the heating element or other parts of the machine, as this could cause damage.

2. Check for leaks - Leaks can occur at any point along the system. So immediately call an expert to inspect your equipment for possible leaks and fix them accordingly!

3. Adjust temperatures as needed - Water heaters need regular adjustments to maintain comfortable temperature levels and prevent freeze-ups from happening due to off-kilter temps inside tanking systems like these.

4. Scheduled maintenance – Checks should be scheduled every year by an authorized technician who will perform inspections, clear out sediment buildup etc.

And lastly, clean any debris or dust that accumulates on the heating element with a damp cloth, as this can hinder its function. Ensure all connections between pipes, valves, and tanks are tight for optimal performance. One important thing to do is check the pressure gauge regularly.

Conclusion:

You should find trustworthy and reliable plumbing services if your water heater requires servicing and repair.

Serveantage offers emergency plumbing services so that if your water heater is not working or leaking, you can call us anytime. Our highly-trained and experienced team are available 24/7 to assist you.

[cog5]

February - The Dungeon, Area 2B

#dungeon23

2.15. Cell Block A

A row of prison cells. There’s a 50% chance each cell is occupied.

Prisoner 1: Soo’ven

Huddled in the corner, very paranoid.

Crime: Manslaughter, of an Agent of The Spire.

Prisoner 2: Chuck

A human-rat hybrid with augmented limbs.

Crime: Theft of mechanical components, to repair their left arm.

Prisoner 3: Taka

Burly and gruff. A former chef, loves soup.

Crime: Theft of rations, meant to feed their friends and family.

Prisoner 4: Alto

Bright and friendly, was once a street performer.

Crime: Public disturbance, song lyrics did not comply with The Electric God’s will.

2.16. Cell Block B

A row of prison cells. There’s a 50% chance each cell is occupied.

Prisoner 1: Anntre Das

A soft face, marked by a deep scar. A resistance fighter, has organised several raids against The Spire.

Crime: Enemy of the Electric God.

Prisoner 2: Old “Krono” Vance

A pair of broken glasses. Fascinated with time.

Crime: Illegal access to The Spire’s system clock.

Prisoner 3: Halbenn

Demure, quite and aloof. Occasional jolts of inquisitiveness.

Crime: Murder, several.

Prisoner 4: Brain-Can Unit, BCU-5417

A Brain-Can Automaton, they have a near complete recollection of their former life.

Crime: Organic reprogramming resistance.

2.17. Cell Block C

A row of prison cells. There’s a 50% chance each cell is occupied.

Prisoner 1: Ovette Das

Alert, with an intense stare. A resistance fighter, has taken part in several raids against The Spire.

Crime: An open Enemy of the Electric God.

Prisoner 2: Canton

Unusually clean. An opportunist. An informant to The Agents of The Spire, and weapons dealer to resistance fighters.

Crime: Unauthorised weapon distribution.

Prisoner 3: Ax’ol

A human-amphibian hybrid. Can breath under water.

Crime: Property destruction, wrongfully accused.

Prisoner 4: Gianna Eenna

Arms folded, monitoring everyone’s comings and goings. A mother, separated from a very large family. Strong willed and planning to escape.

Crime: Theft of heater coils, meant to keep their family warm during the coming winter.

2.18. Cell Block D

A row of prison cells. There’s a 50% chance each cell is occupied.

Prisoner 1: Orvil

An old face behind a long beard. Several minor augmentations. Former maintenance programmer of RX-13, of the Extraction Chamber.

Crime: Improper code push.

Prisoner 2: Dax

Young and eager, their parents were executed by Agents of The Spire. Resistance fighter, Rowe’s current protégé.

Crime: An open Enemy of the Electric God.

Prisoner 3: Rowe

A calm, unassuming presence. Secretly a resistance fighter, currently runs the Licit Nook, an underground hideout within The Dungeon. Works tirelessly to free prisoners.

Crime: Petty theft.

Prisoner 4: Experiment RT-1381

At first glance, the cell appears to be empty. However, upon closer inspection, a small rat can be found. Highly intelligent.

Crime: Illegal sentience.

2.19. Confessional Chamber

A circular room with sliding doors that seal the moment you step inside. Once locked in, a serene tone begins to play and the lights dim to a warm glow. A pleasant voice emanates from an ornate console on the wall. “Confess, and be granted peace.”

Tell a lie: The console initiates immediate immolation.

Tell the truth: The floor opens beneath you, and your are syphoned into a metallic tube. Your descent features a number of twists and turns, with a painful drop at the end. You find yourself on the north side of the Extraction Chamber.

#dungeon23 #ttrpgs #osr #dnd

Crime: Illegal sentience.

[prep4tomoro]

Here are some options for off-grid and backup hot water heating with commercial products and used parts and a wood-burning Rocket Stove. [Related Link] Rocket Stove Hot Water Heater DIY Rocket Stove Coiling Copper Pipe for Thermo-Siphoning [Video 1 of 2] Endless Hot Water Without Electricity or Gas [Video 2 of 2] Coleman Hot Water On Demand - Repairing of older model Portable Off-Grid Hot Water Products on Amazon.com

[14-Point Emergency Preps Checklist] [11-Cs Basic Emergency Kit] [Learn to be More Self-Sufficient] [The Ultimate Preparation]