#xselfrighteous

@xselfrighteous sent ﹟ oral sex﹕  sender  goes  down  on  receiver . ( for ada)

They hate each other. That much is obvious. But, just because they hate each other doesn't mean they can't fall in to bed together. Use each other for sex and be perfectly content with that. Neither one of them is stupid, they both know they're just using each other and Ada is just fine with that.

Especially when his tongue is on her. God, he's good at that. He's skilled with his tongue and if he's that magic with his tongue, just how good is he with his cock?

Honestly, Ada is surprised it had taken them this long to fuck. They tension between them had always been high, sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, it was about time they gave in.

Back arches off the bed as his tongue slips past wet folds and presses against her clit. She inhales breathlessly, hips bucking upwards against his mouth ever so slightly.

@xselfrighteous​ sent " I've been thinking of just bending you over this table, and having my way with you."

the dirty kind of teasing starters

status: accepting

Leon’s breath hitches in his throat as he glances between the table and Chris, images of Chris fucking him into the table until he’s a whimpering mess hitting his mind and it nearly makes him groan as he feels that first wave of arousal.

When his eyes turn back to Chris, there’s something different about them. Darkened with lust as his eyes unashamedly rake over Chris’ entire body before landing back on Chris’ face. Teeth bit down on his bottom lip for a moment as he stares the older man down.

“....Why don’t you?” He breathes out, sounding a little breathless, as lips curl up into a smirk. “I can handle it. Question is, can you handle me?” Bratty nature comes out without much thought, he likes pushing Chris, seeing how he’ll react to the things Leon can say, how bratty he can be.

Go ahead, Chris. Grab me. Manhandle me. Fuck me into the table.

The part of this job, he hated the most, were the injuries. Not to many are acquired, but they do happen. Ranging from serious, wounds caused out in the field. Or, by simply making a stupid decision in the office. At least with Redfield, he didn't make to many of the stupid decisions, to the point he needed medical care. To be frank, he barely needed it while in the field to often at all. But this day, he couldn't see a reason for the male to not have been hurt. The bio weapons were feral, and these type even Wesker had never seen before.

James must have created something much bigger and stronger. He needed to asses the wounds, quickly. There was really no telling if the saliva, or blood was toxic or even contagious. Albert didn't want one of his S.T.A.R.S Members to become infected. Especially Chris, because the brunette, was one of the most important Assets they had.

That, and cause Albert was starting to fall for the younger male. Something he should ignore, to be real, he didn't do love and relationships. But there was something about this male that he couldn't shake. He would have to bury and snuff out these feelings that he had developed. Coming up behind the male, with the med kit in his hands, motioning with his head toward the chair.

" Have a seat, Redfield! We need to get this wound checked out quick. In case of infection, do your understand. "

 A moan spilling poast her lips now as she imagined Wesker standing behind her, and her hand being his instead. Sliding into her warm wetness. Fingers loosing it's grip on the metal cup now. Tongue seductively licked across her lips, soaking up all of the blood that had smeared across her skin. The cup was dropped then, as fingers hit her G=Spot, and a memory of Wesker on top of her, mouth busy between her thighs, his fingers pulling her clitoris open. Her legs wrapping around his shoulders, as her hips arched up into him. She could feel the need to have him like this take over her, until she was stopped. Freezing in her tracks, hands pulling away from her body now. Raven black locks spilling across her face, as her head snapped toward the sound of the door unlocking. ❛ Wesker. ❜ 

 She whsipered, her voice coming out low and full of need. But she knew he had already left for work. And besides, he never came in through the side door. Eyes cut over to the door in question now. It wasn't far from where she was at, in fact whoever they were, they should have been able to of seen her. Anger overcame her now, she wanted to kill them. Devour them, starting with there spleens first. Taking a step closer to the door, head tilting just slightly. She could see them more clearly now. And there faces seemed familiar to her, maybe it was the ones she had been shown by Albert in his Group photos from when he was the Captain of S,T,A,R,S. A devilish gleam flicked across her eyes at the gun, the blonde one held. 

Oh the Poor bastard, he was going to learn soon, on what was wrong with that desicion. There was a sickening pop, as she cracked her nexk. She could rush forward, and bo ontop of both of them in a matter of minutes. There scents were so intoxicating. Not as good smelling as Wesker's, his drive her crazy. These two though, there scents were still sweet, she could taste there flesh between her teeth. Though, there was apart of her that didn't want to be this way. She was innocent, a normal girl who got fucked by Umbrella, and turned into a monster. But of course these people weren't going to understand that. They thought of her as nothing more then a BioWeapon, as if she wanted this. But if they wanted to play, she was sure as hell going to take them for a spin.

Ingrid flinched away from the contact reflexively more than out of fear or pain. It was just a jolt to her system, that was all. She wasn’t used to being touched there. She glanced at the very large calloused hand on her bare knee, brushing over one of the several thick, raised surgical scars that marred her skin. Her hazel eyes trailed up from Chris’ hand along his arm and up his broad shoulders and veiny neck to his face. She eyed him curiously from behind the rims of her glasses but didn’t move to stop him. She trusted him, after all. She’d trust him with her life if it came down to it. He was a good man deep down, she believed. She trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her intentionally; he presented no danger or threat in her mind.

It was because she trusted him so much that she chose not to change into sleep pants that would hide her legs when he came over. With anyone she didn’t deeply trust, she always hid them. At work she wore stockings and leggings or just tailored pants. Her scars were always a sore spot for her. She didn’t like them. Didn’t like the time in her life they represented or their physical appearance. She made coffee for him and herself when he came by even though it was almost midnight. Her door was always open to him. To any of the people she considered her friends or her responsibility. She never asked questions. She just smiled and opened her door for anyone in need, made up a bed on the couch or made some coffee and talked or ate popcorn and watched mind numbing TV until they felt better.

@xselfrighteous sent [ DRAG ]:     sender physically drags or carries the receiver away from a fight.

Most times, Leon's not looking to start a fight. He prefers to be left the hell alone instead of picking fights with people that don't matter. Unless, of course, he's in a self-destructive he deserves the pain from fighting type of mood.

This guy, though. This asshole just keeps pressing and pressing and pressing. What makes it worse is it's a coworker who clearly doesn't hold him in the high regard most others do.

Doesn't this asshole know he could have his badge?

It's only when the guy mentions that he doesn't know why Chris is with him and that Chris probably feels sorry for him, that Leon moves to leap toward the other with a growl, fully intent on smashing his face in.

Except before he can fully launch at him, a pair of strong arms wrap around him and yank him back. He doesn't have to look to know who has yanked him against their chest.

Chris.

"Watch out!" Comes an immediate response from Deacon when he sees the red laser, his hand grabbing the back of Chris' shirt and yanking him down behind cover with him. A road block by the looks of it.

Once they're both safely behind cover, Deacon quickly goes to work to making sure his guns are loaded before he's peering carefully over the road block.

"Fucking rippers." Deacon breathes out, a gun shot rings out and back down he goes with quick reflexes so that he doesn't get himself shot.

Careful eyes watch the stranger. He doesn’t look like Drifter, he’s not from one of the camps, and he’s certainly not NERO. However, he does have that military air about him. Deacon would recognize that from a mile away. Military men just have this demeanor that they never truly get rid of.

“Yeah, you don’t look like any of those freakers.” Lowering his gun but not fully putting it away, Deacon arches an eyebrow at Chris in a questioning manner. “Where’d you serve?”