nightlyvisitor - Tumblr blog

[nightlyvisitor]

` ＊ ARCHETYPE MEME. Ray for the angst meme >:33 if that’s okay! @nightlyvisitor

[nightlyvisitor]

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver. ( for Lucien )

Cold. It was a strange feeling, the way icy particles clung to his obsidian coat, pale face and bloodied hands...well most of his body was coated in lively shades of red, but there was a reason for this macabre painting.

His memory pieces back, a few fleeting images, getting packed up for a mission, the landing...and a very suspicious yet sugary sweet smile coming from their anonymous intel. An intel that should have revealed more about the still remaining Umbrella head scientists...yet what went wrong? The person played coy, making sure to greet and bring them to a secluded, "safe" place...a place that once was once home to many remarkable minds...remarkable yet foul in their experimentation.

The BSAA hasn't had a good trail on Umbrella for a while...lucky for them their guide would soon reveal more info and any digital data that contained forbidden files and knowledge...but it never came. Whatever the man's deal was, shots were opened, "guard dogs" let go to jump them, while the coward stayed back...of course, why do the hard job when the mutated souls could clean this mess up. It soon became a flurry of moves and jabs, anything to keep himself safe and direct dangerous attacks on him...he could take it, he was used to pain...and in this case, their team needed everyone alive. It soon that all shots and growls fizzle into undulated cries and Lucien is left standing over their supposed help, hand wrapped around his neck. It takes him a lot of focus and words from Chris to not strangle the guy, but eventually, he is immobilized and cuffed. For a moment Lucien lies down, leaning back against the old rumble as he lets Redfield and then rest communicate the situation and any important details. He was still getting used to new teams, new faces...but he was at least glad that one never seemed to change. A small tug snaps him out of his trance as he eyes the older operative...despite the serious, stone-cold expression, those blue hues couldn't hide everything, especially when that concern stood out so much his face. For a moment the mutated wants to brush that worry off, but as soon as he feels a gentle dap...he hesitates. Normally touch wasn't something he was always comfortable with...but with certain people, he was slowly growing to accept it...or at least under the meaning behind it. And just like that Lucien gives a little smile before his less bloodied palm finds the other's shoulder. "What's important...is that nobody else got hurt. But you're right...some of those swipes got a bit too close for comfort." The young man speaks, mumbling the last part as he continues to eye the other's hand...slow, careful in its mission to soothe his pain.... And with that act of selfless...comes a small one, one that despite the many trappings reaches out to grow.

[nightlyvisitor]

Ray would never deny his open tenderness or affection to those close or meaningful to him, be it in words or actions. To him Talis has gotten closer and under a silly, almost playful attitude there was genuine care and attention...sometimes he wondered if he should act this way, if his actions made the other unwell...but judging by the look and response the other gives him whenever they collide...it was worth the efforts, a bleeding heart carried on his chest like a valuable badge yet strucken by a few dents and rust. Despite the way some people had treated him, he was sure that it was worth focusing on those that gave him that same care.

A small, surprised whine leaves the sniper as he feels the familiar warmth and contact that comes from a guiding hand...he is almost leaning into it, soaking the gentle touch, as warm amber hues gaze into dark sunset ones. He wouldn't mind stayin like this, in this bubble of comfort and soft attention given and reciprocated...but it all gets disturbed by Jayce's cheeky response..Of course. A cheeky man through and through. Soon Ray's smile also changes to a smirk, showing a bit of teeth as he watches the other. "Mmmm...and what if I want to do that, Sunstone?" Tilting his head to the side, determined to pay back was obvious...but his words weren't necessarily wrong, there was some wish...something that made him want to appreciate the scientist in front of him more. Only one way to find out...

As he leans his face firmer in the other's hold, it's enough that his lips brush against the other index finger, eyeing the taller man, eyes a more dark caramel hue as he keeps the touch light for now.

*;; UNPROMPTED SOFT. 💥🔨⚙️ ➤   @nightlyvisitor  ( … ) Warmth. He had made sure that his fireplace was stocked with wood before letting it light up in a harmonious and gradual dance of embers. Since winter was edging closer day by day it was the perfect time to let his fireplace come back to life. Sumo didn't seem to mind it either as he curiously stared at the orange hues that danced against the ivory black metal before turning his attention back to their guest.

Jayce as always was entranced in his craft, hands working meticulously as he took notes or scribbled a visual design. Raymon smirked with a bit of fondness, admiring the others dedication to work... but even had his limit. Making his way over to the taller man settled along the comfortable couch, the other's mind still remains focused on finding a better solution to his current dilemma.

Although his mind seemed fully concentrated his eyes looked tired, hands gripping on the sheets with a fiery determination. For a moment Raymon is halted in his actions, uncertainty humming low in his mind. But it is washed away in waves quickly like streaks in sand as his hands carefully clasp around the others shoulders, just enough so he doesn't accidentally spook the other. When he is finally given the attention, his hands slowly slink upwards, scarred hands gently tracing over the other's neck before they settle on cupping the other's face.

Amber hues pinned on the others expression as they glisten in the occasional fire embers. His expression is relaxed but soon a cheeky smile makes its way when mischief comes to mind.

"Mmmm normally sunkissed refers to one's complexion....but I think it's different here...your gaze is so full of light, almost like golden sun rays." The sniper expressed in admiration the more he observed the scientist. Yeah that was perhaps silly but a gaze of a person could tell so much about them, sometimes even things hidden from plain sight. Hands move on their accord, thumbs gently brushing and gently tracing over the other cheeks and chin. "tant de lumière..." the last bit of french is murmured between the crackling fire as he sighs softly.

𝐇𝐄’𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄. It’d never been as big an issue before, something he could always scoff at, brush off with a sneer of a smile & something witty tossed right back to keep the conversation moving. Never one to let things linger in place for too long, he prefers even more if they don’t settle on himself.

He liked attention, bathed in it when it felt all the more well earned, but he couldn’t stand when it lingered unprovoked. It felt like someone was peeling back all his rotten layers, studying the blackened insides & seeing all his flaws. It’s a vulnerable thing. Definitely paranoid, but it’s not exactly something he’s gotten used to. Trained himself to react the opposite of visible discomfort — even when his stomach twists itself into tight knots, guilt chilling his veins like ice, he smiles in a neat bare of his teeth, a guarded, twitched thin of his eyes before he gives thanks.

He’s far from perfect. He’s failed one too many times, his blunders, the times he’s struggled to pick up the slack or push a breakthrough when it was needed costing people their lives — it haunts him, the indirectly shed blood covering his hands, but it’s easy enough to forget, to bury beneath the morbid reminder that as long as he tries, continues to push himself, he can make up for his failures in a way.

So he strives for progress. Has never had much of an issue with things being blurred between the lines of his personal & professional life.

Evidently not till now.

He tries to hole up in a well-heated lab. Bundled up beneath layered clothing, spending as little time as possible out in snowy winter weather as he can manage, but lured by someone who’d managed to burrow his way under his skin, comfortably so, even as he works on his side project, sketching away different possible schematic designs in the weathered & well worn book in his hands, his mind continues to drift back to Raymon. To the strange operative with a hopeful mind & gently stubborn will who’d managed to get him out of his lab for a change & out living.

While he’s currently off doing who knows what, Jayce admittedly, guiltily burrows himself in the comforting safety of his work, feeling mildly twitchy, only a little on edge in the new environment as he hears distant movement.

He isn’t sure how long he’s stared into the mess of scribbles below, fingers tightening their hold around the pencil in his hand, the cloth of the offered blanket sheltering him from any possible chill, but he does go tense when hands find their way along his shoulders. Gentle, familiar if only because they stay put, a lack of pressure there showing no intention to harm or restrict, more to soothe. The brazen graze of thumbs massaging into strained muscle draw a sheepish, breathy laugh from him, something heralding the starting melt under warm palms.

Peering at the other with a teasing arch of a notched brow, the silent questioning “yes?” left unspoken, Jayce feels as those hands moved upwards, lightly skating & skimming the line of his throat until they’re able to comfortably cup at his face. Soft, confident in the tenderness expressed, Jayce’s grin quirks that bit wider as he waits in patient anticipation.

❝ Dulce? ❞ He hums in greeting, some light surprise airing to the surface that though he could see the way the other studied him, there wasn’t much of a wane in that garnered comfort. Not much of an urge to pull away or remove his hands, so in a test he leans into one of them with maintained eye contact. Finally it’s broken, a huffed bit of laughter spilling free as he tries to duck his head, as much as he can manage anyways — giving up with a deep heaved sigh. All before begrudgingly staring back into warmed caramel — he’s not sure how to react to the genuine tone the sniper carries. Devoid of anything fake, there’s something honeyed in how he quietly compliments him.

All the while he continues to smooth the roughened pads of his thumbs along the few tiny scars etched into his cheeks.

Jayce beams, impish still but in a notably more tame way than what he normally gifts, reaching up to capture Raymon’s chin between his thumb & forefinger. He keeps up the suave façade on instinct, a stubborn old want to out fluster the other man keeping his expression soft but composed. Daringly he brushes the tip of his thumb beneath the others bottom lip with a quiet snort.

❝ Careful now. Wouldn’t want you to get lost in them. ❞

[nightlyvisitor]

〝 I burned so long, so quiet that you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did, I do.〞 ➤ Annelyse Gelman, from “The Pillowcase” in Everyone I Love is a Stranger to Someone.

[nightlyvisitor]

send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.

[nightlyvisitor]

Heya there! So it’s been kinda quiet here, but there is a reason for it! Last Thursday I had a medical appointment and ended in me staying at the clinic. Still recovering from the procedure, but I am hoping that next Thursday I will be on here 🫂✨

[nightlyvisitor]

Ironic. Once well cared and sharp blades, deemed to defend and give back tenfold to aggressive beings, now clattered against the hard ground like shattered glass..yet not all broken in vain. He did what he could to make sure that almost everyone had left the collapsing cave.. before his fate was sealed even deeper in mossy green vines that coiled and twirled in anticipation. No one deserved to find their end here, no soldier should lose their light like this...so in a desperate attempt to keep one of his promises, he would take the fall, the fall into agony and aggression. He only wanted to make sure the bat like mutant would never escape, that no trace of Tricell would see the light of day, none to cause pain for others.

The calm tone echoes softly and it's enough to bring the ex sniper back as vivid acidic green hues stare back at the other, still comfortable enough to lay down, to lay his guard down for the other.

As words shatter at the language barrier, a deep hinderance that cuts the fallen soldier deeply, it's this outcome that he would rather keep than the loss of his sanity. But shifting his thoughts to the man before him he noods softly at the first question.

Soon a quiet purr passes at his next words ...just hearing his name again felt nice..almost comforting. It's enough to give Ray the courage to try as one of his clawed hands carefully taps at the ground, echoeing a sharp sound...yet the rythm to this strange tapping is quite familiar for soldiers.

(("I haven't heard that name in so long...Chris,Moonlight...I am glad to see you... my voice is...well less than what it used to be. But...I don't want to be alone..not like this...")) The tapping is done methodically in a slow but precise manner, hoping that the other would pick up on it eventually.

It's a conflicting feeling...a part of him wanting comfort, a familiar touch that before could ease his nerves...but now that option was far thrown off the table. How could he even close that gap between them when he looked nothing like his old self?

The distraction from his pecking thoughts finally comes as the sound of tumbling rocks catch Raymon's attention, eyes pinned on the shaky spot. A gaze that held a lot of tension but fear for the ones surrounding him. As the shaky quivering grows stronger ,a clawed hand emerges under the rock tomb followed by a deep piercing crimson gaze...it seems he wasn't the only one that survived the cave collapsing. It's soon they are met eye to eye with a very interesting sight, a creature familiar to the elder operative...a bat monstrosity created in the underground labratory, a Popokarimu.

The flower mutant's expression changes fast from a calm, neutral one to a snarling one, almost angered by the creature that still breathes. The many leaves on his body stand tall like the fur of a defensive animal as flower petals swirl in a fast pace too, almost like little appendages that could grab or catch any incoming attack...for now Ray remains still waiting on a move from the karimu...yet it's not his own person that he is worried for...no, he knew what that thing was hungering for...and last time he checked, no living thing in this place was vegetarian.

➤  [ 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙻𝙾𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 … ]

Scared.  Whatever this was,  it was terrified,  shaking faintly,  though the trembles were hard to spot upon first glance with emotions amped so high,  tensions doing all too little to smooth things back down,  Chris finds it hard to see the creature as anything ready to attack  ( at least not first,  not unless it was further provoked or backed into that figurative   &   literal corner more ).  It seemed to be trying to keep a wide enough berth from any of the other Operatives,  inching away,  odd,  inhuman whining heard as it recoils further against the wall at it’s back.

It seems to relax,  only growing more vocal as bright eyes stay pinned on their group,  Chris isn’t sure what step to take,  what to do   -  whether he should give it the benefit of the doubt or put it out of it’s misery.  He waits,  eyes scanning along each movement made,  observing carefully as it directs it’s attention right back his way.  No matter how he tries to reason it,  something still feels off about this whole situation,  something sinking   &   uneasy.

He calls to it again,  a seeping sense of horror crawling through his veins like ice as he holds eye contact with the BOW.  Still no move to be hostile,  instead,  it seemingly tries to talk of all things to them   -   all garbled growls   &   high-pitched whines.  It continues before it catches on that nothing is being communicated,  nothing understood.  Chris’ brows furrow further.  Before he can make an order,  head cocking to the side as he goes to wet at his chapped lips,  one of his men fire   -   warning shots issued into the ground before the cornered creature.  Instead of attacking,  it scrambles away,  cowering.

All wrong   -   not right.  Not how they normally reacted.  Rather than hostile,  it seemed to not want a damn thing to do with any of them,  keeping a careful distance   &   staying so hunched in on itself.  Making itself smaller than Chris knows it is.  That sinking feeling continues to grow,  a weight he can’t shake,  the whispering thoughts that he hopes to god isn’t real.  but he knows how these virus’ work,  knows how infection can happen.  That the monsters they fight don’t start as monsters.

After shouting for the others to stand down,  back away,  a thinned expression is sent the BOW’s direction,  watching as it still stays put,  no aggressive sounds or movements made.  Trying to talk to it,  it seems to understand,  at least reading his tone in a close enough way it trusted he wasn’t a threat.

Silence spans,  strained,  choked off in anticipation.  Gathering what energy it needs to try,  it bows it’s head faintly,  keeping inhuman eyes locked his way as the low,  hiss-like voice it uses all but shatters that same silence.  Frozen in place,  he can’t bring himself to move,  can only stare in disbelief at the creature as it says his name,  continues even then despite the trouble it has to grit out an apology.

The movements made next only act as a bitter confirmation to what fears he had surface,  the tell-tale clattering of metal on cement,  blades so familiar his teeth hurt at the force he snaps his jaw shut,  grits teeth together tight,  the bracing struggle to keep his expression   &   his breathing steady as more is cautiously revealed.  There’s an uneasy twitchiness in the forms of the others along his sides,  though it’s quiet,  there’s something disturbing at the fact it could communicate,  drawing with it thoughts that were better left off the battlefield,  here on missions.  It was a lot of weight,  pressure,  trauma in   &   of itself to witness.  Chris kneels,  making no move to reach forwards just yet as his brows remain carefully pinched together.

It lays down,  nudging the bent   &   near useless weaponry his way.  Gaze flitting up to the beasts frame,  he studies it a moment longer,  gauging whether or not this was a trick before he quickly dismisses it,  noting how most beasts they fought,  all the infected they’d gone against,  they were instinct driven,  mindless to a point where they were more hostile than calculating.  This was different.  Worryingly so,   &   with his curiosity   &  concern so tightly interwoven,  they guide his actions with a mirroring slowness as he reaches over to accept the offered blades,  sliding them closer while keeping still wary glances traded between them   &   the plant-like creature resting just a few steps ahead.

Eyes catch near immediately on the blades engravings,  the initials first before he slots another piece of the puzzle into place,  the date etched along so delicately only furthering what he’d already suspected.  No …

The only silver lining here,  was that the man was …    Raymon.  Even infected as he was,  mutated into something barely human,  he retained some form of cognizance.  Control enough to not want to hurt   &   even seemingly recognize the group he’d come in here with,  even recognizing Chris.  He presses his lips together into a thin grim line,  teeth already gnawing at the bloodied skin there as he pondered what the fuck he was going to do next.  Knowing the BSAA,  what they stood for …   killing him would have been the safer option.  They didn’t know what the exact dangers were for what he’d mutated into,  if it was contagious.  But …

Peering back up into bright eyes that still had a familiarity to them now that he more or less knew who they belonged to,  Chris finds it hard to make that call.  They’d just gotten Jill back.  Would likely be testing her too once things were finished here.  There was a slim chance,  a reckless idea he could offer.

But it was still too soon to suggest it.  The bitter,  cautious part that knows how these situations almost always panned out,  argued against trusting the other so freely,  argued that putting him down here was far kinder. . “ … You can understand us?”   He asks,  keeping his tone collected   &   neutral,  steadily slow without a waver,  brows tilting skywards along their inner edges as he tries to talk more directly to the BOW turned Operative.  Tapping pointedly at the blades,  he glances between them   &   the creature before continuing slower,  sounding out the words.    "Is your name Raymon Blackstone?“

                                               •     •     •     •     •

[nightlyvisitor]

jay & ben | 07.06.23

[nightlyvisitor]

There is a loud splutter of coffee when the words are finally processed, amber hues still pinned on his paperwork, looking much more interesting right now...but it was clear his mind was completely somewhere else. Of course he enjoyed the little and big acts of affection the two men would share between work and missions, any pocket of calm where they could just relax and let their minds drift away from anxious thoughts and embrace the moment...sometimes those moments would turn into heated ones filled with hungering closeness, possessive bites and even soft words muttered like promises against sensitive skin. But how...could he even jumble it, because the truth was staring at him...but not all truth should be shared.

With a small chuckle Raymon finally meets Claire's gaze, something serious yet sympathetic flashed in deep hues. She had her ways of finding information out, yet never letting it be known unless she wished so. Perhaps it wouldn't be too far fetched to think of her as a fox, handling things with a certain grace that pinned her subject in place or coax them out to spill their answers...crafty, methodical, swift in her moves and words.

"You know professionals never spill their secrets at work...but judging by that look in your eyes that's too much of a simple answer." The operative hums as he finally takes a sip of the poor coffee wasted a few moments before. It takes Raymon a long moment before the chatters start again, albeit closer to a murmur.

"He tends to be the one taking charge and making sure everything is alright...I want him to be able to let go of that pressure with me, or at least let me 'fight' for it a little before he swoops me up and away." His face is soon engulfed in a soft shade of red, eyes drifting back to his papers as another clear confirmation to Claire's question.

@valour-bound

[nightlyvisitor]

He knew Chris could take it. He was well aware that the other was strong enough to take a harsher treatment...yet there was a part of Ray that wanted to treat him with nothing but soft and honey sweet adoration and love. Their jobs were already filled with physical and mental pain as they were, Chris deserved to be spoiled in gentle touches and reassuring words...but there were moments where raw desire and possesivness made themselves at home in his mind, where amber hues took a more intense blazing hue , like molten lava trickling down the ash grey ground.

Right now it was a mix of both. Looking at the man before him, splayed on the comfortable mattress with an expectant yet coy look...It was very tempting. With a sense of indulgence, his gaze sweeps over the other's entire frame, admiring his handy work and the giddy excitement he knows Chris is patiently waiting. Committing the image to memory it's not long before Raymon leans in much closer, soft giggles dancing in his throat as he nose bumps the older man. Call him silly, but sometimes about small gestures like this one could send his heart into a pleasant flutter...something soft with no explanation needed for the amount of fondness it was laced with...a reminder of calmer moments, small pockets of time where nothing could disturb the two of them, nothing under the gentle golden rays of sun, the familiar smell of coffee and the distant tune of a small radio...all of them saved and tucked into his heart.

Catching the other's lips in a familiar kiss proves to be a good distraction from the sudden pain that follow a push. The sniper's movements are slow enough to not overwhelm the other man. As much as Chris was impatient and his own desire was boiling his mind kept reminding him to follow his own words. Desire flares stronger now when they are joined, but like an obedient hound Raymon pushes back his senses just enough he can see ease and a whine expression on the other's face. It's enough to lure that same desire back with a warm smirk before his hips find the flow to thrust in warm flesh. It's a steady pace one, but not enough to slow him in his quest. Lips soon find their way on kissed bruised ones, hungry for attention, desperate to give and take...yet even with this desperation Ray makes sure to ever so slightly pull away and place kisses on the battle worn skin of his shoulders and neck, where Redfields' pulse beats the fastest...in a way it was a good sign, that all his actions had an effect on the older operative. Hands find purchase on the other's thighs, enough to keep his motion fluid...but also to leave a few marks behind. It was a shame that some of them were hidden well, but the ones he could see in plain sight always rose a deep purr out of the sniper...a yearning menace but all laced with adoration for the one he longed. "M-Moonlight...I want to make you mine...forever, for as long as I am here...b-but question still remains...will you let me in?" Cheeky man, but a sap man nonetheless. Of course with how far they have come he would give so much to see the other's relaxed expression, to see that fragile smile that most times wouldn't dread to show beyond the cruelty of their work and the pain of fallen ones...but he was willing to fight and protect, anything to see that genuine smile again, to hear the heartwarming laughter behind tall walls of ivory steel.

"Je ne veux personne d'autre… que toi." His next words are murmured like a promise against heated skin as he leans down to capture lonely lips in a deep kiss, one that may not take his breath away but one filled with so much adoration ever so slightly pulling before diving back with familiar burning determination.

@valour-bound

*CONTINUED. 📨 ➤   @nightlyvisitor  [ ; ] Your spicy writing is so GORGEOUS IM STILL FERAL GDI

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒, 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. Draining — soulless; he can never stick around for longer than he's needed, long enough to make a few acquaintances here or there. If he's lucky, he has the pleasure of playing catch up with a few friendly, familiar faces from other sectors or organizations. So far, no such luck. It's all new people, a sea of bodies all crammed into a venue that, while beautiful, was far too cramped to accommodate all the guests comfortably.

. . . Or maybe that's just what he tells himself to reason away the brief flare of guilt as he seeks the nearest exit.

He never was good in large groups of people like that. Something about them was almost instantly associated to a panicked crowd — to a disaster brimming & ready to explode. At times it was hard to differentiate between the good & the bad even with excessive reminders. As he tries to sort through his sifting thoughts, nothing sticks around long enough for him to latch on, to mull over in a weak attempt to self-distract, but it's a short-lived loss as he finds he wasn't the only one feeling left hollowed out & tired from the evenings events.

Head tilting at an angle, he takes a moment to study the other man, noting the rarity of either of them being clad in anything outside of their usual combat gear or work wear. Being clad in almost too tight formal fit clothes, it's something different, but it works in how it lures his attention like a cast fishing line. It hooks his eyes, draws his interest in a pleasant way, stirring at the startings of purring rumbles, only flitting free through a soft chuckle as he steps in closer to the lounging sniper. Seems he'd found a familiar face — no better company in his eyes to be in.

Coming to a stop at his side, he studies the man a moment longer, absorbing in the view of Raymon so primmed up in a suit & tie, hair swept back in neat yet ever messy curls. No usual goggles in place hanging loosely around his neck or worn over his head — he admittedly looks more like a model over a soldier, & for a bitter brief moment, Chris can't help but lament that the other's life was being gradually stolen away by this fight against B.O.W.'s.

Sweeping those thoughts to the wayside to wallow in another day, the elder Operative takes some comfort in the way he's able to reach over, physically touch the other man with calloused, bare fingers, run them through thick locks with ease. When Raymon seems to realize who it is, there's something pleased, laced in delicate amusement as he moves to press into Chris' hand, cat-like smile smoothing along formerly restless features in a way that oozes some reassuring contentment.

When honeyed amber meet his own, he cracks a grin, little more then a faint twitch of his lips, if he's honest, but it's welcomed all the same when the sharpshooter returns it, quickly shifting to take in Chris' form in much the same way he'd been doing just moments prior. He let's him, quelling the fluttering mix of nerves that rise & curiosity on his opinion in what he sees. An appreciative hum is gifted, tired, but relaxed, all openly shared as Ray returns his attention back up again. An urge flares to life then, sparked on by the attention, the possible need he bears to seek comfort to negate the discomfort he can feel crawling away beneath his skin. All it manifests as is something just as mischievous, betraying the idea that shimmers like fire in hazel depths.

He wets at his lips, gaze looking between both of Raymon's bright eyes, before they pointedly drift down, lingering clearly on the other's lips before they dare to lift back up again. He wonders if he gets the message. If his interest & less then formal wants have been communicated clearly or if he'd need to be more direct. All that worrying beginning to sprout & the other halts it all entirely with a mirroring look to answer, just as cheeky, but in true Blackstone fashion, no less intense in how genuine it shines. Before he can make the offer for them to get out of there, the other is already standing & guiding the pair to the door, impish look tossed back his way bearing the promise of more to come.

If he held any doubt that that single kindling spark would die out or wither before they got to a more private space — he was thankfully wrong. Very wrong — he moans, pressing more intently against the sniper, meeting hungering lips with his own, mouthing back in a slow but no less passionate dance as hands pawed expensive clothing free. Warm & slow, burning through his veins like lava, it's an intense feeling, patient in what it wants as Chris draws away with a desperately needed inhale of oxygen. His face is flushed, not nearly as bad as the other man's but enough his face feels like it's on fire, the air around him just as warm, radiating with it in a way he doesn't find too uncomfortable as he flashes a toothy smirk over.

All that careful prep into looking like they were put together, & here they both were, disheveled in the best way. The laughter that spills free is genuine, a snort tagging itself on at the very end at the breathy remark hummed in his direction. He doesn't dignify it with a verbal response, instead craning back in to continue what was engaged. His hands move quick, all efficient grace as they pop button by button loose, moving down the other's chest before he's able to tug his shirt down bare shoulders, distracting the other with more traded kisses as he moves to toss their balled up garments elsewhere. The guided walk back to the bed is one that threatens to tug more snickers from him, but his attention is firmly held, stolen by the other as he eases him back against the sheets.

All that raging want is quickly soothed, that same damned patience flaring in a way that garners his compliance without a single complaint. Laved over in anticipation, he finds no issue with the turn things take, with letting the other steer the encounter through washing affections & marking bites. Stubborn as always, though he lets his control slip every so often, Raymon's ministrations ease the occasion tremble from his frame, shaky breathes puffed out into the heated space between as he marks a path lower & lower. A man on a mission, gaze like molten gold with how it spills lazily along Chris' stomach, lifting upwards to trace the strain of pleasure-tensed muscles, the softened curve of his eyes. Almost reverent in how he drinks in every reaction.

Though he's had a long while to get used to this kind of thing, to more intimate attention, lavished adoration in private — part of him still writhes under the scrutiny, defiantly wanting to deny. But he's working on it, gradually, bit by bit, the sunny man was helping to get him used to it, to reciprocating with a kindness that assuages & disarms him. At his purred praise, he darkens a shade, teeth clattering together as he inhales, swallows deep. Where words fail him, thankfully he had other ways to respond — large hands moving with reserved grace to express his own gratitude, his agreement & simmering lust.

Sometimes, the fragility he's treated with ironically makes him want to break. To shatter. He can handle pain, he's not delicate by any means - but something about being treated like a precious item, a treasure worth being handled with care — he's anything but. Doesn't think he deserves it. Bit by bit . . . he's unlearning that mindset. Baby steps, but the patience displayed help to ease him along, in more then one way, as he stifles his inner complaints through the barrier of his teeth, smothering them quiet as he remains pliant under caring hands. All he can do is nod, before a chuckle is breathed out.

The urge to remind him he's not gonna break so easily rears, but before he can think to, Raymon continues, tone dipping, garnering a particular husky breathiness that makes his pulse thrum, a spike of something sharp ricocheting along his spine. Recovering just as fast with a mask slid into place like a shield, Chris breaks his silence in soft exhales, a short laugh as he smooths his hands along Raymon's sides in encouragement. It distracts enough, the grazing feel of the pads of his fingers trailing along the other's well-toned frame as he's breached.

He'd never get completely used to the sensation — the initial shock of it, of having something foreign intruding, at the burning stretch that preceded the feeling of slickened fingers pushing & prying him open. Every probing motion stokes further at that flame kindling low in his belly, tensing him tight like a coiled spring ready to launch, leaving his limbs twitching faintly as he tries to keep himself relaxed & collected. He never knew how to react, what he should say to fill the silence — if anything needed to be said. Before he can lose himself in his own head, Raymon draws him back with another added finger, the pleasure that sways itself through his system tingling at his core.

❝ Only for tonight? ❞ Biting back a moan, it's not as sharp a response as he'd have liked, but it's bit past quirked lips, fondness bleeding from it in lazy waves. He doesn't glance down, keeping his eyes shut as another purring rumble is teased loose. Anticipation threatens to drown him under, an age old impatience suddenly grasping at his throat in a vice-like hold.

Cracking his eyes open, he raises himself up onto his elbows, leaning forwards to tug the sharpshooter up, guiding with a hand around the nape of his neck. He draws the sniper in, catches his lips in a goading kiss while he moves, reaching down from his head to slip a hand around him. It's nothing more than an answering caress, communicating his teetering patience as he nips at Ray's lips with a grin. Slowly, he continues to work his hand over warmed flesh.

❝ I'm not going to fall apart on you. ❞ Chris reassures, thumbing along the other's head with a soft laugh. ❝ I'm ready. If you don't do something now . . . ❞ He trails off, nose bumping along the other man's in amusement.

[nightlyvisitor]

i dont hate you guys i swear i just have really shitty memory

[nightlyvisitor]

MAN— ugly laughing before I sleep—

CURSED BUT THANK I HAD A GOOD LAUGH THIS MORNING—

[nightlyvisitor]

Reaching over, he can’t help the curious thought that spurs him to move, scratching gently along the waxy surface of a leaf wilting along the large feline’s head. Petals — or what he assumes to be petals, twitch at the contact, seemingly alive all in their own way, softly brushing at the side of his gloved hand. With a snort of laughter, he pokes at the nearest one — Well . . . Okay, more of a playful flick than anything. “ Hiya to you too, Dulce. ”

Touch. Something that used to be so natural and inviting, now has taken a more edged look, serrated by the unkind words and jabs he would get from the people in white coats. Some had a gentle touch, careful to not aggravate his state or send him into panic...while some couldn't wait to tear him apart. Of course some didn't speak to him, but it was clear in their eyes, in the ways they handled and pointed their tools that the mutant should have been dead long ago. Yet due to their "kindness" he was still here, alive and pocked by the many needles, odd colored chemicals and sap green blood, he was a curiosity to the science people...yet it meant that he was treated less than his "fellow" agents.

It's the gentle flick to one of his crimson petals that snaps the former sniper out of his inky consciousness, giving a curious croon at the man who lay comfortably against him. As soon as he hears the familiar nickname the silence is replaced with a deep reverberating noise echoing in the throat of the beast. It's not a dangerous nor an angry sound, but a deep calm one, almost akin to purring. His petals gently creep and tap curiously at the glowed hand in the same manner a octopus would, with cautious but light movements. Despite their fragile appearance, they are very telling of the other's mood wether he is calm or anxious, they were a good indicator. Right now though he felt safe, safe enough to not pin the taller male with his acidic green gaze, enough to be comfortable with light touch.

The petals continue their curious trail until they carefully wrap around the other's wrist, their hold so gentle that Jayce could easily tug away from them. As soon as they have "captured" his hand , the mutant leans forward gently nudging his face against the other's chest in a warm greeting, sending little reverberations from his constant "purring". Most times he associated Jayce to warmth, like the rays of sun that would warm the petals of a flower, Raymon welcomes the closeness, almost afraid to let go. "Sssuuun..ststooone..." An honest try to call the other back. A want to show his appreciation before those broken words are followed yet again by another gentle nudge against Talis. If he had to be honest he disliked his isolation...but if it meant that the people here could cure him, he could endure for a little bit longer, if only for the people he cared deeply. (("How was your day?")) His clawed hand carefully knocks against the metal surface wondering if something had excited Talis in his research or even something small that happened at the base.

[nightlyvisitor]

actions speak louder than words non - verbal / action prompts from yours truly. (add a "swap" to swap the sender/receiver in the prompt (or just do it manually).)

back, sender gives receiver a back hug.

beckon, sender beckons receiver closer with a finger.

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver.

book, sender helps receiver get a book from a higher part of the shelf.

care, sender takes care of receiver when they're sick.

catch, sender catches receiver by the waist after they bump into each other.

choke, sender saves receiver from choking by giving them the heimlich.

cold, sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.

cry, sender wipes tears off receiver's face with their thumbs.

dance, sender sticks a hand out to receiver and invites them to dance.

dip, sender skinny dips in front of receiver and invites them to join.

dog, sender's dog pulls them in receiver's direction.

drive, sender drives receiver somewhere in their car.

drag, sender drags receiver into a room and closes the door behind them.

draw, sender draws receiver like one of their french girls.

face, sender turns receiver's face towards them.

flower, sender gives receiver a flower.

footsie, sender initiates footsie with receiver under the table.

forehead, sender presses their forehead against receiver's.

grab, sender grabs receiver's wrist to stop them from leaving.

jump, sender jumps onto receiver's back.

kiss, sender kisses receiver.

link, sender links arms with receiver while walking.

massage, sender offers receiver a massage.

patch, sender patches up receiver's wounds.

piano, sender teaches receiver how to play the piano.

pin, sender pins receiver's hands behind their back.

pluck, sender plucks something out of receiver's hair.

press, sender presses receiver against a wall.

propose, sender proposes to receiver.

quiet, sender gestures for receiver to be quiet.

rest, sender rests their head on receiver's shoulder.

serenade, sender serenades receiver with a song.

sign, sender walks into a sign and receiver sees.

size, sender measures the size of their hand against receiver's.

shoes, sender removes receiver's shoes for them.

sun, sender rubs sunblock onto receiver's back.

tattoo, sender gives receiver a tattoo.

tie, sender helps tie receiver's tie.

tuck, sender tucks receiver's hair behind their ear.

umbrella, sender lets receiver under their umbrella.

warning, sender presses a knife against receiver's neck as a warning.

zip, sender needs receiver's help to zip up the back of their dress.

[nightlyvisitor]

y’all remind yourselves your account is your space. you’re not a performance. you’re not annoying by being yourself. if people aren’t into it they can leave. you’re not obligated to please anyone, especially at the cost of your personal expression. the worst thing you can do for your online enjoyment is to filter or censor yourself.

[nightlyvisitor]

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 Independent & private Chris Redfield from the Resident Evil / Biohazard series | Heavily headcanon based portrayal | Penned by Sol / Sebastian

[nightlyvisitor]

Big mood drop…