#jill valentine x reader smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mo0nfairy · 2 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SIX !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 12.3k.

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, gender neutral reader, smut (not involving reader), murder, death, violence/gore, suic1dal tendencies, suic1de attempt, alcoholism, weaponry, panic attacks, ptsd, hallucinations, & sleep paralysis.

leon kennedy's yandere traits are . . .

clingy, heroic, & territorial

──── Leon Kennedy hates sunlight in his eyes. Yet still, he finds himself basking in the warm rays.

When the sun hits the window just right, ensnaring the room in its golden hues, he bathes in its light the same way he'd lay in a hot bath. The lulling warmth melts his muscles and eases his body. After he falls asleep in the office after another unsuccessful investigation, your sunset is there for him. When he passes out after a drunken night at the bar, your sunrise is there for him. You're looking down at him always, embracing him in splotches of sunlight.

For a while, Leon thought he knew what it meant to be alive. To touch the hands of guttural pain; to feel the jagged juts of his past nestle against him. But, after that horrid night six years ago, after the exposure to sunshine he did not know existed, he truly touched the scorching surface of rock bottom.

And it is killing him. All because of a singular person.

Y/N L/N. The name he will never forget.

Leon remembers your exuberant eyes, your adorable mannerisms, the glimmer of your smile; he will never forget how you sparked the beginning of his life in Raccoon City.

He remembers the orange lights had swayed in his vision. How everything was stuck in a blistering sea of vertigo. Listening to the fire crackle and creatures groan, Leon coughs from the tickle caught in his throat. There is a weight pressed to his chest, something akin to a cushion. White. Artificial fabrics, a plastic touch. An airbag, maybe?

September 28th of 1998. The memories all return to him like a violent supercut. The yell of his name, the squeal of the brakes, the collision afterward. His precious Jeep Wrangler had now been flipped upside down and he was now caught in the savagery of the aftermath. The blood rushing to his head has the world swirling around him, lulling him into another state of unconsciousness. Leon touches the passenger seat with his red hands, terror ensnaring him upon realizing the seat was empty.

Something blurry in his trail of vision grips his attention. Through the shattered window, a figure stumbles through the brume of the flickering streetlights. Blue glares frame the dirt-stained "R.P.D" sign and the figure hastens towards its doors.

A whimper of your name is stuck on his tongue, as words get trapped in his congested throat. Don't leave me. In Leon's efforts to escape, his foot gets caught on the gear shift. He pulls with all his might, despite the twists and strains his ankle endures. Y/N, please don't. Shards of glass fall from his hair as he wrestles his way out. A few pieces manage to leave shallow nicks against his flesh. Come back to me.

Leon then plummets to the wet pavement, finally free of his demolished car. Frivolous debris and fresh corpses litter his path. His newly-purchased white sneakers (which he bought solely to show off to you) are splattered in the disgusting matter. Stumbling, he is able to persevere through all of this and he quickly trudges through the wreckage.

Leon barrels through the doors of the R.P.D. and surges through the police department. Bullets pierce through the skulls of pedestrians and coworkers roaming the building. Blood paints his body like rainfall. All while he is searching for the face that will end the torment reigning havoc through his mind.

The holding cells are inspected thoroughly while Leon's disposition is one of acute desperation. The adjacent areas are consumed with infected prisoners, all of which he promptly executes. Much to his dismay, however, the rookie does not find you sitting at a bench or clinging to the rusted bars. It is all empty, leading him to become more frantic in his search for you.

Something navy blue then captures his attention. Left on the floor of a cell is a name tag. Something small and wet with blood.

Leon takes the object into his fingers. His heart wrenches when he reads the name stamped on the plastic. The familiar "Mizoil Gas Station" is printed above "Y/N L/N".

A gasp fills the empty silence. Y/N... Where did you go? Why did you leave me?

"Hey.”

He jerks around to the intruding voice.

"Who is that?"

"Stay sharp."

Behind him is a rotting face with dead, paper-white eyes staring right through him. The zombie towers over him, growling for a bite. Leon yanks Matilda from his holster. The action is swift. Adept. Exactly the way he was trained. The echo of a gunshot permeates through the large expanse and fuses with the squelching sounds of brain matter oozing from the zombies' open skull. The corpse falls to the grimy floors with a thud and once more, silence returns.

The click of stiletto heels treads closer to Leon. On the threshold of the prison cell, a woman walks into his train of vision.

Ada Wong.

Finally, a human! Leon thinks to himself. He is quick to take advantage of the company of a normal, uninfected person. The pestering questions he has all tumble out out his mouth like an avalanche of blabbering nonsense.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone!"

Her lack of articulation urges Leon to continue.

"My name is Leon Kennedy."

He takes a breath before continuing.

"The person I'm looking for- they, um- they're about... this tall." He holds his flat hand up to demonstrate your height. "Their eyes are Y/E/C. Well, maybe not like an exact shade of Y/E/C. It's more like a softer, prettier-"

She scoffs, cutting him off from his incessant rambling. Turning her heel, Ada begins to walk away from the pathetic mess she stumbled upon.

"Wait! Their name is Y/N!”

The woman halts.

“Y/N L/N! Please, you have to help me find them!"

Body tense, her eyes peer at him through the dark barrier of her sunglasses. Her arms weaken, once sternly folded over her beige trench coat.

"They're my partner... Please..."

Ada's lips part. From them, a sharp inhale.

Leon begs her with desperate worry, encompassed in a vehement frame of mind. His plead is spoken with such clarity, Ada can only assume it as truth. And the prospect of you belonging to someone else cuts like a dull knife. It is gross, it is nauseating. Unnatural. Like worms slithering around in her stomach, trying to escape the heart-shattering effect this information has on her.

Then, there is the anger. The betrayal is like a song too loud, the resentment like sheer alcohol on her tongue. Everything manifests into a spirit so overwhelming that Ada cannot find air to breathe. This blanket of rage stirs with her sorrow like two conflicting chemicals. The reaction sparks something iniquitous.

So, in turn, she does what she does best.

Lie.

"Y/N is dead."

A silence settles in the room.

Leon stares. That is all he does.

He stares at Ada and tries to scrutinize her to find some other truth. Anything other than this.

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

Ada speaks with defective emotion. The words land mercilessly and hit with ruthless force.

A harsh ringing noise permeates around Leon. He covers his ears, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He shakes his head no, as though he merely disagrees with fact. It's not true. It can't be! Losing grasp on the only good thing in his life is something he will not accept. He refuses to.

You are his sun. What is existence without its warmth? What will happen to Earth without its necessity?

How can he possibly survive without you?

Ada rolls her eyes at the dramatic scene now playing out at her hand. She ignores her own hypocrisy, of course. If she had learned of your demise, only God knows what blood-curdling reaction she would have. When it comes to Leon, however, every blink of his eye and twitch of his muscle has her riddled with irritation. Does he not know how lucky he is? Ada would endure any pain if she knew she had the comfort of calling you her lover. It is a dream she would kill to make reality.

Leon soon collapses to the floor. A shot of pain courses through his knees from landing harshly on the cement. His hand clutches over his heart, absolutely gutted by the torment forced upon the organ.

Ada then leaves this lie where she puts it down. She struts out of the prison cell, thus continuing her search for wherever in Raccoon City you may be.

You do not need a boyfriend. Especially one as pathetic as Leon Kennedy.

The man in question has been rendered into a puddle of blubbering nonsense. Questions still fill the silent air. How, when, why? Why did it have to be you? The one person on this disgusting planet who did not deserve it. Why couldn't you have just stayed with him and let him devote his life to protecting the precious gem of your life? Why? Why? Why?

Leon has already lost so much, you were the very last thing keeping him afloat. You are his life preserver in the middle of the ocean. He has now succumbed to the thrashing waves, as he was always destined to be swallowed by the sea. Saltwater permeates his lungs and his limp body sways with the lulling current. As though this is what his life was always meant to be: crawling after happiness just to have it yanked away when he gets too close. In the end, his sugar-sweet delusions will always sink down to the ocean floor.

Tears do not escape Leon, no matter the weight of the pain. He does not care for anything but you. Now that you have left him, nothing else matters. Therefore, no emotion can be elicited from him anymore. He has been touched so violently by this intensity, it eradicated any surviving nerves.

His handgun had been left on the ground, a few feet away from him. Assumably falling from his grasp after his knees gave out. He takes the weapon and it shivers in his trembling grasp. It's blurry in his gaze, as his entire vision is overwhelmed with stupor. Should he? God knows he wants to. What is there left to experience in life without you there with him?

As he guides the barrel of his gun to his temple, the static ringing in his ears accelerates in volume. Somehow, though, Leon does not feel fear. He does not feel anything. No dread, no despair — just sheer, hollow nothingness. It infuses his entire body like a roaming virus, ensuring it does not leave any traceable fragments of emotion.

A quivering finger hovers over the trigger. One pull and he will be free.

Leon presses his finger down.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing happens.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

"FUCK!"

Leon chucks the gun to the ground. His yell comes out guttural, a touch away from being a growl.

The clatter of Matilda's impact is not enough to appease him, as this swamped nothingness is more than he can endure. In a fit of defeat, Leon balls his fists and punches the cement floor. Agony surges through his entire hand and blood smudges his knuckles. The sound of his bones cracking still does not satisfy him in the slightest. Nothing can aid him now. Absolutely nothing.

With heavy legs, Leon stands to his feet. He holds his broken fist close to his chest and limps out of the empty prison cell. As he meanders through the station, he finds a set of car keys to a police cruiser on the corpse of his former co-worker. Despite claiming the title of "hero" when he first earned his badge, he does not intend to help anyone tonight. He couldn't save the only thing he ever loved, what kind of hero fails to do that?

The screaming of pedestrians and desperate pleas for help fall on deaf ears. The vehicle's engine rumbles and Leon's dead eyes stare at the road ahead. He leaves Raccoon City forever in his dust.

Six years have passed since the night you were taken from him. Leon wants to die, that much is for certain. The only thing preventing him from giving in is the fact that people need him. They all fail to see that he needs you, as he always will. Besides, he’s got some last few words he wishes to tell Umbrella before he bids this life farewell.

This is his life now. And in a morbid way, he thinks it is romantic. He read somewhere that if a swan dies, their surviving mate will fly into the sky and let themselves plummet to their death. Is that you and him? Should he put the final puzzle piece in your happily-ever-after and end it all? When the sun shines through the window and he wakes up without you again, however, Leon cannot romanticize the empty shell he is trapped within. He is desperate to know why you couldn't have taken his body with you on your way to heaven. Why death couldn’t have brought him eternal peace the very second you passed.

These several years have been spent drowning in alcohol. Leon has no preference for whatever booze he consumes, either. Anything that will make him forget it all will do the trick. At the bar with concerned bartenders or in his almost-empty liquor cabinet at home — he’ll take whatever he can get his hands on.

All his nights are now spent beneath the golden lights of the local bar. Dawn is spent crying on the kitchen floor with a queasy stomach. His days are all the same, too. Saving the lives of helpless citizens, he never forgets how the glimmer of gratitude in their eyes should have been yours.

This night in particular was no different. Leon has nearly drunk the entire bar's alcohol supply in hours. He imbibes a glass of whiskey and cringes at the cheap taste. Too sweet. Poorly made. He does not mind this, however, as anything that can ease the pain is satisfactory enough. And just like any other night, Leon is thinking of you. He watches the ice cubes dance in the cup, arms lazily resting on the sticky countertop. If only things were different, then he wouldn't have to be in this shit-hole right now. He could spend all his nights with you, instead. God, he misses you.

"You look lonely."

Leon didn't have to look up from his glass to know what was happening. At a place like this, it was inevitable.

He never took to heart whenever his coworkers teased him with names such as "pretty boy" or "Leonardo DiCaprio." It seemed to be a "chick magnet," as they so called it. So, when another stranger approaches him with that familiar glint in their eye, he knows what they want from him.

"I can fix that."

Leon looks to where the woman is sitting beside him. Like he does with every courting, he searches her for any remnants of you. If he were honest with himself, these people served as a good distraction. Enough bottles and he can delude his fuzzy brain into believing it was you standing beside him instead of another stranger.

The sight is blurred from his intoxicated state, but his judgment is clear as day. Her face shape and height contrast from yours. She is an inch or two shorter. Her smirk is sensual, not as toothy and adorable as your vivacious smile. Her body is entirely different, as well. Too bony, with wonky proportions that were nothing like you. The only similarity was her eye color. Your exuberant shimmer was missing, but the collection of hues shared puny similarities.

Eh. Good enough.

"Daddy! S-So big- fuck!"

The blaring sounds of heavy rock playing outside the motel room do not ease the headache Leon has, nor does the vociferous calamity of this woman. She doesn't sound anything like you. Too submissive, too goddamn insufferable. In his head, he can only imagine the dulcet sounds he could pull from your pretty lips. This woman was ruining that heavenly fantasy.

"I told you to be fucking quiet."

He uses his strength and pins her harder against the squeaking mattress. Insufferably irritating moans are muffled upon shoving that loud mouth into the pillows. Leon squeezes his eyes shut and puts all attention to the image he has painted in his mind.

You'd be different, much different. He can only imagine you beneath him like this. Harsh demands formed from your dulcet voice, commanding his every move and action. Telling your puppy dog to make you feel good with the promise of a reward — the thought alone never fails to send a shiver through his body. Leon is sure your golden voice praising him is all he needs to die happy.

"Fuck, 's too much. Daddy-"

The reverie shatters as quickly as it was formed. His calloused hands find the woman's hair and he forces her further into the pillows. She is not opposed to being treated roughly in the sheets, discernible in the way her moans and mindless babbles increase in volume.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Leon would be different, too. Much softer than this. He would handle every inch of your skin like he's unmasking an archeological masterpiece. God, he couldn't treat you roughly even if he wanted to. Ruin every orgasm of his, leave his body littered with bruises and scratches. He would be a slave to your every whim, as pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other. And in return, Leon would still touch your body with the same glass-like softness he is only ever capable of treating you with.

He buries his face into the stranger's shoulder and inhales the scent of their perfume. It is nauseating and nothing like you. Artificially sweet and too strong. Leon desperately fills the plot holes in his fantasy and imagines you dolling yourself up for him. Maybe after a tireless day at work, he would arrive home to you greeting him with a surprise. Where you got all dressed up for his eyes only and allowed him to indulge in your body again and again and again and again.

He can only imagine the look in your eyes when you call him your puppy, your husband, your good boy.

The thought sends him over the edge.

It is not a euphoric unfolding. It is sharp. Gross and weak. It is merely something to help him get by, even just barely. At least tonight Leon was able to finish inside a warm body instead of the plastic toy he keeps in his bedside drawer.

He doesn't even remember the name of this stranger. However, that doesn't matter when loud whines of your name jump out of his throat instead. The word tumbles from his mouth as though if he spoke it enough, you would materialize into this bed with him.

The unsatisfied woman does not overlook this. Another person's name shamelessly moaned by the man she thought she would have some late-night fun with, is he serious? She rolls her eyes and escapes from his sweaty hold. As she dresses herself, rehearsing how she'll tell this horror story to her friends, Leon stays on the bed. He does not try to stop her from leaving.

The afterglow is feeble, but he merely pretends it is as strong as he knows it would be with you. He wants to ensnare his body around yours and reaffirm just how deeply he loves you. He just wants to be with you again, no matter what the circumstances are. In the sheets after Earth-shattering sex with the love of his life or back in the grimy streets of Raccoon City, he will take anything if it means looking into your eyes again.

The door closes with a slam. Leon is now alone. But, then again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like, after all.

2,327 days and counting since he lost you.

If you asked him all that time ago where he thought he'd be right now, he would answer with the hope and happiness he only had then. He'd sit cozy in the little cabin in the woods you and he would occupy, he was sure of it. Summers would be spent in the sunlit lakes and Winters would be spent huddling for warmth by the fireplace. Years would pass like this. All laughter and kisses, snuggles, and healing hearts.

These fantasies haunt him like a horror-flick ghost floating around an attic, as it is what his life could have been had he not failed to protect you. He could have you in his arms this very second, but because of his God-awful driving skills, your body was left behind in the rubble of Umbrella's mistakes. It is what he devoted his entire career to now: tearing down that damned corporation. It is why he is in this motel room, to begin with, where he rots in these musty sheets and sleeps with people he can't remember the names of.

Images of you and him sharing smiles flicker through his brain and lull him. Your eyes are the last thing Leon sees before he falls asleep.

It is a light slumber. He does not dream, he is merely unconscious. When he wakes an hour later, it is like he has not slept at all. As if the short period of time passed in a sheer blink. This is what his sleeping schedule normally looks like nowadays, complemented by the heavy, storm-grey bags beneath his eyes.

The sheet draped over his waist leaves him cold. The Winter weather creeps into the room and engulfs his naked skin in goosebumps. When Leon tries to grasp more of the cheap blankets to drape himself in, he is at a loss when he finds himself unable to move. Almost as though a weight had forced him back onto the bed. He can't move even a muscle; he is wholly and utterly paralyzed.

There's a soft footstep that permeates. Leon's eyes dart around the room, but there is nothing to perceive in the dark emptiness. When he tries to open his mouth and question if that woman has returned, his jaw remains locked shut.

Another footstep. He searches for anything to defend himself from whatever monster lurks in the shadows.

Then, another step. There is no doubting someone is in this room with him. He tries to regain mobility of his body, scrambling to use his fists or to find his gun.

"Leon?"

Something blooms within him. A vibrant, healthy flower persevering through the fiery ashes.

"It's me..."

Home. That is the only word Leon could use to explain your voice. Like the swirling scent of oven-fresh cookies made by his grandmother. Like the imagination in his mother's voice when she read him a bedtime story. Like the scent of freshly mowed grass when he plays outside after school. The cadence and inflection of your words bring a sense of comfort like no other. Honey-sweet in the purest form.

Through the dust-ridden curtains, the hues of streetlight seep into one corner of the room. You step into the light, midnight shadows framing your features. You're dressed in the exact clothing he last saw you wearing, in the absence of all that blood and grime from that night. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes bore into him as you step closer. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, a smile grows on your lips and robs him of all coherent function.

Leon can't but wonder if this was it, if he had died on this disgusting motel bed and you were finally taking him back into your arms. He doesn't even mind losing all sense of mobility, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Neither his face nor his body can physically react to the rush of emotion that comes with your presence, but it is more than perceptible in his eyes. Sky-gray irises drowned in oceans of fervor. Baby blues overwhelmed with shimmering, flamboyant love.

"If only you had just heard me out, then I could actually be with you right now." Your words, as heavenly as they sound, confuse Leon.

You tuck some fallen wisps of blonde hair away from his face and he swears it is real. His heart hammers like a snare drum. This is real, it must be real, it has to be.

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me. Then neither of us would be in this mess, would we?"

Something shifts in your gaze. That smile he loves so much is torn away and replaced with a scowl. There is now a perceptible rage in your expression, drowned in hollow emotion that clenches his heart.

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!? Like everything we have means jack shit to you!"

No, no, no, no, no! It's not like that! She means nothing, she is nothing! He only used her as a placeholder for you! There isn't a single redeeming feature about her that compares to you. Jesus Christ, how could he want anyone else when you exist?

Leon tries to respond, he really does. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how badly he wishes he could go back six years and change it all. How many hours he has spent with his hands clasped in prayer, apologizing relentlessly to the sky and hoping you'll hear him from down here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.

You stand from the bed, hands balled into fists at your side. "You're not gonna say anything? Just lay there and look at me like I'm nothing but-!"

A figure then barrels at you from the shadows. Your infuriated rant was cut short with a gut-wrenching shout when you are knocked to the ground. Saturated flesh peeking from dead skin and groans of hunger plunging from their slack mouth — a zombie had leaped from the darkness and sunk its teeth into your shoulder. Blood spouts from your wound and cascades down your body. You plead for Leon to help you, that he not leave you behind like he did all those years ago. And so desperately, Leon tries to.

A scream is locked behind his closed mouth as he tries to wrestle his way back to you. It pries and fights to escape, as though the force of his shout would be enough to convince this brainless creature to leave you be. Eyes blown wide with dizzying panic, all he can do is watch. His toned chest, sheen with sweat, rises and falls with rapid movements. Muffled whimpers of horror escape from the subtle crease of his mouth.

With every beating second your life fades away, the more Leon latches to any vigor he can grasp. His efforts to save you are overwhelmed in sheer desperation. He cannot let this happen all over again; he cannot lose you a second time. It would kill him, he is sure of it.

Something twitches in his finger. Then his foot. And for a moment, hope flickers in his mind. He can save you and atone for what he failed to do before. When the squelching sounds of flesh torn asunder fill the silence, that hope wears thin.

Like a bag of sand, Leon is able to drag his limp body across the mattress. His jaw weakens, to where sounds of despair are granted the ability to escape in roaring fervency. Off the side of the bed with the speed of a slug, he hits the ground with a harsh thud. Hauling himself onto his stomach, a verbiage of your name leaves his mouth.

He begins to crawl helplessly to where you are, only to stop in his efforts when he finds nothing. The lights from outside still seep into the room and the racket sounds of rock music still play from a room over. But, you have vanished. Leon stares at where you had fallen, scrutinizing every detail for any resemblance of you.

Misery strikes like a gunshot through his chest. Why did he fail again? Why can't he be enough, even for just once?

Why do you always leave him in the end?

He is alone again. Sat by himself on top of the soiled motel carpet and used condom he had frivolously thrown across the room. But, once again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like. And now, it is what the rest of his life will likely be encompassed in — empty solitude and hopeless dreams of you.

Leon does not sleep for the rest of the night. He is far too restless from the stressful events, terrified of watching that scene play out all over again. The digital clock on the bedside table provided minimum light, where the vibrant red numbers tick away. All he does is lie in this mess, watching the hours drift away.

A dark blue soon ensnares the sky. Birds squawk and sing. Dawn has finally arrived and so does the sun, bathing the room in its glowing orange and pink hues.

Your sunrise welcomes him, once again. The warmth and its serenity fails to placate him, though. Sitting here, he realizes how much of a fool he was to believe it was you in some form. The very second you left, you took everything warm and bright with you. You left him cold and empty and lifeless. You nestled the sun behind your resting eyes when your life faded away.

Cuddling up with you in that imaginary cabin is the only thing that can vitalize him. Two cups of steaming tea, watching the wind sway through the trees from the porch. Oh, the things Leon would take to bring this fantasy to life. To bring you back into the warmth of his arms is all he could ever need, where you will be safe and forever alive.

6:02 AM on the clock, Leon is expected at work in the following hour. Without a morsel of energy left in his feeble body, the thought of standing on this grimy floor overwhelms him with disdain.

Despite how badly he wishes to beat all scientists involved with Umbrella to a bloody pulp, he must take a course of action that abides by legal standards. To do this, Leon must work behind the scenes, ensuring every nail and screw is fastened with flawless finesse. This slow journey toward his goal of tearing Umbrella to shreds has taken a toll on him. No punching bag to take his rage out and his anger nestles itself into his body. Once Umbrella is six feet under, only then will he grant himself permission to join you and let Earth reclaim his body.

Today, Leon is now a part of the Torrents: a Capture-Force team designated to take down Umbrella's rumored return and prosecute those working for them. He has been assigned to replace someone on the team upon their suspension for "severe mental issues,” or whatever that entails. Alcohol heavy on his breath and bags beneath his eyes, Leon arrives at work for the day. He walks through the doors of a sanctuary Umbrella was confirmed to have been located at but has since fled from.

"You're late."

Leon doesn't care to look at the voice, as he already acknowledged and dismissed the vibrant "7:39 AM" on his wristwatch. They should be grateful he was even here in the first place and not rotting in bed.

"Not exactly rooting for employee of the month. Do I look the type?"

Leon's comment causes him to let out a quick huff of laughter. This new guy is much more amusing than his previous coworker, after all.

"Tyrell. Call me 'T."

He takes his hand out for Leon to shake, which he ignores. Tyrell stuffs his hand back into his pocket upon his refusal to reciprocate. An awkward silence settles between them.

"Leon. But, you knew that already."

The blonde then walks away from his new acquaintance. He can't recall the last time he had one, no less a genuine friend. The only person he put honest effort into discerning was you. Everyone else was just painfully bleak background noise stood behind your radiant aura. There is no one in the universe he wishes to befriend anymore, not when you're gone.

Leon treads through the building in search of the office organized by the team. Working behind a desk provides him his wanted rest, but taking part in the action scene provides an acute distraction. With his hands covered in blood and his fingers reeking of gunpowder, it is the most peace he can feel. Punch after punch, shots upon shots — the thought of you is eased little by little. The memory of you still lives on, but it is ephemeral moments like this where Leon can forget it all.

Several workers walk through the halls with heavy boxes marked "EVIDENCE". Others photograph imperative scenery around them, while some are busy scribbling on their notepads. Leon passes all of them without a second thought. However, two of his coworkers in particular capture his attention.

They both guide a surviving patient through the hallway. A young man holding a file in his hands and a perceptible fear in his eyes. The man then swiftly, albeit pathetically, throws himself at Leon and the file is shoved against his chest upon impact. A few of the files' contents slip from the folder and splat against the tiled floors. Hands curled around the sheepskin hems of his jacket, the man begs Leon for his help.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone."

Leon's stare is harsh. Cold and empty. Any living creature would surely keel over beneath that terrifyingly vacant gaze. The man, riddled with desperation, perseveres through this fear and continues to plead.

"They're my best friend... Please..."

The guards quickly shuffle over to the scene. Their hands grip the man's shoulders, but do not apply any further pressure. They look to Leon, waiting for the demand of their superior.

And without breaking eye contact, Leon speaks.

"Get him out of my sight."

They do as told, nearly shoving the man to the ground in their efforts to escort him out of the building. The hopeless gleam in his eyes should have sparked some form of guilt within Leon. Looking into that man's eyes, however, he feels nothing. Leon instead shifts his gaze to the ground. There, right beneath his boot, the sight of something causes his heart to quicken. Swiftly taking it into his gloved hands, his breath is then yanked from his chest.

In the polaroid is no other than you.

Snow engulfs the ground and you’re dressed in a large coat that practically swallows you whole. Pine trees blanketed in the white matter surround you. With chunky mittens on, you form a heart with your hands. Snowflakes descend from the sky, a few landing on your shoulders and knitted hat. Behind you, a stack of plastic sleds. You're captured with that smile of perfection on your face, the very smile that could rival the sun.

How...?

How did he have this? Leon could've sworn he had every picture of you...

He crosses the hallway in several large strides and finds him in mere seconds. With every sliver of strength in his body, Leon tears the man from the grasp of the guards and shoves him against the wall.

"Where did you get this!?" His voice has been reduced to a gruff timbre. A horrifying whisper.

Gesturing at the Polaroid, the man looks at him in bewilderment.

"W-What are you talking about-?"

Leon's forearm pushes against the base of his throat, pressing harder and arousing choked gasps from his throat.

"I won't ask you again..."

"Me! Me, I-I took it! I took the picture!" The man, wide-eyed and terrified, desperately exclaims the truth. However, his answer seemed to be the exact opposite of what his interrogator wished for.

Calloused hands clasped around his collar, Leon pulls the man back before shoving him back into the wall. A blood-curdling crack, then a grunt pervades the air. The unmistakable scent of iron diffuses from the man's skull, inevitable from the force of the hit. Leon practically snarls through his heavy breaths.

"When!? When'd you take this fucking picture!?"

The man slurs out his answer, now rendered delirious from the strike his head endured.

"Jan... January... La-Last January..."

The world then shatters around Leon.

The tumultuous clamor of everything falling apart before his eyes robs him of any coherent, proper function. These past six years play out like another nightmare. Every sip of alcohol, every aimless nightmare, every mediocre hookup — it all crumbles and joins the rubble of the destruction.

This whole time... This whole time you...

His vision blurs as the revelation settles, swimming through a void of vertigo and devastation. A sharp ringing permeates around him. It complements the sound of his hyperventilating breaths and hammering heartbeat. The firm grasp he once held on the man weakens, to where he scrambles away from Leon and his violent antics.

This whole time you were...

Alive...?

Leon turns his feet and stumbles away. Sweat seeps down his face and then his neck, staining the musk-stained clothes he had not washed in weeks. The sheer luminosity of the white lights, white walls, and white floors do not aid him in his attempts to soothe his sorrows. There's a sudden tightness in his chest. Leon brings his hand up to the painful ache, falling in his efforts to mend his affliction, once again.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The new voice could easily be spoken from miles away. Vanished and impossible to discern. Leon tries to clutch the walls to maintain his stability, but this inevitably fails him, as the shock derived from this epiphany sends his weak body to the unforgiving ground.

"I'm dying..."

He can hardly recognize his own voice. It is now a higher, fearful pitch than he is used to. The other person speaks once more, but he cannot perceive what was said. Their words are merely a quiet boat in a thrashing ocean.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

This feeling of realization bubbles in his chest and infiltrates every inch of his form. His chest is overwhelmed with panicked breaths. Up and down, up and down. The stranger then sprints away from Leon. Their shouts for a doctor are distorted, now an echo Leon cannot discern.

Voices from his past speak to him from all directions. As though the very walls surrounding him were taunting him. Mocking every failure of his.

"Leon- LEON-!!"

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!?"

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him."

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me."

His world has been torn to paper-thin shreds. Then, it all goes dark. Leon is left alone and unconscious in this vast abyss of nothingness.

Tyrell sighs in frustration. He wonders why this team has such a knack for hiring people with "severe mental issues".

A harsh cut to reality is what Leon was next met with. Inside this shoebox-sized hospital room, ragged belts are restrained around his limbs. Doctors rush in and out of the blinding-white room. A myriad of drugs course in his system, intended to ease the rampant panic pumping through his body. The aftermath of his panic attack was fresh, yet still, all Leon could think about was you.

How you, his sunshine, his sweet baby, have been alive all this time.

Leon thrashes and fights against his restraints, as though you were just outside the door, waiting for him to come scoop you in his arms and close the distance between you at once. For the umpteenth time, several nurses race into the room and sedate him. Again, he is forced into another fit of unconsciousness. This routine will go on to repeat numerous times. Knowing you are out there somewhere, alone, makes for a man inconsolable.

Several days pass before Leon is brought to a state of mediocre tranquility. His heart is still rampant, but with fear of more time wasted without taking proper action, he abides by the doctor's demands. He will do anything to get to you, after all. Kneel before God, succumb to the Devil. Face him with the most torturous, humiliating, gut-wrenching fate with the promise of your return and he will simply smile in response. Leon will lay with blood painting his teeth and purple bruises caked into his skin, unhinged with euphoria knowing you are the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Mere picoseconds had passed before he sprung into action. He is swift to return to his work. Fervently, he begins scouring through every detail Umbrella left behind to pinpoint the exact location you reside at.

The most valuable piece of evidence was security camera footage. A prominent clue that made Leon's stomach coil like a snake ensnaring itself around its prey. Outside of the window to your bedroom, the night-vision camera highlights the scene of two intruders. With careful ease, they pull your unconscious body through the room and flee to the adjacent forest with you in their arms.

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira are their names.

Or, as Leon prefers to refer to them, two names that have now been added to his lengthy list of those who will face his wrath.

The team has theorized the two have been working for Umbrella and were assigned to sneakily escort survivors to a new location. Due to this, patients still in this present location are now being sent to a hospital guarded by the Torrents. A place where they will be kept far away from Umbrella's grasp. What the team can't piece together, however, is why the two never came back to take more survivors. They had plentiful opportunities, but you, Y/N L/N, are the only missing patient. Or, as the team has now assigned your code name as, "Baby-Eagle".

Now, Leon is coursing through Spain. Guns strapped in their holster, knives out at the ready, and a reveling rage in his eyes — he counts every second spent away from you. The chilling temperatures gust against his skin like sharp teeth as he practically tears the country asunder. All that matters is finding the face that has been stamped in every dream of his for the past six years.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He still can't believe it. You are alive.

If Leon grants himself permission to revel in this fact, he will lose what little control he still possesses over himself. God knows how much he needs the slivers that still remain. These feelings, despite all, have kindled strength Leon never recognized. A new spark; a fresh, riveting chapter. Emotions which only you, some sort of sorcerer, are capable of conjuring.

A day has now passed of his relentless search. More and more does fear cradle Leon. Like a warm blanket nestled around his heart, he is horrified by the silence that ventures through the land of Los Iluminados. The mere thought of potentially stumbling across you, lifeless, is enough to evoke a gag from the back of his throat. He cannot handle that. He cannot lose you again.

The dim light of dusk irradiates the loading docks. Every rushed step Leon takes causes the decrepit surface to moan weakly from the weight. He scrutinizes every shipping container, every nook and cranny, every barrel splattered with yellow paint. He becomes increasingly more ridden with desperation as his lasting hope begins to flicker.

Leon turns a corner and finds it: the sight he has been crying every night to see for six years. His mouth speaks before his brain can emulate these soul-crushing sensations.

"Y/N...!?"

You turn your head to the intrusion. Leon is shocked he had not died right there beneath your gaze.

You, his epic, undying love, rest there as though Botticelli painted you as the focal point for 'Birth of Venus'. Sat against some paper sacks like Venus stood on her scallop shell, Leon has never seen a sight quite as perfect as this. Strikingly similar to the pearl Venus resembles, you and her are pure and exquisite as you are brought to life. In a way, it is precisely the events which take place now. Six years wrestling with the burden of your death, only for you to be reborn before his very eyes like the natural, divine God you are. Absolutely, irrevocably perfect in your stance.

Leon stands frozen in place. Staring at this work of art, this utter masterpiece mere yards away from him. He is then taken aback when he feels something wet trickle down his cheeks. What he assumes to be rainfall is actually... tears?

All these years, he has begged the universe to feel his emotions. Or to feel anything, for that matter. It will not bring you back, as he wholly prayed for every night, but it would bring temporary, weak relief. Right now, as though you had some form of superpower, Leon cries. He cries like he has never before. His face twists into an ugly scrunch; he can feel the hot tears and stringy snot seep down his skin. He listens to the gut-wrenching sobs protruding from his chest and holds his hand over his heart, overwhelmed by the intensity the organ is enduring.

Despite the tragic scene, Leon has never been happier. The journey these six years have taken him on has been rough. Irrevocably soul-crushing. Seeing you here, beautiful as you always were, makes everything worth it — utterly, indubitably, and completely.

Then, someone else interrupts.

Ada Wong, a few years older, steps into view. Guarding you from the unwelcome intruder.

The epiphany strikes like a broken heart. It is not betrayal, as he has never trusted Ada. Rather, it is a flood of humiliation. It is absolute shame, unadulterated and pure. How could he have been such a fool?

All this time, Ada had kept you with her. She was the reason he was apart from you; she was the distance that stood between two soulmates. That must be the story, right? She sunk those acrylic claws into your pretty skin and took you away from him, spewing lies about your death and granting Umbrella access to you.

Leon is hit with this epiphany. Hit with what he perceives to be the truth. And it makes him alive with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it...?"

The silence is shattered by his voice. Sewn with fury and nestled deep inside him. His attention, once solely devoted to the love of his life, has now been shifted towards someone else. The one he believes to be responsible for these six years of sheer agony.

"This whole fucking time-!"

In one swift motion, Leon storms over with his fingers clenched to his holster. You stand from the paper sacks and use your body as a shield between Ada and him. Your hand ghosts over Leon's chest to prevent any more unwanted violence. And how unaware you are of the sheer impact your physical touch has on this man.

For a moment, just a fleeting second, Leon is able to overlook the context of the circumstances. Your hand barely makes contact with his body, and from them, he can feel your warmth. The same warmth he has been chasing after; the same warmth he has killed himself over and over to try and retrieve again. It is like a gentle breeze, like tepid bath water. Somehow, your simple touch has pacified his rage as though it were merely child's play to you. Something Leon never thought was feasible.

And just like always, Ada Wong is there to shatter yet another trance.

"Have you really gone so far off the deep end, that you think you could ever amount to being their boyfriend? You truly believe you deserve that title?" Ada laughs. A deep, mocking chuckle. "Are you really that delusional or just naturally blonde?"

You look at Ada and speak for the first time.

"'Boyfriend?'"

An expression of puzzlement is plastered on your face. In return, their heads whip to stare at you, brows furrowed while searching for confirmation.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Leon was never my boyfriend...?"

Their confusion deepens. Ada questions how she could have so foolishly fallen for a fantasy this dumb boy created. Leon questions why you are telling her such lies. You've been dating for almost seven years now, what are you talking about?

"Y/N/N, you don't have to lie to her. You know I won't let her hurt you."

Now, it is your turn to be just as perplexed as they both are. What the fuck is he talking about?

As you're busy scrutinizing him for an explanation, Ada grasps hold of your forearm. Protectively and with softness, she guides you away from the deranged antics of Leon. You lean into her touch in response, as your trust in her is stronger than whatever you feel for him. Especially after the events you and Ada have both endured today.

The man in question, however, does not favor this action. With a swiftness that makes you dizzy, Leon shoves her off of you. Ada falls to the ground from the force of his strength but gracefully springs to her feet. Eyes narrowed and hunting knife in hand, she is ready for battle.

A shriek then falls from your mouth when Leon takes his pistol from its holster but is replaced with shocked silence when Ada kicks the gun from his grasp with her stiletto heel. A stab towards his chest is easily blocked by his meaty forearm, but she still manages to retaliate and surges a punch across his jaw.

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible for you to keep up with the speed of it all. When Ada drops to her feet, encasing her leg around Leon's ankles and sending him to the floor, the loud clamor of his harsh landing takes you back to a few days ago. That bang! is all too familiar. The fire of gunshots out of Jill's gun and the pounding of their fists against flesh — these memories return more harshly than before. Your heart hammers with dread and adrenaline, as though the same inner turmoil has returned yet again.

Once again, who do I choose? The clingy customer at Mizoil, the overly affectionate Superwoman, or myself?

In a state of pure instinct, you do what you predominantly fail at the most. Run.

You don't anticipate how close they may be behind, or if two of your past lovers may be waiting somewhere in the forest. You do not pay these thoughts any attention, for that matter. Focused entirely on the path ahead, you run like you never have before. And if it weren't for the rampant adrenaline coursing through your system, you could say you've become familiar with this forest. It is almost ridiculous how much you have raced past all these trees. Burning lungs, numb legs and all — oh, this is really getting old.

When a sudden force knocks you to your feet, you can feel yourself begin to succumb to lethargy. The relentless sprint and post-laser-induced pains have become too much for your body to endure. Shifting your gaze up, however, you are met with a burst of energy when you see that you have collided with... A person?

Thick gear is strapped to his strong body. Glasses are rested upon the bridge of his nose. This is the first stranger you have seen in months and you do not know how to handle it.

"Oh, shit. It's really you..." His concerned gaze peers at you through his foggy eyewear.

When his fingers ghost over your arm, you flinch away from him. You do not mean to do this, but your body, riddled with turmoil and trauma, reacts before your brain can.

"It's alright, it's alright..." His voice goes softer. "My name is Tyrell. I'm here to help you."

He reaches a cautious hand out to you, as though you were a feeble, terrified animal backed into a corner. Your trust has been worn thin, but whatever fight left in your system has entirely perished. You cannot run anymore; you cannot defend yourself. If this is death, then you will welcome it with open arms. At least you can say you've made it this far.

Lifting a shaky hand up, you let out a gentle gasp when you make physical contact with him. With tender encouragement, Tyrell brings you to your feet. Your tired legs wobble as though you were a baby fawn. Touch that does not inevitably follow with romantic expectations is something foreign to you. This level of kindness has almost become a stranger. Although you would never verbalize it, his touch feels good. It is a comfort; a softness.

Before you know it, your eyes flutter shut. Your body fails you and you collapse into Tyrell's arms. Now, unconsciousness comes as a solace, instead of that familiar trepidation.

And so engrossed in their own feral need for dominance, neither Ada nor Leon had taken notice of your sudden disappearance.

Fresh bruises and blood splatters permeate their bodies. What neither of them realizes about the other is that Leon fights hard, yes, but Ada doesn't fight fair. In a matter of several seconds, she takes the man to the metal floors, once again.

Leather heels pressed to his neck, she points his own pistol to his face.

"Now stay down."

Leon has never been one to back down. Even with death staring directly into his eyes, never once has he begged. However, with you here, alive, he can't bear to be torn from you again.

"Don't... Please, I-I'll do whatever you want. Just please don't take me away from them. Not again..."

Ada is nearly struck dumbfounded by this new side of him. Leon Kennedy, the savior of the president's daughter, one of the few survivors of Raccoon City, is begging for his life? What has she done to this man? Or, above all, what have you done to him?

"Tell me what Umbrella wants with Y/N."

Leon's eyes trail off behind her, seemingly searching for something with frantic movements. Her words had merely gone through one ear and out the other. His silence is only met with frustration.

"I've kept you away from them for this long." Her finger moves to hover over the trigger. "I can easily turn those six years into forever."

"Where did Y/N go?" Leon cuts her off.

Ada nearly snaps her neck with how fast she turns around. Dark eyes scanning the loading docks, her stomach sinks into a sea of dread when she cannot find you. Leon scrambles to his feet and searches alongside his nemesis. Shouts of your name echo into the gloomy skies; their hammering hearts could rival a war drum.

From here, yet another search for you begins. And between them, there is now an unspoken agreement, a newfound alliance. Although their plans rarely come to fruition, they have both found a conclusion together. The two are now wholly focused on the scheme they will achieve or die striving for.

Find you, ensure your safety, and keep you forever in their arms.

A warm, wet rag pressed against your forehead is what you awaken to next. The sudden shift into consciousness causes you to jerk back. Your eyes burst wide, scrutinizing as much of your environment as you can.

You're finally out of that dark forest. Now, you've been rested upon a dilapidated couch. Damp clothes are still stuck to your body, but a thick comforter has been draped upon you. The golden lamplight highlights Tyrell, who sits on the coffee table beside you. With a bowl of water and a rag in his hand, he looks at you with a concerned gleam in his gaze.

You are brought to a mild sense of ease once you comprehend your surroundings. You do not have it within you to trust anyone, but for some reason, this man has brought tranquility you cannot explain. Safety has become a rarity. And you gobble every breadcrumb of it you are able to garner.

"Welcome back." He jokes. His tone is still quiet, as it has been. Careful.

Your throat aches, but you still speak.

"Where am I?" You nearly cringe at how scratchy, how pathetic your voice is.

"My house." This does not calm you. Tyrell notices.

"Hey, no one can get you in here. You are safe, I swear it." His assurances help ease you. He, once again, takes notice of this before continuing.

"I'm sure you have a 'lotta questions for me, huh? I got some for you, too."

"Umbrella. What do they want from me?"

"That's a good question because I don't know either. It's what we're trying to figure out." You furrow your brow, to which he answers to your confusion. "I work with a team called the Torrents. We've been tasked with locating Umbrella and finding any survivors. You were top of our list, 'Baby-Eagle'. Now that you're safe and sound, my teammates can finally get some sleep."

Your smile grows at that nickname. God, when was the last time someone elicited a genuine smile from you?

"We think they may have been testing on some of the patients they have. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Then, the dread settles with the realization. Jill and Carlos were right this whole time. When you would travel to the ends of the Earth to defend that corporation, it was all for a lie in the end. When Jill and Carlos saved you from them, you paid them back with cruelty and distrust. You left them both in the dust when all they wished to do was save you. Should you have ever left them?

"What about Carlos Oliveira? Jill Valentine? We know they had, um... taken you. If you're willing to talk about them, I'm all ears. 'Got all night, anyways."

There Tyrell goes again. The voice of reason in a bubble of incoherent regret.

"All I-um... All I remember is being at the sanct- er, Umbrella. I drank some tea and then I woke up in Jill and Carlos' house. The next several months, they-uh, they convinced me we were in a... relationship, of some sort. Matt- or Umbrella, found us in the end. They all hurt each other. Real bad. Then, I ended up here." Your words are quiet and broken, but Tyrell manages to pick up every cracked piece of your voice.

"Okay. I see..." He nods. "Do you think Jill and Carlos could have possibly been working for Umbrella?"

This question leaves you taken aback, evident in your dramatic reaction and scrunched face.

"God, no! They despised Umbrella. And I... I defended Umbrella. I thought they helped me, I thought they were the good guys. Every time Jill and Carlos talked shit about them, I would get so-" You interrupt yourself with a coughing fit.

Reaching to his side, Tyrell holds a plastic bottle of water in his large hands. The prospect of drugs floating through the liquid fills you with apprehension. However, with your throat on fire, you eagerly take the bottle and nearly down the entire beverage. Tyrell is one of the good ones, he wouldn't do that to you. You're sure of it.

"It's alright. You don't have to answer any more of my stupid questions, don't worry. All you 'gotta do is rest."

If you were more conscious and without the weight of fresh trauma, you'd make a joke of how he should be a voice actor with such a soothing voice like his. Tyrell's hand finds your shoulder and softly guides you back down to the couch. You ignore the unfamiliar, teenage-love-like bolt of electricity that flows from his touch and you follow his lead. When your head hits the rough fabric of the pillow, you let your heavy eyes fall.

When a door down the hallway bursts open, you cannot tell if you had been asleep for hours or if you had slept at all. Without Tyrell's presence, that all-too-familiar sense of terror returns. When you are barely able to discern his muffled voice through the walls, that terror is slightly diluted with ease. The context is what lies outside this room still has you riddled with fear.

Then, like every cheesy romance film you've ever seen, Leon Kennedy stands on the threshold of the living room entrance.

You are barely allowed a mere second to process his presence before he is barreling for you. His arms, thick and warm, ensnare around your waist. He exhales your name with a breathless tremor, burying his head further into the crevice of your neck. And you melt into him. After everything you've been through, a hug is something you are in dire need of. Leon croons in response, latching onto you tighter. Nestling himself closer against you like a touch-starved, needy puppy-dog.

"Oh, sunlight... I was so worried...!" Although this man has suffered drastic changes in the six years you've been without him, he never seems to have let go of that saccharine tone. Unbeknownst to you, you are the only one capable of summoning that side of Leon.

Although you feel safe in the comfort of Tyrell's home, there is still that stagnant terror fizzing in your stomach. A myriad of questions overwhelm your brain. What has happened? How much time has passed? Where is Ada?

You weaken your hold on him. He does not like that. "Leon. Please, I need to know-"

"Shh..." He interrupts, his hands trailing up your form until they grasp hold of your face. His grip on you, tighter than ever, shifts so he can gaze into your eyes.

"Just let me look at you..."

And that he does. Seconds, then minutes pass. All Leon does is stare directly into you. As though every inch of your irises were being studied to memory by him. As though he was pulling the depths of your soul to the surface of your eye, all for him to gawk and goggle at. It should make you blush and avert your gaze, as the characters normally do in those romance movies. However, you can't bring yourself to. You feel uncomfortable and scrutinized. As though you are restrained to a metal table for strangers and doctors to poke and prod at.

The doorbell then rings and the echo roams through the halls. You are broken from this entrance with Leon, but he is not. God, how could he?

With you here, all the cruelty he has been faced with is now wrapped together in a pretty bow. It was all a present, he now realizes. Everything that has happened led him to the personification of utmost, perpetual happiness. So, you must forgive him if he finds himself staring for too long (not that he even realizes, for that matter). It is impossible to fathom the flood of euphoria rushing through him, hence the dumbfounded, love-struck expression stamped on his face.

"Y/N..." He exhales, honey dripping from his voice.

Although he does not wish to close his eyes, Leon cannot imagine a better time to kiss you. Where the music swells, the candles glimmer, the moon gleams. It is what he has been dreaming about for six years, after all.

Just as Leon leans in, his intentions are cut short. Someone else, once again, interrupts.

Tyrell avoids the death glare from Leon and focuses on you, oblivious to how this action is the root of Leon's fury.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Someone was just here for you, Y/N."

Carlos and Jill are the first people who enter your mind, here to take you back to the affection-ridden toxicity of their humble abode. When Tyrell holds his hands out and displays what this stranger left, however, you're taken aback.

"She claimed to be your wife...?"

Tyrell informs you with uncertainty in his voice.

"And she left this."

What he then gives to you is a plushie, one you remember all too well. It is an opossum, the very same opossum you cuddled with every night during your time at the sanctuary. You've missed him very much whilst you were stuck with Jill and Carlos. Despite your expressed wishes, they never made the effort to retrieve your darling opossum. Why cuddle some measly fabric and cotton when you can cuddle them instead?

You let out a sigh of relief. Thank God it is not those two at the door.

The only striking difference in your fuzzy friend is the blood-red ribbon tied around the opossum's neck. Wedged between the silk and faux fur is a folded piece of paper. Both Tyrell and Leon watch as you open the letter, digesting the contents written on the surface.

In red ink, "Wait for me, petal..." is written with flawless, cursive handwriting. Beneath, a dandelion is drawn. The pappus drifts through the wind and scatters across the paper.

Ada?

Why is she here? Where has she been?

Or, more importantly, how the hell did she find your opossum?

A rough, sharp gasp sprouts from Jill's throat when she awakens.

A flickering light sways above her, the sight blurred in her tired gaze. Her body aches from the awkward position she was unconscious in. Lifting her weakened body up, Jill discerns several bodies, painted in blood and grime, that had been splayed in a frivolous mess. There are miscellaneous documents scattered amongst this violent disarray. Shifting her distorted gaze, she finds two metal doors that had been sprung open. How the hell did she get inside of a truck? What caused it to crash in the first place?

Using the dented walls for support, she stumbles forward. Black dots dance in Jill's vision for a moment, before returning to a hazy blur as she staggers out of the vehicle. With an abrupt grunt, she collapses into the mud. Her hands, stained with dirt, hold her ribs in an attempt to ease the stagnant pain.

For this simple moment, Jill is alone in the world. When the most important thing in her life finally flashes through her mind, the pumping of her heart accelerates.

Y/N... Where did you go?

Memories of her last encounter with you return, as well. It harbors terror like no other. She speaks your name and it sprouts from her throat in a desperate call.

Jill's breath quickens when she discerns a voice. The indubitable sound of someone crying for help echoes through the forest. She turns to the source with hope and worry shimmering in her eyes. Oh, it's her baby, her butterfly! You need her help!

"Y/N...! I'm coming..." Her voice is weak, but her attempts are the entire opposite.

Jill limps through the forest, clambering over wreckage with frantic effort. Averting her blurred gaze to the sound of cries, her face drops when she finds something entirely different.

That doctor you are evidently so infatuated with is stuck beneath a pile of rubble. His face appears as though it had been sunken in. Drowned in a mess of gore.

And sitting on top of the doctor is no other than Carlos Oliveira, whose fists are painted in that same gore.

His clenched fists plunge into Matt's face over and over and over again. His teeth are barred and bloodied like some sort of animal. His voice is several octaves lower than ever before, all guttural growls and grunts like some sort of rabid creature. It is something Jill has never seen before. Not in Raccoon City, not when they took you from the sanctuary, not even when she took you out for a ride on her motorcycle. He is now a monster in its absolute form.

However, Carlos is not something she is concerned with at the moment. She hurls herself over to the two and shoves Carlos off of Matt. He falls to the ground with a loud thump and a harsh curse. Jill ignores his dramatic reaction, before climbing atop of Matt and ensnaring her hands around his red-stained neck. Jill then proceeds to interrogate him of your whereabouts.

"What did you do to them? Where the fuck did you take them!?" Jill does not recognize herself, either. Her voice has morphed into a low, violent tone, an inflection she never knew she was capable of producing.

Matt does not respond to her pressuring questions. He chokes and gurgles on chunks of blood, teeth, and spit. His eyes, now puffy and swollen from the relentless blows they have endured, gape at her in confused terror. However, not that Matt could even be given the chance to respond. Jill glances at the sudden movement in her peripheral and is met with Carlos' fist striking her cheek. The force of the punch sends her to the dirt.

"This is all your fucking fault, Jill!" Her ears almost ring from the sheer volume of his shout.

Once again, it is a side of Carlos she has never seen before. She can take a punch, that's for damn sure. God knows she's handled worse. But fuck, is he out for blood right now.

"If you had never taken Y/N outside, they never would've wanted to leave in the fucking first place!" The tremble in the back of Carlos' throat jeopardizes his intimidation factor. Of course, he is crying, Jill sighs to herself.

Her lanky fingers press into the damp ground to stabilize herself. Before she can bring herself back to her feet, however, something catches her eye. A single document among the millions. She takes the closest one into her grasp and reads through the classified contents. With that damned Umbrella logo in the corner, Jill is fully aware of what evil, corrupt plans await her in the following passage.

As Carlos sobs like a child behind her, whimpers of "my baby" and "come back to me" filling the silent air, she scours through the information printed on the page. Three names are stamped in bold: Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, and Y/N L/N. More survivors collected from Raccoon City, they claim. There are reports of your physicality and state of being, accompanied by their predictions on how you'll react to their new testing. "Las Plagas" is what they refer to it as.

At the very bottom of the document, most imperatively, is a series of coordinates to their new location.

With this newfound, fruitful information, Jill trudges over to Carlos for additional aid. When she finds him practically tucked into a ball, sobbing his lungs out, she cannot restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

"Get up. Get up, pussy, come on-!" When she tugs on his arm, he pushes her harshly away from him.

"You don't understand!” Brown eyes, overwhelmed with tears, glare at her in accusation. “I can't live without them..."

Jill is swift to counter back. "Neither can-fucking-I! And we will never see 'em again unless you man-up and fuckin’ listen to me!"

This grabs his attention.

"So, are you just gonna sit there and fuckin' whine about it or are you gonna help me?"

With a sniffle, Carlos nods in agreement.

"Good. Now get your shit together and find me a goddamn map."

Jill does not waste another second before springing into action. She begins with a thorough scrutinization of the scene of the crash, searching for any specific landmarks that will inform them of their current whereabouts. When all she finds is a street sign made of decaying wood that reads "Los Iluminados," she knows her luck is wearing thin.

When Carlos announces with a cracked voice his discovery, Jill limps with urgency to him. Nestled beneath the passenger seat is a map, crumbled and stained with filth. Jill yanks the paper from his hands and searches for the street they are currently stuck on, while also discerning the coordinates Umbrella had disclosed in their document.

Meanwhile, Carlos chokes out demands left and right. Asking her what all of this is for, and how this will help him in his efforts to reunite with his sweet bumblebee. Despite his irritating questions, she does not respond to him. She is too engrossed in her own head, manipulating her detective skills.

"There." Jill finally breaks her fit of silence.

Presenting the map to Carlos, she points to where the coordinates line up.

"That's where Y/N is."

A beat passes as Carlos, too, inspects the contents before him. Then, he snatches the map from Jill's hands. He storms off in the direction she advised with a desperate vengeance in his disposition.

When Jill takes a step to follow him, something clutches around her ankles. With a sharp gasp, she looks down to identify the sudden matter. When the hopeful fraction of her mind told her it could be you, she was met with disappointment when she finds Matt. Whining and pleading for her help, blood still oozing from his butchered head and seeping into the mud below.

Jill stares at the man with absolutely nothing in her eyes. She, instead, snatches a loose, sharp twig from the mess of detritus scattered around. Before Matt can obtrude another helpless plead, she drives the stuck directly into his eye. Blood squirts from the fresh wound like a fizzy soda. One last gurgle for air and his body finally goes limp.

She spits on his corpse. Then, Jill turns back to follow Carlos on his trail.

Wherever you may be, she will find you. Even if it kills her.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I TRY TO FALL FOR HER TOUCH,

BUT I'M THINKING OF THE WAY IT WAS . . . ❞

long wait but we back again babyyyyy

gif creds :: leon.

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yourgentlegirlfriend · 9 months

Text

and my man, thank you to my man.

#yourgentlegf #milascreams #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #chris redfield #jill valentine #death island #re death island

3K notes · View notes

mrswint3rs · 3 months

Text

��𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ❦

𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 [RE men] [RE ladies] [Donna Beneviento] [Leon]

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲 ❦

❣︎ Much needed company (Sugar Daddy! Leon x Fem!) 18+

❣︎ A Step Further (Virgin! Re2 Leon x Gn!) 18+

more coming soon

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 ❦

❣︎ Death of a Bachelor (Vendetta Leon x Fem! x Vendetta Chris) 18+

❣︎ Playing Catch Up {part 1 }(sugar daddy chris x fem!) 18+

more coming soon

𝐉𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 ❦

❣︎ Ink Temptress (Tattoo Artist! Jill x Fem! Reader) 18+ [Part 2]

❣︎ breakfast in bed (fluff drabble)

more coming SOON

𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬 ❦

❣︎ Uncanny Reunion (Nemesis x Fem! Reader) 18+

no plans for more

𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 ❦

❣︎ Sweet Surrender (knifeplay with wesker x fem) 18+

❣︎ A Warm Welcome Home (Stepdad! Wesker x Fem!) 18+

❣︎ In a Time of Need (Post RE5 Wesker x Gn!) 18+

❣︎ Missed Deadlines (STARS Captain! Wesker x Fem rookie) 18+

❣︎ Partner in Crime (Boss! Wesker x Fem! Assistant) 18+

❣︎ Paternal Paradox (Husband Wesker x Fem!) 18+ [Part 2] sfw

❣︎ Nsfw Alphabet (headcannons// wesker x gn! Reader) 18+

more coming soon

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐚 ❦

❣︎ Exotic Temptations (Stripper! Luis x Fem!) 18+

more coming soon

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭 ❦

❣︎ Another way to pay (Merchant x Fem!) [Part 2] 18+

more coming soon

𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ❦

more coming soon

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮 ❦

❣︎ Guilty Pleasure (Best friend’s older sister! Bela x Fem!) 18+

[Part 2]

❣︎ Where The Sun Sets (vamp stuff w bela x fem!) 18+

more coming SOON

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠 ❦

❣︎ Make Me Bad (dbf! Heisenberg x Fem!) 18+

more coming SOON

𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 ❦

❣︎ Finding Beauty in the Dissonance (drabble) 18+

more coming soon!

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐊𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫 ❦

❣︎ “if I gotta sin to see her again then I’m gonna lie.” (dads boss, krauser) 18+

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bloodcasket · 5 months

Text

“ EASY, BABY ”⋆ ﾟ☾

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Pure NSFW (descriptive smut), Age gap centered!! (Death Island! Jill), Female described reader, Dom!Jill, Sub!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader described as more inexperienced than Jill (nothing too specified), innocence kink, fingering, finger sucking, tribbing, panty play, dirty talk, jill just loves to praise, teasing on Jill’s behalf, a lil bit of manhandling. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 7.4K+

DESCRIPTION: The whole department and crew is out for celebration at a restaurant. As Jill sits amongst the table, she spots the new girl, young and timid, giving shy glimpses from across the table.

AUTHORS NOTE: SUPERR rusty after lack of writing for a couple of months now, really hoping this satisfies because Jilly bean doesn’t get enough fics written about her. Let me know if there’s any mistakes, please and thank you! (I’m so normal for her, i promise). Took me too long to finish, and i got lazy toward the end.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with any of the men sitting around you, feeling forced to pry out fake enjoyment and formulate fraudulent smiles at any of their cheesy comments.

They were all grown and lax, after all, middle-aged and experienced, their worries about leaving bad impressions left long ago after years of regulating bioterrorism. They just simply didnt care, and tonight was meant to be jubilant, after all. It was a way to congratulate the team for arriving back home in one piece. Clank glasses of iced bourbon and smile after the weeks of prolonged misery and uncertainty.

It had only been a few minutes that you sat, waiting at this table, the celebratory event making you feel like the black sheep.

A timid, young stranger, her shoulders hunched in discontent, and her expression nonchalant as she sat alongside the chairs of older individuals, ones who laughed and cheered, shook hands and grinned with their cheeks shaded crimson, wrinkles creasing around the shape of their eyes.

It was people who worked drastically to make the trip to Alcatraz bearable, and handled more experience within this field. Something you felt you lacked. Something you saw yourself unequal to, off putting. In other words, even undeserving.

Employment under “The Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance” was nearing a few months now for you, but your line of work strayed far from any defensive units, due to your familiarity with the information management department. You organized required files and handled technological tasks under supervisors order, you weren’t genuinely handling firearms and terminating undead like the others were within the BSAA. You were simple, and did your part, participation with higher-ups was foreign.

The invitation to come here was optional, of course, but your ripe desire to see a certain woman was hard to swallow. After several days of trying to deny yourself this opportunity, the denial became fruitless, and you finally succumbed; which leads you to sitting at this lengthy dining room table, shuffling in discomfort and trying best to bite back any resurfacing regret.

It’s a restaurant, aromas conjoining in the air, certain scents collecting that it perplexes you. The whisks of alcohol burn through your nostril hairs—your lip twitches in discontent, jaw soon slacking as fragrances of broth and caramelized delicacies fog around you. You scrunch your face and twist your cute nose, huffing in the perfumes of delight.

It was all so overwhelming, and yet you had barely done anything yet sit and spend a few minutes skimming the menu—fiddling with your hands on the table when you yearned for a distraction. And yet; another server hurries past your seat, wide platters in hand, a trail of aromatics left in his wake. Drool draws upon your impatient tongue, you wondered how much longer it would take.

“Jill, didn’t think you’d make it”, a male voice chimes, you're able to single it out amongst the banter of the public place, trying best to listen as other residents at the table mumble out tipsy-tainted sentences, snortling and getting themselves comfortable as they slosh down fancy cocktails.

The timid position in which you kept yourself in the moment you sat down at this table seems to have been disoriented, a stiffness residing down the arch of your neck as you lift your head and adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

Dimly lit, and silken curtains are drawn over windows for the evening, you blink a few times to observe across the table, eyes stretching past messy cutlery, and halfway bubbling glasses. You blink again, throat moving slowly as you swallow dryly.

Under tinted yellow light, she sits. She’s shaking her head, exaggerating a huff of exhaustion as she edges her seat closer to the table. Brunette hair is silken and syrupy brown, a few strands askew from where she let the hair descend down her face and tickle the middle of her neck, the vision filling you with exhilaration.

‘Jill Valentine’, you suddenly think, watching as she’s easing herself more comfortably into the seat, shaded heels of her boots sliding forward as she pushes her legs apart, elbows jutting against the hickory surface that you oh-so-admired for several minutes straight. She’s hunched over improperly, wrapped up in a gray woolen cardigan, not caring much for table manners. A heat brewed low in the pit of your stomach.

“Had to finish my report, it was a pain in the ass”, her adjacent partner seems to love this reaction—being that he chuckles shortly afterward, “would prefer if you took it off my shoulders next time”.

“Your responsibility”, he replies nonchalantly, Chris Redfield from what you remember, a known operator within the BSAA. He was respected largely by his peers, a man with his time spent sacrificing and protecting, all for the benefit of “greater good”. You couldn’t say much about him, you couldn’t say much about anyone to be quite frank, except for one person. His partner in crime.

Needless to say, you scrounged through your closet for hours one night to pull out piles of clothes in desperate search to find something presentable for this woman. Bouncing your eyes back and forth over different varieties of garments, torturing yourself over the delusional manifestation that you’ll attract Jill Valentine tonight.

Intimidating. Most would plaster that description over her if it was all for first impressions. A 41 year old military woman who can carry her guns just as wonderfully as she can carry her foul language. She’s blunt, and by no means patient due to certain circumstances, but with the small moments she’s managed to pass alongside you, the tiny things don’t go unnoticed.

Coincidentally, you bump into her in the lobby; she’d chuckle jovially, waving one hand toward you dismissively as you ramble out apologetic gibberish. Reassuringly telling you “it’s not a problem, don’t worry about it”.

You’re heading toward a file room? She’ll catch you in the halls, velvet lips upturned into a gentle grin as she greets you with your name slipping off her tongue, blue eyes narrowed down at you in an observant manner. She remembers the little details, remembers you.

To say it was innocent appreciation was incorrect. It was an attraction, and the more your female superior managed to cross paths with you, the more you felt the warmth in your stomach churn and twist. It embarrassed you, to say the least. Jill Valentine was probably an individual with her priorities straight, and here you were, grinding your thighs together as you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, front teeth gnawing on the swell flesh of your bottom lip. You looked ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Ogling an older woman as if she were some high school crush. Where were your priorities?

Heaps of chestnut hair suddenly color your vision, blocking your delicate view as a head leans forward to inch closer to the woman you admire, “Here Jill, saved your drink until you got here”, her voice is flowery and feminine, a tinge of nasal sweetness at the end of her chirping sentences. “Glad to see you”. You almost envy her in this moment.

“Thanks, Claire”, a pale palm wraps around the transparent glass, pearls of condensation glistening on Jill’s lengthy fingertips, her nails clumsily trimmed, and beaten hands calloused from her work. You feel your breath hitch at the sight, cotton mouthed as you watch.

Tonight was going to be long. Too long, if this was all you were going to think about.

Claire retreats to her original position in the chair, her conversation with the brunette ephemeral as she focuses her attention on another, leaving Jill solemn in her thoughts, curtly nodding to every general word Chris might possibly say. She’s taciturn, and trained on the voice of her adjacent companion.

Without the veil of ember strands shrouding over the woman’s face, you melted in your seat, lethargic and ditzy as you bored your beady eyes into the vision that was just blissfully her.

One sip, then another. Her lips curl around the lip of the glass, swallowing measured amounts of golden whiskey that smell like smoke and peaty.

“We should all get together and go on vacation after all this, think we deserve that much”, Chris suggests this as he wedges his fork into the collops of filet spread along his plate, in which the other hums, her eyes flickering from the pit of her glass and then forward, peering across the table.

Rings of cerulean catch your nosiness, and you feel the organ within your rib cage falter, and then within seconds accelerate, heart racing like a jack rabbit inside your chest. She caught you staring.

She keeps the contact for a few seconds; you’re the one who widens your eyes and cowers into yourself, suddenly pretending that the entree platter of pillowy bread rolls is of much more interest.

You think you’ve gone crazy, due to the slanted, open mouthed smirk she summons on her face, mumbling a few words in reply to the male beside her (which you don’t catch due to how much blood is rushing to your face, head swarmed with internal comments of how utterly humiliated you feel). Nevertheless, the intrigue she displays is clearly prevalent, more so in the way your young face ducked to hide yourself other than the subtle conversation Chris clearly tried to create.

Just as you had foreseen, the night was indeed long and mundane, and your quick glances at the nonchalant beauty sitting opposite of you was practically dangerous, due to how cautious she seemed of her surroundings and every object that crossed her. A habit she carried in her occupation, you supposed. She was by no means incognizant. (It would be a lie if you didn’t at least give one glimpse, though. Maybe two…maybe three).

You can’t recall if it had been an hour or more, but the facade of enjoyment seemed to lose its potency, and perhaps for others as well.

Little by little, the crew took their leave, furred winter coats slung over the slope of their shoulders as they waved and headed out for the night, giving you some trivial excuse to join alongside them. With the bill paid generously in reward for everyone, the crowd migrated out through the exit doors and into the parking lot, the wisps of frosty air breezing past in copious amounts.

You trembled, nails dipped into the lower fabric of your mini dress, trying best to ease it further down your thighs as you cursed yourself for wearing such attire.

‘All that work just to stare at her like a fucking idiot’, and now here you were, with gritted teeth and trembling flesh as you shuffled down the sidewalk in shame, purse hung over your shoulder whilst you made your way home. That is, until the crackling of gravel wound up behind you, tires rolling over cement and bright beams flashing over you as if you were a deer in the headlights. An unfamiliar car slowly approaches beside you, and you stumble in your heels as you halt.

“You waitin’ on someone or something?”, the subdued hum of the engine had synthesized with the husky chuckle that was rightfully Jill’s, “don’t tell me you were actually gonna walk home in that? No jacket?”

An arm is laid firm across the surface of her car door, her head peering out through the window as she leans forward, her expression is practically incredulous. As if she was disappointed in your choice-making, and your lack of self-awareness for the weather and time of night. She thrums her fingers across the door impatiently, other hand gripping her steering wheel as she expects an answer.

“I was just-“, and here’s the flaring heat of humiliation rising once more. Your lips are molded into a solemn line, her glare of ridicule made you feel guilty for not asking for her aid in the first place. “I’m not too far from here- I wouldn’t want to be a bother”. You’re lying through your teeth, and the brunette scoffs as if she already knows.

“Fucking hell, you were actually going to do it? You’re too young to be doing stuff like that”, she jests in a low manner, muttering more so to herself than to you. Her arm slithers back inside the vehicle, head motioning to the empty passenger seat with a quick nod. “Like hell I’m letting you walk home, it’s not safe. I’ll give you a ride. Get in”.

The authority of her tone makes your knees wobbly, and the way she sits back in her seat with her neck craned against the headrest commands urgency. She’s waiting. You feel a lump harden in your throat. She’s waiting for you.

You hasten your little steps, sheepishly opening the car door and sliding inside, whispering with pruned lips how thankful you are for the ride. You’re stiff in the seat next to her, hands folded in the center of your lap; they were numbed from the cold, goosebumps embroidered along your delicate flesh.

“Don’t mention it”, she brushes off the innocent gratitude with a witty shake of her head, vehicle rolling through the asphalt, leaving the parking lot with just a planate flick of the wrist, elongated fingers dipping into the rubberized padding of the steering wheel. You watch from your peripheral, nostrils flaring as you shakily inhale, splashes of soap and freshly cleaned laundry breeze over you, and you relish in it, stomach all filled with butterflies over something as simple as the older woman’s scent.

“Where to, then?”, she inquires with a throaty hum, vision focused on the road ahead of her. She sighs in frustration when you tell her, though she grins in utter amusement, laughing when you deluge her with stuttering apologies over a mere lie.

“Christ. Thought you said you were close?”. She makes a turn, dirt crackling under the wheels as she pulls onto another street.

“I know, I’m sorry”, you mumble in shame, hands folding tighter and tighter until your knuckles jut against your skin, your face all flushed. Lower lining of the dress you wore was hiked up your thighs, you felt so exposed and scrutinized alongside her, in her car.

“It’s alright, don’t take me too seriously. New girl, right? I remember. Explains why you’re always so quiet”, Jill continues with the conversation, glimpsing over just for a second to study you before she’s focused again. “You enjoy the place? They had some nice drinks, don’t you think? It wasn’t all too bad”, you frown at her words, a heaviness nested in your chest. You hadn’t really done much tonight at the celebration. Nothing other than ogle at her, eat some bread rolls, and then ogle at her some more.

“I didn’t drink anything really, unfortunately”, admitting this was rather awkward, due to how much desire you held to impress her. Now you just felt inadequate, lackluster. “Too many people I didn’t know, if that makes any sense. I must sound boring, don’t I?”.

“Not even one drink?”, she questions, lips curved up into an open-mouthed grimace as she flutters her eyelashes in teasing surprise. “Free to get whatever you want, and you’re telling me you were too shy to even drink anything?”, and she sneers when you nod, biting down laughter in hopes she could keep you comfortable in her presence. Smile lines deepen around the shape of her mouth, silky lips blessed with a tint of coral, apples of her cheeks glowing with every beguilement grin.

“It doesn’t hurt to celebrate, you know. You work hard, I’ve noticed”, she pauses, considering her next words carefully, not wanting to tread any risky lines, “I’m not that far from my apartment anyway, want to have a drink or two? Think I’ve got some lying around, wouldn’t hurt to get em’ used up”.

Green light hanging up ahead switches rapidly from yellow to red, crimson hue painted over the dashboard and along the height of your body. You’ve sunken a little in the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and panicked when she offers. You open your mouth to answer, but she cuts you off before you could turn the opportunity down.

“Just the two of us, okay? I don’t bite, I promise”, and you swear you’re melting, too convinced. You nod in response, a simple “sure” is all you can hiccup.

‘Maybe all that time ripping apart my wardrobe was worth it?’

Maybe so, because Jill fucking Valentine is moving her lengthy index finger to the left of her steering wheel, flicking on her turn signal without a single ounce of hesitation, and then making a u-turn that can only promise one thing.

The ride to her apartment.

Agreeing was most definitely easier than doing, that was for certain. With the door opening, and her leading the way inside, not only then does it really solidify into reality. One of your leading superiors—a trained operations agent—has driven you back to her apartment to “share drinks” and “celebrate without all the other chatter”. At least that’s what she bargained for in the car.

You’ve politely found purchase on the faux leather cushion of her couch, material beige and smoothened, and you curl into it as you keenly gape around the place.

The condo is fresh, and crisp, organized and minimalistic, but still with a trace that’s so understandably miss valentine.

After hearing about rumors of Jill’s horror in raccoon city, you can almost bet she’s much more at ease now, with her new place, and her new position. Eager to distance from her solemn past.

She’s a workaholic, that’s for sure, multiple rooms in her living space and she’s dedicated one for her research; the door slightly agape, and you can’t help but satiate your curiosity as you squint your eyes and look past the doorknob.

With what little you can see through the crevice, there’s a desk inside with files strewn along the top, corkboard furnished along the wall and vital information pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. Not able to help yourself, a tender smile cracks on your lips as you notice irrelevant stickers plastered along the granulated cork, designs of cats and succulents the older woman has happily put everywhere. Your heart pangs at the innocent gesture, imagining such a stern individual indulging herself with such small and adorable items.

“Do you have a preference? Want anything in particular?”, said woman calls from the kitchen, face astern and a hand pushing the fridge door open. Hastily, you retreat your beady eyes, suddenly feeling impertinent for your sense of wonder. She lists off what she has, but it’s all foreign to you, not making much sense from your lack of alcohol expertise.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug sheepishly, a bashful grin displayed, “anything is fine, really”. ‘Anything that you pick, I’ll drink’, sounds more correct, but you digress.

She reads you like you’re an open book, your naivety and youth all too transparent and sat right on her couch, eyebrows furrowed and hands respectfully folded in your lap. A position she’s noticed you in ever since you were rigid and unsettled in her vehicle. When were you ever going to relax? It filled her with incomprehensible mirth, the way you were.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”, Jill teases a little, poking at the spots that make you internally weak as she flashes a knowing smirk, “don’t drink a lot I take it? That’s alright”.

She retrieves two glasses from her cupboard and fills them with her pick as you so kindly advocated, closing the fridge and then sauntering over. She takes her place beside you, the leather sinking from the weight of two, her thigh resting along the couch and the shape of her kneecap brushing against you.

“All yours. Bottoms up”, a throaty chuckle resounds in her throat as she offers the drink, ushering for you to take it into your small hands, in which you oblige with unreadable panic. “Cheers”, she clinks her glass with yours, before she’s reclining into the cushion and swallowing, throat muscles contracting up and down.

You only manage to gulp down a small portion of the beverage, soured reaction shriveling your lips. It wasn’t the most enjoyable, but it was Jill’s, and you found it as well sought after as any nobel prize. This drink, this couch, this moment. This moment with her, even if every lick of the bitter whiskey was deathly, you would still sacrifice every lumpy taste bud just for a second with the woman.

Slowly, she sets the drink down on the coffee table, and you watch her movements carefully. Those hands of hers guide the cardigan off her shoulder blades, shrugging the gray fabric down and onto an armrest with a composed exhale.

What torture it is, your foolish reverence for her. Dirty incalescence ferments between the swell of your thighs, burning and burning once you catch sight of the dip between her chest, cleavage freckled with age and brown moles dotted along her sharpened collarbone. Her tight little blue tank top hiding underneath that damned cardigan this whole time. The fabric is stressed across the seaming of her bust, creased and curled until it dips down and hugs around the frame of her waist. There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to make it through tonight without slipping up.

“You’re brave for working under the organization, no matter what you do. Reminds me of when I first started training, I was around your age too. It’s risky, but I’m sure you already know that”, she bends downward to unlace her coal-shaded boots, tugging the zipper down without an ounce of patience in her.

“You gettin’ along with everybody? How is everything, with the new position and all? I mean, the way you were acting earlier, it makes me worried. If anyone’s screwing with you-”.

“No no no, it’s not like that, I promise”, you cut her off, shaking your head quickly in hopes you could help her understand your viewpoint, in which she glances at you and sits upright. She got you to talk, and if she wasn’t absolutely smug about it.

“Everything is fine, and the department is kind to me. You’ve been very generous too, and I’m thankful. I’m just…still trying to get used to everything”, she bobs her head with acumen, digesting every syllable and stumble of your words, listening maturely. She finds flattery in your compliment toward her, doing best not to grin.

“How is it with, um…you and Chris?”, you ask, and the moment the question slips past your lips, you’re filled with utter regret. What kind of question was that? Valentine raises her eyebrow in bewilderment, shocked by the sudden change in subject. She draws her arm along the head of the couch, manspreading whilst she sits as she pleases, eyes still narrowed with pique and pointed in your general direction.

“Me and Chris?”, the laughter she bellows out is vocal, giggling deeply without much restraint, “we’re partners, is all. We’ve been in this field for a while now.”

The way she carries herself around you is as if she’s known you for years, like this is just some humorous conversation that fills her with interest. She wasn’t this excited to speak at the restaurant, you’ve noted, and it’s heartwarming. You, of all people, have made her soft.

Despite all the liquor she’s consumed tonight, she is still impressively sober, quick to catch on to all your soft spoken words, and averting eyes. Although, her high tolerance, of all things, is not a particular trait of hers that surprises you. It only aids the turmoil that rumbles in your chest; it makes you feel weighed down and heavy, the scent of luxurious usquebaugh lingering on her tongue after every breath she releases.

“I see”, you mumble, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jill rolls her blue eyes, “you’re always apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry about”, the room falls silent, clock that’s hung on her wall ticking as seconds prolong into minutes. That is, until she speaks again.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Lay it on me”, and the room feels like it’s suddenly enclosing, the words strangely suffocating, and you refuse to admit your sheer infatuation you bore for her. You shake your head with silence, finding that your speechlessness was a better reply rather than your jumbled words of anxious gibberish. One slip up, and you knew it would be over.

Your fingers tease the constricting dress again, eyes exerting to the way your thighs expand and lay flat on her sofa. The way the material fits you like a glove was sweltering, especially with her obsidian pupils beating down on you, drinking up your every tentative counter.

“So that’s a no”, she snorts at your lack of volume, feeling filled with confidence. “You stare a lot, you know that? I noticed you looking at me all night. I don’t scare you, do I?.”

You shoot your attention toward her now, irises apprehensively rounded and wide, and you feel the world absolutely crumble as you're struck with distress over her admittance. She did notice, after all. How pathetic you must have looked the whole time, peering from the fucking entree platter to her every couple of minutes, so visibly envious whenever anyone uttered a single word to her.

“No, I”-

Your pale lips tremble as they open, an absinthal taste wrought over your tongue and depleting any moisture from your mouth. You try to answer, meek and destroyed from your own clumsy dilemma. How different this could have been, if only you weren’t so gullible when it came to your yearning, now leading yourself into chagrin as you couldn’t keep your eyes away earlier.

“I’m sorry”, you pipe out, “I didn’t mean to”-, and she’s engulfing you, brain all smothered into mush and your body liquidizing to putty under the embrace she ensnares you in. Countless nights you’ve spent imagining how every curve of her lips feels pressed along yours, how they move, how they taste, but absolutely nothing can put into words how beautiful they feel as they swallow up your squeaks of dismay.

She’s crawling forward until she’s got you all laid out underneath her, squirming in your position as you submit to the palm she lays on your chest, a firm push she gives until you’ve gone flat amongst the leather cushion. With her legs now entangled with yours, she’s content, humming into the kiss she’s so rightfully initiated, sharp nose dipping into the velvet skin of your face, and skimming along your cheek with every tilt of her head.

Challenged by inexperience, you try best to keep up with the opening and closing of her mouth she’s laying upon you, her eyes sealed as her lips seemingly can’t control themselves, a hunger you’ve never expected from Jill. Flavors of malt she's got melting from her tongue, intoxicated saliva that’s mixed with yours and creating a slippery concoction between your lips with every thirsting lick she provokes.

“Need some attention? Am I right?”, the brunette separates from the bliss she had solicited, lips detaching with a wet smack so she can inhale sharply. “I’m much older than you, much”-, she huffs, airily snickering at the sight behold just right beneath her, “much fucking older.” She drags the wriggling muscle out from between her teeth and over her lips, collecting the moisture and spit you had so generously lathered over her. To die like this, it would be divine.

You lay dormant and vulnerable to her control, but she had warned you. Her words were not to be taken lightly, but rather, considered. To give up your innocence for such a filthy, wretched moment like this, Jill knew better. But those eyes of yours had begged, pleaded, were filled with desperation. Whatever she had done, or would do, you wouldn’t lament over it—but rather—savor it.

“I know”, you speak up, balancing the shakiness that wracks you. You’ve wanted a moment like this with her, and you refused to let it slip away from the cracks of your fingers when she was so, so close to granting you everything you’ve wished. “I know you are.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Explains all the staring, that goddamn dress during winter for Christ’s sake, all on purpose, I take it, tryna get my attention”, the silver pendant of her necklace dangles above you, circling as if it’s meant to entrance you. “The hell am I going to do with you?.”

The authority that oozes off her foul tongue is like morphine, an opiate you’ve swallowed, it’s addictive and ruins your common sense completely. Innocent eyes flicker back and forth, your jaw now slack as you can’t focus between the heat swirling in her pupils, or the way her lips taunt you for another taste.

The delicate curve of her nose, like a deity the way she so naturally is, sculpted from the stars as you examine the dorsal bump that sits near the bridge between her eyes, and then arches down to her cupid's bow. You want to pepper kisses all over her, take a risk into her world, trace the fine lines that are embedded into her pale complexion. God, you wanted it, no matter how foolish you would become.

Not able to withstand another teasing comment, you bring your lips to hers with vehemence, your shaky hands drawn over the stretch of her back, nails bundling up fistfuls of blue cotton fervently and with lack of restraint.

“Easy, baby”, the older woman rasps out a discordant laugh as she eases apart from you, “I got it, sweetheart. Let’s take our time, no need to rush anything.”

But the way your fingers are threading up her spine, carding through the syrupy strands of her hair and burying the pads of your fingers into her darkened roots tell her everything. “Please”, you whisper, a whine of desire prolonging from your throat, “take me to bed.”

And who is she to deny such a request? Fallen at your feet from square one.

With groping hands and ragged breaths, Jill has led you to her room and shoved her calloused hands onto the square of your chest, watching you stumble your way backward until your knees wobble, feet losing balance and you surrender your footing. Now draped along her mattress, you’re sprawled amidst her disheveled sheets, unintentionally alluring at the edge of her bed. A present that needed to be unwrapped and reveled in. Undressed and ravaged.

Undoubtedly, the attraction was mutual. Too reticent to meet her eye, fledgling and modest you were, a stark contrast to the indecent and repugnant men that stuck around and partnered alongside Jill in multiple missions. She was abnormally engrossed in you, freshly employed, seeing a sliver of compassion in every beam you presented, how much you were blossoming compared to the others who groaned and wailed.

Of course, your age had been worrisome, and Jill felt guilt course within her at such salacious contemplations. But to have you laid out in this moment, so youthful, so precious, she knew it was alright. She was going to take such good care of you, that was certain, cherish you like no other. And from the way you propped your weight up onto your elbows to wait for her, in her bed—she knew you had waited a while for this too. The glimmering twinkle in your glossy eyes, an unspoken plea from the depths of your soul.

Jill pried your heels off your feet and threw the irrelevant shoes to the floor, long fingertips prodding along the protruding talus bone and further down to the curve of your calf, pulling your leg upward so she could chastely peck along the skin. Give you softness before she fucked you clueless, solicited vulnerable cries from that sweet mouth.

“God, you’re so perfect, sweet thing. Need you to be good and spread your legs for me”, she mumbles amongst unarticulated nibbles to your calf, two strong hands guiding your limbs apart with your permission. You comply, breath hitched in your throat, craning your neck back once she lowers a palm between your two thighs, index and middle finger circling into your sticky panties, meddling with the sodden gusset.

She grunts, your wet cunt fueling her ego. She knew it was worth examining how ruined you already were, but this quick? How precious.

“Fucking hell, you’re needy”, you flush viciously at her jesting observation, squirming so sensitively at the swirls and caresses of sensual friction, every plunge of her trimmed nails into the flimsy fabric were torturous. Panties are humid and tainted from your own very need, and you feel your body is just an ocean of desire, body overflowing with lecherous want.

You wantonly gripe and huff, dress now creased and hiked up to your navel as Jill holds you still and anchored, one hand clamped around your knee securely as the other is buried between your thighs, toying with you. Coaxing those gentle gasps out of you that make her heart swell, fill her with greedy pride.

“Just a couple of kisses, and your panties are already ruined”, she curls a finger into the band and drags the elastic up, the soiled undergarment loose and freed from your glistening labia, before Jill releases, the material slapping back down within mere seconds. Jolting and whimpering, you’re appalled from the igniting slap amongst your sensitive warmth, hips jittering and Jill flashes you a playful smile.

“Half my goddamn age and gettin’ all wet”, she tugs the panties up now, watching the cotton sink into the slick of your pussy, lips curled around the laced seam and cutely puffed out, glistening with your own pronounced arousal. “Pretty girl”, she muses, dark eyebrows creased and wrinkles of concentration forming along her forehead as she gawks at you coming apart, beseeching for mercy with little squeaks and airy sighs. She wonders when you’ll demand pleasure, but such a sweetheart you are, letting Jill have her way with you.

She’s too impatient for this little game, having enough of prolonging your reward of indescribable pleasure and ecstasy. She pushes the damp gusset to the side, a bridge of transparent slick breaking apart from the undergarment once she bares your cunt to her hungry eyes, lengthy fingers spreading your velvety lips apart, her mouth formulating into an impressed “o” at the vision.

“Jill”-, you pipe up with uncertainty, but she hushes you, another kiss she smothers to your calf. “I know”, she hums, “I know”. You feel all warm inside, sickened with endearment by the way she looks at you, clenching around thin air as you imagine how well she’ll fill you. You’re all hers tonight, she knows this.

A veil of brown tresses conceal half her face as she lowers her head to a calculated angle, sharp collarbone and shoulder blades pronounced once she bends closer to your clit. She collects tepid drool off the tip of her pink tongue, and hurls it down onto your turgescent pearl, watching her bubbling saliva sully your pretty little pussy and drip down to your pulsating hole, entrance begging to be split open as you clench once…then twice, and a third time. You shiver at the contrast of temperature, cool slick now warmed by the draw of her thermal spittle, and you attempt to keep your head up to watch with half-lidded eyes, desperate to see the woman you loved.

Despite her foul-mouthed tendency, and inclination for dirty talk, she was slow, and tender. Her hands were rough, marred from training and littered with blemishes and scarring. Though, she was so considerate the way she plopped her thumb along the swell of your clit, textured fingertips rubbing upward against the flesh, flicking the small, and hardened bud with precision that had you moaning brokenly into her pillows. Your nostrils flare, inhaling her musk that’s adorned the sheets, the scent enveloping you, in which you only moan louder.

“Yeah, feeling good, aren’t you. Like my fingers?”

“Mhm!”, you had no words to speak, clasping onto the bedding as she steadily draws circles of pleasure over your enlarging bud. She tests the waters, pointer finger nudging at your dripping entrance, and when you make no sound of denial, she buries herself inside, curling one finger into your cunt. She laughs flippantly as your body instinctively swallows her in, fleshy walls tightening and frenzied, clenching sporadically around her, and she adds another finger slowly, trying best to be careful with you; her precious girl.

“Jill- oh my god”, the sudden stretch of her fingers is surreal, sticky taint gushing from your weeping hole and defiling the pale, boney fingers that split you apart so remarkably, obscene sonorities that climb up the walls and ring into your ears. You were already soaked earlier after the push of her tongue along your teeth, a saturated flower between your shaking legs, luminous and gleaming after a rainfall of dominance the older woman harbored.

But the way she bullies her knuckles inside you, her spit sloven hands smearing her slobber all over your vulva—you've been undeniably ruined, sopping mess that’s smeared to the flesh of your inner thighs and down to the shape of your rear, and you sob.

“Can’t- can’t do it”, your body says otherwise, pleading for more, blood rich and adrenaline coursing through bluish veins like wildfire. Thrust after thrust, and push after push; transforming your mortal chassis into molten nothingness. You’ve surrendered willingly, fallen victim to a certain euphoria that wounds around you, ensnares you into a blanket of submission.

“You can”, Valentine coaxes, more of a demand than suggestion, inspecting you past her webbed eyelashes, “and you will.” Her two fingers are tight against one another, pummeling toward the spongy muscle inside you with a pump of her wrist, arm flexing as she opens you wide to her advantage, folds spread apart to her liking, flapping limply atop the tarnished knuckles that gets forced into your noisy pussy. You’re writhing desperately, an arm flailing down the arch of your stomach to catch her, and you’re teary eyed; two crystals gleaming and threatening fat tears.

You’ve begun to blubber riddles of nonsense, incoherent gasps that can only direct Jill toward one conclusion, and once your hips grind upward to meet the dry surface of her palm, she’s sucking her teeth. You’re close, she smirks in understanding.

“Hm!”, you shake your head, and what else can you say? Disheveled and torn away, once innocent and pure, now fragmented into a vision of a filth from the way you moan symphonies. Dress slithered up just below the cave of your ribs, and a trembling hand clamping down on the wrist that’s trapped between your lifted thighs, you’re the image of a prostitute.

Nonchalant from your intrusive hand desperate to stop her, Jill swats you away and flashes you an expression that reads ‘don’t do that again’, before she’s plunging once more, and your stomach lurches, hitched breath trapped within your esophagus.

“Listen to yourself”, she tantalizes, sultry remarks hissing from the gaps of her pearly whites, and you whimper delicately as you begin to lose yourself in the bliss. It’s only in that moment of fragility that you recognize what she finds so amusing, the squelching of your cunt, juices lewd and sloppy as they flow, and you’re clenching around the older woman’s joints within. Further and further, until the rope breaks, and you’re crumbling into oblivion, battered fingers ushering you into an orgasm of pristine heaven.

Her thumb lulls you from your sequencing spasms, rubbing your used little clit in tender circles as she marvels over such magnificence with blown pupils, still standing at the edge of the bed whilst she listens to the howls of elation that tumble from your cute lips. She’s got to stop herself from hounding you right now, control the erotic sparks that are boiling underneath the constriction of her pants. She did this, and if she didn’t feel so full of herself because of it. Thoroughly smitten with you.

“There you go”, she hushes you with rasping care, observing with worry as your soft hips remain twitching, “you okay?.”

She abandons the mess she made the moment she joins alongside you, crawling to fill the cold space amongst the bed, suckling marks of woo under the slant of your jaw once she’s beside you. Slender, protective arms are snared around your heaving figure, and you’re humming to reassure her, reaching to grasp onto the meat of her biceps for a sense of imploring comfort.

“You did good”, a husky murmur that rumbles from her, reverberates through you as she douses nurturing pecks along the crown of your swarming head, your brain filled with static and fuzz from such an experience. She thinks you’re finished for the night, wasted and frayed—the humble woman she was—figuring she’ll get you cleaned up and call it a night.

The conclusion is omitted, fortunately, from the moment your mouth falls agape, needy muscle thrashing inside and your libido pulsates. You lever her hand that was once caressing your waist, and bring it upon the seat of your bottom lip, peering past your nose at the wrinkled fingertips; pruned and soiled from the liquid you've drenched them in. Your release, glued and preserved amidst the pores of the brunette's skin.

A low sigh of approval erupts from Jill’s chest as you clean the cracks and crevices you’ve dirtied, your beady eyes now sealed tightly as you slurp on the digits hungrily.

“Can’t baby”, she drawls, cunt throbbing and irritated as it stays purchased amongst the seaming of her ripped jeans. “Might be too much for tonight.”

As if you’re adamant on her docility and compliance, you swirl your tongue over her nail beds, the addictive brewery of your cum, globs of spit, and her flesh had all become dewy and sloshed down the walls of your throat. You moan, bobbing your head until you sputter around her, and the two digits sit upon their tongue-like throne beside the swell of your tonsils, leaving you gagging stupidly by the sensations.

Fucks sake, she wants to pummel that honeyed mound into the sheets until you’re ripping her off, tear streaks racing down your cheekbones. You fucking asked for it? You’re gonna get it.

“Want you to feel good”, you gargle, batting your eyelashes, “please?”

Denial dawns heavily upon her for the second time tonight, the fear of mauling your body—her temple of worship—weighing heavy on her racing heart. But the stench of sex disarms her restraint, the prodding canines and writhing tongue deepthroating her fingers merely convincing her. “Wanna feel you”, you whimper, “wanna”- and there’s no more words that need to be said.

Constricting fabric and other layers of clothes are shredded apart within a matter of seconds, now askew and in disorganized piles amongst the older woman’s bedroom floor. She couldn’t care less, peeling off everything she, or you possibly owned, a chest of ample breasts swinging and soft, chocolate moles dotted from her collarbone to the curve of her rising tits. You feel them perk against your own, nipples coupled and stimulating one another. Her robust figure straddles your hips, strengthened thighs not allowing an escape as she wrestles her lips against yours, groaning in low carnality.

The night is crude, bawdy, and daring. Jill Valentine’s apartment molding into a pornographic masterpiece, with licentious kisses exchanged with swollen lips, and entwined legs that brush against one another. She’s slotted herself so perfectly against your cunt, raising her hips so she can grind her clit against yours, and it’s everything she’s wanted. Everything you've wanted. Hymns of pleasure conjoin, and she’s clamping your thighs as she meets you in the center, a sultry look through her hooded eyes. With nails digging crescents into your skin, she huffs out a hissing moan, string of curse words descending before she can communicate properly.

“So close babe, so fucking close”, Jill’s pelvis pushes upward, folds kissing one another and she connects with you like you’re both two puzzle pieces meant for one another. “Gotta wait for me baby, wait for me, okay?”. She’s already said that many times tonight, stilling her scissoring once she spots even a measly scrunch of enjoyment building up on your youthful features. Egging you on just to shatter any shroud of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck this sweet pussy all night”, she grunts, chuckling in mirth at your whines for release, beads of sweat drawn over her temples. “Be patient with me baby, be patient”. And she’s tugging the ropes again, leg drawn over yours as she rubs against you, over and fucking over again, until you’re a ruptured woman, humbled from your own begging.

#bloodcasket #resident evil smut #jill valentine smut #resident evil x reader #jill valentine x you #jill x reader #jill valentine fanfiction #jill valentine x reader #jill fanfic #lesbian

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coqvttes · 2 months

Text

carlos o. bend me over and play with me

୨୧˚ synopsis : carlos bending you over his lap to play with you, forcing all your cute little noises out even if you’re shy, he’ll find a way to get em out of you.

୨୧˚ warnings : fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!carlos, mean!carlos, spanking, fingering, teasing, pussy slapping, petnames, mentions of oral, lmk if i missed anything!

୨୧˚ wc : 800

୨୧˚ a/n : requested by anon! here <3

“is this all you needed, doll? just wanted your pretty little pussy slapped and played around with?” he coos, a menacing grin plastered across his handsome features as your face burns a bright red. he’s right, it’s just what you wanted. his sneaky fingers slip through your glistening folds, playing with the arousal that’s gathered around there like it’s a toy.

you let out a pitiful noise when he pulls his fingers away, which are still yet to stimulate you properly as the hunger for release builds up inside you, he’s not giving you what you really want. it’s as if he’s doing this for his pleasure.

he slaps your poor cunt repeatedly and you can practically hear the lewd squelching sounds that are almost masked by your pathetic whines as he chuckles down at you almost mockingly. his fingers continuing their relentless attack on your now puffy cunt, oh your poor thing.

“carlos! you’re being mean!” you wail, trying to crawl off of him but he holds you down over his thighs with his strong grip.

“you ain’t going anywhere, sweetheart, i’m not done with you yet.” his free hand rubs gentle circles on the plump of your arse before smacking it cruelly. you whimper pathetically as your body jolts forward from the sting.

he coos at you before doing it again on the other side, you cry out from the burning sensation but your body betrays you as your arousal spills out of your hole, your cunt clenching around nothing as you desperately yearn for stimulation. you hate to admit it feels good.

it was impossible to say you were humiliated considering how much essence was dripping out of your cunt onto his lap. you knew it and carlos knew it, you fucking loved this. and he’d definitely be lying if he said he didn’t love it too, if not, more.

“yeahh, you like that? hmm?” he mocks, a smug smile on his face as his thick fingers tenderly glide over the curve of your arse before dipping into the wetness of your cunt, again, slipping in and out of you slowly with ease as he whispers filthy little things into your ear.

you almost don’t hear his question because of the overwhelming pleasure taking over your senses but you mewl faintly before weakly nodding.

“talk to me, baby,” he demands, curling his fingers inside of you, nudging that spongey spot inside of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your toes curling.

“mmm! yess- ahh i lovee it, carlos!”

“fuck yeah, i know you do, baby,” he chuckles, before pulling his fingers out of you in a single motion, you cry out at the loss of pleasure and try to wiggle back into his hand but he stops you.

with his beefy arm, he firmly keeps you bent over his lap like a toy before he suddenly shoves his fingers inside of your warmth again, driving them in and out of you mercilessly, groaning at the wetness you’ve accumulated from his relentless teasing.

you practically scream out from the change in speed, taking you by surprise as you try to keep a grip on the bedsheets, but the force of his thrusts is too strong as you find yourself jolting forward, and all you can do is just take it.

his other hand which was holding your body down on the dip of your back, now slides up to your bouncing tits to grasp at them greedily. you whine out pathetically as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, he toys and tugs at them playfully eliciting a string of lewd noises from your mouth before returning his hand back to hold you down.

he picks up the pace of his fingers, now pumping his fingers in and out of you animalistically. you kick your legs up violently, whining from overwhelming sensations of pleasure and your hand flies up to cover your gaping mouth, muffling all the cute little noises you make as he viciously thrusts his fingers into your hole.

you rest your weight onto your elbow that digs into the bed before carlos pulls your hand away from your mouth, with nothing to rest on your head falls onto the duvet, your cheek pressing against the bed as you just lay there and accept the pleasure he gives you.

“don’t do that, wanna hear you, doll,” he growls, and you give in, letting all the noises of appreciation spill out of you, and he fucking loves it. the pleasure in your tummy builds up as his fingers curl perfectly inside you.

you let out a broken moan as your release hits you deliciously. his fingers don’t slow down as your body spasms uncontrollably, your cunt clenching around him tight as your arousal sticks to his fingers, practically spilling out of your all over his thighs.

but you know it’s not over yet, you just know that he’s gonna lay you down on the bed and spread your legs to lap up at your juices, because you’re his perfect little doll, and you’d let him play with you anytime he wants. <3

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ all works belong to © coqvettes 2024. i do not give permission to claim, translate or copy any of my works. reblogs are appreciated !

#carlos oliveira smut #carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil #resident evil 3 #re3 #carlos oliveira resident evil #resident evil fic #carlos oliveira fluff #₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ — letters #carlos oliveira imagine #carlos oliveira re3 #leon kennedy #jill valentine

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delphi-shield · 5 months

Text

push and pull // leon s. kennedy & jill valentine

Leon x Reader x Jill Smut wc: 2,860 mdni - 18+

the plumber at my house reading this over my shoulder: 😲 this has been in my drafts for like two months, i finally ripped the bandaid off and touched it up. i cant believe people want the jill/leon ship name to be jilleon when 'breakfast sandwich' is right there. ohh nooo i had to cut the scene where they high-five after you cum...... guess i'll have to write more jill and leon......what a tragedy.....

summary: Jill said she'd be home two hours ago. She's stood you up for dinner again. You're so upset, Leon's got to fuck you about it to make you feel better.

content: fem!reader, all porn no plot, piv (reader receiving), some praise from leon & some degradation from jill, spit, crying, hair-pulling, masturbation, blowjob, dom!jill, use of strap-on, established poly relationship, sorry yeah there's more religious imagery, stealing the jill & leon dynamic from this post, fucking your relationship problems away does not work and you should not attempt. very loosely proofread.

Jill's late.

She promised. You cooked, you cleaned, and she promised she would be here. Bought a special candle and everything, three wick, fresh linen scent. Not your kind of thing, but you know she likes those clean, bright smells.

The first half hour, you’d clung to the idea that her physical therapy appointment was just running late. Forty-five minutes in, three unanswered texts, your hope diminishes. An hour, and Leon’s helping you put the food up and clean the dishes.

Leon’s not exactly happy with Jill. This isn’t the first time she’s done this to you. He hates to see you pout. Even more than that, he hates to see the way you’re trying not to cry in front of him. He does everything he can think of to make you feel better. Watch one of your godawful shows with you, play with your hair for you, give you a nice bath if you wanted - none of his offers made much of a difference. He knows better than to take it personally. He’s not Jill. He can’t fix what she broke.

He can fuck you about it, though. That always seems to take your mind off things, at least for a little while.

He let you use him however you like, dealer’s choice. You wanted him in the dining room chair, wanted to ride him slow, grind down on that fat cock till you unwound and your pretty tears weren’t because your girlfriend stood you up, and that’s what you’d get. Not his first choice, but he’s not the one who looks so pretty with those big, wet eyes.

The only downside is that you can't hear Jill's key turning in the door when Leon's got his cock stuffed so deep in your pussy you can feel him in your ribs, when you’re too busy rocking yourself to a gradual, slow-built end. You'd missed your ringtone too - and Leon's for that matter. You weren't intentionally being petty, but intentions never did soothe Jill's moods.

"Nice," she drawls, dropping her bag with a thud. "Real nice."

Your head falls back just enough to get a look at her, pouting in the doorway. Maybe it's supposed to be intimidating. Really, she just looks like a dejected cat, all puffed up for attention. The hand splayed on Leon’s chest flops back uselessly, reaching for her.

“Jill -”

Leon’s hips jut up, reminding you he's here, reminding you who's inside you. Whatever you were going to say melts away into a whine so pathetic even you want to roll your eyes.

"Got started without you," Leon says, callous on your behalf. His hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you back to him. It doesn’t take much prompting for you to curl back into his chest, walls fluttering around his cock, gripping him like your life depends on it. "Saved you some dinner. It’s in the fridge."

How can he be so casual? Feels like you’ve got lava running through your blood. His hands settle on your hips again, push-pulling you back and forth to get you to grind again. You oblige, faster than before, mouthing open kisses against his neck. They ought to canonize him for his patience, crown him Patron Saint of Not Plowing You Into The Carpet.

Jill doesn't say a word. She marches off to the bedroom, leaving her boots behind as she goes. Her cardigan gets flung over the couch - poor thing. It didn't do anything wrong.

She’ll come out when she’s ready, you tell yourself. Ignoring the ingrained need to manage Jill’s emotions for her is hard, but not quite as hard as Leon’s dick. Makes it a little easier to forget. You press your moans into Leon’s skin, let him have them for safekeeping.

Her footsteps pound back into the room. You don't know what she's done that's so funny, but Leon shakes with a laugh. You move to look, and his palm pressing against your cheek stops you. Something clatters onto the dining room table, a heavy thunk and buckles. He presses a light kiss to the crown of your head, strokes your hair.

"Go ahead and finish up, baby. Doin' so good. All yours."

It's all the permission you really need. It doesn’t take long - you’re good for him, after all. So good, you don't even need his help. You just need him to hold you up when that slow heat finally expands, spreads like fire through your limbs and leaves you making a mess of his lap, baptizing his cock with your release and moaning hymns for him.

You slump against him, eyes heavy and limbs loose. Your head nestles against his chest, his heart hammering like crazy. Poor guy. So patient. So sweet. You want to offer to take care of that for him - he's still inside you, sitting so still and so good, the stretch all you need. It feels like a bomb went off in your skull, though, scattered all your thoughts around the apartment. You need a moment before you can be considerate, before you can formulate any kind of offer. You reach up, pat his cheek gently to tell him how good he made you feel, lazily kiss at the hollow of his throat.

Jill's got plenty of words, though. She's not the one who just fell apart.

"You so needy you can't wait forty-five minutes?"

"Closer to an hour," Leon counters, and for the first time you hear the strain in his voice. "More like two, actually."

Jill’s irritation boils over. "Shut up. Why don't you go jerk off in the corner?"

After all, he's supposed to be on her side. He's the one who knows what this life is like, the one who knows what their work entails and the stress of it all.

He's also the one who texts when he's running late. He's the one still on active deployment, the one who hadn't been dodging home like the plague. He got over himself a year ago, figured ways to deal with his emotions that didn’t include running as fast as he could, drinking until they drowned, or working himself to the bone.

Jill’s still working on that part. Again - saint-like patience.

“Maybe I will,” he says, casual as he can. He jostles you in his arms. He’d say it’s to keep you awake, but it’s mostly to keep his dick hard. You pulse around him, groan into his t-shirt and drool a little dark patch onto his shirt.

You’re all soft and pliable when her hands slide up your sides, fingers curling in the spaces between your ribs. You lean back to her, longing for the softness of her tits under your head, and you glide back through the air unsupported, like you’ve faded through the ghost of her. Your head lolls back, pretty, pathetic pout on your swollen lips.

“Gonna be good?” She asks, staring down her nose at you, eyes half lidded. You nod your head. Her eyes narrow. “Words.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shifting you off of Leon's lap is a group effort, one that Leon doesn't particularly care to be too enthusiastic about. His poor dick is lonely, and fucking his fist is a poor substitute for the sticky warmth of your cunt. Jill cradles you in here arms - the first hint of tenderness you've had from her all night - and settles you on the floor in front of the couch. She kicks your legs into position, sways back to appraise your form, and gives you a long-suffering sigh that's a far cry from approval.

"Whatever," she mutters under her breath. "It'll do. Don't move."

She shuffles off to the side. You hear the rustle of fabric. You turn your head to look, and -

"I said don't fuckin' move."

Your head snaps to the front again, hands fisted against the tops of your thighs. No arguing with that tone. Your back is ramrod straight. There's movement to your right, and Leon finally comes into view, settling against the far side of the couch. He's at least kind enough to give you a show, stroking his cock for you in long, slow strokes, massaging his palm over that shiny red tip and sliding his own fluid down to squeeze at the base. Makes your mouth water just looking at him.

Not that you have to wait long for a treat. Jill finishes her prep work, drags herself back over to the couch and drops down in front of you, strap-on making you go crosseyed.

“Go on,” she sighs, waving her hand lazily. Like she’s doing you a favor.

And she is. It’s a privilege to suck her strap.

You rock onto your knees and take too much of her at once, gag yourself right off the bat in your eagerness. They both groan, Jill in exasperation, Leon because holy fuck, if he hears you make that noise again he's going to blow his load immediately. His hand shucks his t-shirt up. He's not trying to stain this shirt with cum. Not his cum, anyway.

"Your mouth is so perfect for this," Jill says, leaning forward and fisting a hand in your hair, "and you're still so bad at it. Do I have to show you how to do everything?"

You nod uselessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Jill rolls her eyes, smothers the hint of a smile that threatens to twist her lips up. She guides your head back to the head of her silicone cock and sets an easy pace for you. Lets you take it nice and slow, get accustomed to the weight of her cock on your tongue as if you haven't done this a hundred times - as if she knows you went too hard right off the bat just to get her to guide you like this.

"There you go," she drones, the praise feeling like anything but. You bob your head freely, her hand in your hair just a suggestion now. "Finally figured it out. Not as dumb you look."

You push further, tucking your thumb tight in your fist and gagging only a little when the head of her cock prods at the back of your throat. Leon's hips buck into his fist, quick and rhythmless, swearing under his breath. His leg kicks out, nudges Jill's calf and you swear she's going to snap at him.

Your eyes cut from Jill to Leon, a tear rolling down your cheek, and that’s the final push that has him cumming all over his stomach, head tipped back into the arm of the couch, pretty moans so loud, so perfect that it makes you feel your heartbeat in your pussy.

You don’t have time to savor the way that he looks, paint him in your mind and hang it up on the walls around your skull like a pin-up. Jill lifts you off her cock, stuffing her hands under your armpits like you’re a stray kitten. You would be, for her, if she asked. Let her slip a pretty collar around your neck, hope you’re lucky enough that it’s got a bell.

She doesn’t wait for Leon to recover, just manhandles the pair of you so your back is pressed to his chest, his cum smearing against your skin. Leon’s got that loose limbed laziness that comes with a release that built-up.

“Hold her,” Jill growls. “Stop fucking around.”

Leon's hands curled around the back of your thighs, spreading you wide for Jill. A warm chuckle rumbles through his chest and pours into you. His head ducks down, mouth by your ear.

“She's mad ‘cause I had you first.”

You turn your head, stifle your giggles in his shoulder. The silicone head of Jill's cock slides through your sopping folds, nudging at your clit. Her hips rock agonizingly slow. It’s tough to tell whether she’s teasing you or herself at this point, but your sensitive body twitches and jerks with every pass of her spit-slick cock.

“Gonna make a mess?” Her hand grips your jaw tight, pulling your face from Leon's shoulder. It’s less a question and more a demand. You nod as best you can in her grip, remember too late to try and bumble out words. She taps your cheek twice, hard enough to sting, hard enough to make those pretty eyes water again.

Jill doesn’t wait for you to say it. She enters you in a quick, jerky thrust, no hint of warning, your breath stuttering and back tensing. She rabbits her dick into you, your moans falling as staccato as her pace. Her head bows to spit a fat glob of spit onto your clit. Her fingers rub you frantically, a pace so at odds with the slow push and grind of her hips that it makes you burn. You try to squirm back, the way your blood starts to singe a little too quick for your liking, but there's nowhere to go when you're pressed so tight against Leon's broad chest.

His hand slithers up and over the point of your hip, pressing down firmly just below your navel. Betrayal. You thought he was on your side. Your whining sharpens into a moan that has to have rattled the windows. Jill huffs a laugh, low and cruel. She pulls back just far enough to leave you wanting - and when you claw at her shoulders to drag her back home she's already moving, hard and slow, the light dancing in front of your eyes, her hips driving the breath out of your lungs, your chest caving in. It feels like you've imploded, blood on fire, singeing your bones and leaving the ash to remember it by.

She’s not done. You promised her a mess. Your voice is splintered, her hips still driving into you. You don’t feel yourself gushing around her until it’s already happening. You sniffle, your moans choppy and your tears falling quick, humiliation warming the embers in your stomach. Her pace slows and finally stills, finally lets you find yourself in the pile of ashes.

"Already?" Jill mocks, hands rubbing your quivering thighs soft and sweet despite the way she sneers.

You want to scoff, but you haven’t got the breath. Already, she says, like she hadn’t just ripped that orgasm out of you fast enough that you’ve got cartoon tweety-birds spinning around your head.

“My turn,” Leon pipes up.

“Fuck off. You’re not even hard. I'm just getting started.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you made her cum.”

God, they’re like lions fighting over a piece of meat. You push yourself up on shaky arms, give Jill your best gazelle-trying-not-to-get-eaten pout.

“M’tired,” you slur, your brains thoroughly fucked out. You form a T with your hands, calling for a time-out. “Need a break.”

Jill looks like she wants to bite anyway. But you were good, used your good girl hand signal and everything. She sighs, her shoulders slumping, and loosens the straps around her hips.

“C’mere, pumpkin.” Leon gathers you into his arms easily. “Gonna get you all cleaned up. Tuck your ass in.”

You ache when he moves you, in places you weren’t quite sure could ache. It’ll be worse later. Always is. They always have to fuck you at some weird angle. Can’t ever let your muscles get used to it, like you’re some kind of glorified exercise equipment. At least they wipe you down after they use you. Very polite of them.

Leon hands you your water bottle and settles in behind you, slotting up against your back. He’s got the both of you cleaned off even though he seems just as tired as you, bless him. Say a prayer to the patron saint of the bedroom.

Jill found dinner, apparently. You hear the microwave beeping distantly and share an amused look with Leon. Sure enough, she’s got a bowl of food in her hand when she settles at the end of the bed, legs crossed.

The silence lays somewhere in-between battlefields, landmines hidden all around your bedroom. Everything you want to ask is too loaded, too heavy. You’re not even sure you have the energy to stay up for a serious conversation, much less an argument. Jill looks so soft right now, the bags under her eyes seeming lighter in the warm lamplight of your bedroom. You don’t want to see her eyes sharpen. You don’t want to hear her teeth click together when she bites back her words. You search for some other topic, something that will make the tension evident in her shoulders melt away.

"We should do one of those clone-a-willy kits," you murmur, eyes shut, head tipped into the pillow. You open your eyes just enough to gauge her reaction. Warmth blooms in your chest when you see her eyes crinkle and her smile lines deepen.

"Why?" Jill laughs.

"You don't wanna fuck me with Leon’s dick?"

It’s the first time you’ve heard Jill laugh like that in a while. Pride spreads in your tired little grin. Leon's cock gives a tired twitch against your thigh. He groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder blade.

“You two are gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

#leon kennedy x reader #jill valentine x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil imagine #leon kennedy smut #jill valentine smut #resident evil x reader #x reader #resident evil #jill valentine #leon kennedy

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leqonsluv3r · 4 months

Text

pretty girl

leon!kennedy x afab!reader

— a oneshot

warnings: MDNI, 18+, unprotected sex, fingering, slight choking, hair pulling, leon calls reader pretty girl, baby, etc. public sex??? (but not really). reader is female (she/her) pronouns used, established relationship. soft!dom leon kennedy, sub!reader, some fluff and aftercare, slight nipple play.

“what does he do when he comes home after a long day of work, of grueling missions. of bloodshed and destruction, death even sometimes. he uses her, in the most delicious and beautiful way he can. he takes her, however he can. and she lets him.”

— or leon fucks reader against a rainy cold window at night after work

leon is tired, plain and simple. he’s sick of working like a dog day in and day out with little to no recognition. he works and works, bones cracking.

he works until his feet are sore, until his adrenaline is cursing him like a sick plague. he works and does what he needs to do. and for what? for what purpose? all because he was in raccoon city on that unfaithful day?

he doesn’t deserve it, not in his mind. but he does it, because the only purpose to keep going, to keep trying and even come home after a day of grueling work is simple.

it’s you.

you’re his only safe place, the only safe place he can let go. release all of the aggression, love and pent up emotions. he knows he’s safe with you. he knows that life is uncontrollable, he’s seen enough to prove that.

but when he’s with you, when he touches your skin and holds you close. hears your soft whimpers as you kiss him tenderly. he’s in control of that, in control of you. she understands. she knows.

because she’s not stupid, not since you two have started dating. she knows that sex and the love he has for her, are the only goddamn things in this sick world he can have some control over.

she would do anything for him, let him fuck her over the table, the washer, the kitchen counter. she doesn’t care because whatever he needs for that release, that control, she lets him have it.

so on a practically stormy, slow night of sitting in and her shared apartment with leon. she just waits, briefly watching tv but nothing seems to occupy her brain. she knew he was coming home tonight, just going in for a day of paper work and meetings. she didn’t bother arguing, knowing he would probably rather stay in bed and eat her like a five course meal instead.

and she’d let him, she didn’t even care.

she loved him so much and you could see it, her restless behavior as she went from the sliding glass window, trying to catch him pulling in. she lets her eyes watch some cars drive by on the street in front of the apartment building, rain hitting the sliding glass window in a soft patter.

she sighed and pressed herself against the window, her forehead resting on the cold foggy glass. she watched with a small flutter of her eyes as his car pulled into the parking lot of their apartment building.

her body eager, as if she knew what was about to happen. she taps her soft fingers against the foggy window, her nipples getting hard from the cold window she’s pressing herself against.

she hears his work boots clank up the stairs to the third floor of their apartment. she stays there, even after he enters, his boots landing with a thud as he takes them off by the door.

“waiting for me, pretty girl?” he whispers huskily, his footsteps on the carpet are felt as his large body comes up behind her short frame. she’s still holding herself up to the sliding glass window.

“yeah, saw you pull in. just waiting.” she responds softly, feeling his large hands land on her hips, massaging them in the way he knows she loves. he leans in and presses a kiss to her ear, her jawline and then her neck.

she knows where this is going, she’s not clueless. “let’s go to the bedroom.” she says as she tries to finally move away from the window. “no need, baby. we can stay right here.” he whispers hoarsely in her ear, nibbling at it.

she melts under his kiss, his words sending shivers up her body and through her blood stream. she was like an addict, addicted to his touch and everything about him. he chuckled softly and turned her around gently, pressing her back to the cold rainy window.

“been waiting all day for you sweet girl.” he whispers as he cups her jaw, his thumb playing with her bottom lip. “to kiss you…” he leans down and plants a soft but dominant kiss on her pink lips, his other hand moving down to cup her ass, squeezing it. she gasps softly.

“to touch you…” he says softly as he massages her ass with one hand, the other sliding up to play with her already hard nipple over the cotton of her shirt. “so sweet, pretty girl.” she gasps and moans softly as he rubs his thumb over her nipple.

“mmm, i think you need this more then me. lets check, shall we?” he says with a small low chuckle, his blue eyes flitting over hers, his hand that was on her ass, moving to the front of her pj shorts. he dips his fingers in and under the underwear and shorts, “oh honey,” he lets one of his fingers run through her drenched slit. “your soaking.” she whimpers and nods up at him.

she had been waiting all day, of course she was wet. she hadn’t touched herself. she just kept thinking of him coming home, touching her and releasing his tension into her like a taut rubber band.

“always wet for you.” she whispers with a small embarrassed flushed on her cheeks, looking up at him. focusing in on his blue eyes. he lets a grin form on his face, his fingers going up to circle over her clit. her hand flys up to hold onto his shoulder to steady herself against the window. a small moan escaping her pretty pink lips.

“mmm, yeah. i know pretty girl. we’ll take care of you.” he presses another kiss to her lips, eating her moans as his fingers work on her clit, eliciting moans and whimpers into the kiss. she couldn’t even focus on kissing him, not when his fingers were unwinding her in such a sweet way. he noticed this, chuckling into her mouth, “oh baby, you can’t even focus can you? hmm, poor thing.” he says with an amused grin.

she whimpers and holds tighter onto his shoulder, her fingernails lightly digging into the fabric of his work shirt. “please…” she mewls, trying to arch her back against the cold glass window, rain still hitting it in a soft patter. he knows what she wants, he’s not going to make her beg, not when he’s been waiting for this just as equally and painfully long.

he inserts a finger into her wet and waiting hole, still circling her clit with rapid succession. “mmm, still just as tight and wet as when i left.” he says in a low chuckle, leaning in and sucking at her neck as he continued his assault on her pussy.

“leon…” she chants as she feels that familiar bubbling feeling in her core, arching her back into his chest. her hard nipples pressing into his chest. he keeps sucking at her neck, leaving hickies for later. she feels him adding another finger almost making her scream in delight.

“such a good girl, always cumming on my fingers.” he mumbles into her neck, his voice husky and low. his fingers working her and driving her closer to the edge. “been waiting all week to fuck you, hear those noises i love so much…” he whispers dirtily into her ear.

his fingers and his words simply driving her over the edge, making her release over his fingers in a chant of moans and whimpers. her breaths shorten as he works her through it, eventually pulling back and withdrawing his hand, licking at his slick covered fingers.

she watches him as she leans up against the rain covered window, keeping herself upright. “sweet, just as i remember.” she swallows as she lets him lick her release from fingers.

“but i don’t think that’s what you wanted. huh? you want my dick inside you don’t you?” he says in a low tone, a smirk stretching across his lips as he looks at her. she nods and he chuckles, “mhm, okay. turn around then babygirl. we’re doing it right now. i’m not waiting.” he says in a soft demanding tone, pulling her underwear and pj pants off in one foul swoop.

he tuts at her, gesturing to her shirt, “i wanna see your titties when i fuck you baby, off.” he motions with his hand for you to strip it off, leave you naked and waiting against the cool window for him.

she hears his request, stripping off her t-shirt, no bra covering her breasts. “oh my, mmm…missed these.” he murmurs as he moves closer, cupping a breast in each hand. she whimpers and looks up at him with waiting and pleading eyes. “baby, i love these.” he states but i don’t think he’s stating it for himself, rather just recalling his fondness.

leon lets his mouth trail onto one of her breasts, licking and sucking on her nipple. she cards a hand into his dirty blonde hair, fisting it with tiny hands. she moans softly. “fucking delicious.” he whispers in a growl, moving over to the other breast, licking and sucking on it.

she could practically feel her release from before leaking down her bare thigh, she needed him again. she needed all of him.

he growls as his teeth light scrape across her nipple, moving to the other one and doing the same, drawing the sweetest noises to come from your mouth. “don’t worry i won’t leave you waiting, pretty girl. missed you on my cock too much.” he chuckles lowly as he pulls away from her chest, turning her around swiftly and bending her towards the cool glass.

she puts her hands against the fogged, rain covered glass. a perfect view of the street she was watching before as she waited for him. his hands moving from her bare hips to the swell of her ass, squeezing both cheeks in his large hands. she gasps softly as her hands tried to find purchase on the window. “leon…please…” she practically begs.

“no need to beg, baby.” he whispers in a growl as his dark eyes glide over her bent over body, smirking to himself. the thought that someone could just walk on the sidewalk out front and look up and see him fucking her raw, it made his cock stir in his pants.

she felt him play with her ass, then his hands left her all together and she hears his button on his jeans pop and his pants slide down along with his boxers. a sweet sound that brought happy sounds to her mouth. he lightly jerks his cock in his hand, smearing the precum that leaked from the tip all over his cock.

“you going to be a sweet girl and take it all?” he asks in a low voice as one of his hands traces the curve of her bare spine, chuckling lowly. she nods and shivers at his touch. he slides his cock over her soaking slit, the tip nudging her hole.

she whimpers and tries to hold herself up, her pants pressed flat against the cool glass. his hands hold her hips as he nudges in only a little, a moan falling from her lips. “only the tip baby, and you’re already falling apart.” he remarks with a small groan as he pulls her back by her hips onto his cock.

she gasps and moans all in one breath, not able to hold any sounds. “so fucking tight, just how i left it.” he groans as his hands dig into her hips, holding her upright and thrusting into her at a slow but deep pace, pushing her lightly to the window, her breasts meeting the cool glass, the new angle making her mewl. “leon…”

“i know pretty girl, feels good.” he says with a low voice as he keeps thrusting into her, fucking her up against the glass. his skin slapping against her ass. he sees her lips parted and her eyes slightly closed as it scrunched up in pleasure.

“mmm, missed this. missed this perfect pussy.” he keeps snapping his hips again and again against her ass, pulling on her hips. she squeezes him lightly at his words, moaning softly.

he sees someone on the sidewalk walking their dog, to think if that person just looked over, they’d see all of it. they’d see her getting fucked up against the rainy window, her tits smushed against the cold window, his hips ramming in and out of her.

he leans over her body, still slamming his hips against hers, his dick going in and out of her sweet pussy. “just think baby, if someone looked over, they’d see me fucking you so good. you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he asks in a rasp, his hot breath against her ear.

she nods and lets out a small whimper as he keeps thrusting in and out of her, “words baby, use them.” he says softly as he grabs her hair, lightly pulling on it. she moans at the pain but the throbbing of her pussy against his dick was overpowering it. “yes, yes i’d like it.” she responds in a choked tone.

“oh i bet you would, bet you’d love that. mmm, i know all the things you like baby, like this for example.” he groans softly as he keeps pumping in and out of her, faster now. one of his hands sliding around to take purchase on her neck, lightly squeezing. “leon…” she moans loudly against that as he rids of her oxygen only a little.

it was toxic, the way his hands played her like a well tuned instrument. the way only his dick could make her unravel, the way only his fingers could work her apart. the way his words could strike that chord so deep within her that it made her feel like a caged animal being released.

“oh baby, so dirty. all dumb and stupid on my cock. i know.” he chuckles lowly in a groan as he fucked her deeper and harder, still squeezing lightly on her throat, her bare breasts pressed against the cold window.

his words, his actions, the snap of his hips into hers. his dick kissing that spot within her womb that made her eyes squeeze shut. his hand around her neck, all of it was making that band start to snap.

“m’ so close.” she whimpers pathetically as she keeps trying to hold herself up on the window, her fingerprints leaving marks on the fogged glass of the window. he squeezes a little tighter around her neck, smirking a little as she gasps, his hips going fast and hard.

“gonna cum all over my cock baby?” he asks in a low groan, feeling his release start to approach him. she whines and nods, he squeezes her throat slightly again in a growl. “words, pretty girl.” she whimpers and swallows as she feels herself get closer, clenching and unclenching around his cock inside of her.

“yes…gonna cum.” she babbles out as he keeps ramming into her, his fingers on her hip and throat digging in and creating bruises there. marks that would paint her skin in a light that was delicious.

he keeps ramming into her faster and faster, trying to chase her high and his. give her that feeling that they both yearned for deep down. she wanted it just as much as him, loving his cock kissing her cervix and womb with every earth-shattering thrust.

she cums in a chorus of moans, her lips parting as she clenches around his dick. she coats her cum all over him as he emits a low growl, “god damn baby, so good…” he mutters as he squeezes her neck a little as he fucks her through her orgasm. he approaches his soon after, emptying inside her.

she mewls and milks his cum deliciously, feeling the familiar filling of heat in her core. she can feel the liquid of their combined release leaking down her thigh. he pulls out, and pulls his hand away from her throat. he pulls his boxers up over his now soft dick. “stay here baby. i’ll clean you up.” he whispers tenderly as he rubs a hand over her spine in a soft touch.

she steps away from the window and turns around so her back is facing the cool glass, she watches him come back soon after and get down on his knees in front of her, she watches as he wipes up her thighs then leans forwards and licks at her folds, cleaning her up. she whimpers slightly. he smirks against her folds, pulling away.

“you did so good baby, as usual.” he says with a small easy touch of her bare thigh, standing up to his full height, pressing a kiss to her forehead. she smiles warmly up at him, her eyes so wide and full of adoration for him.

“i missed you.” she whispers softly as he lets her guide her to the couch. she sits her bare frame on it, letting him plop down next to her. he holds onto her hips, holding her close. “i could tell baby,” he chuckles with a warm smile on his features.

his fingers lightly tracing over her hair, pushing some out of her eyes. “thank you.” she whispers as she looks up at him, he swings her legs over his, rubbing a hand gently over her ankle. “you don’t need to thank me for fucking my beautiful girlfriend.” he chuckles with a small shake of his head.

she blushes and rolls her eyes playfully, “well…” she shrugs as if it’s nothing, a large smile on her face. tracing lines on his arms, in a soothing motion. a comforting silence wrapping around them.

“i love you.” she says with a small smile, looking up at him, her ears going red only a little. she looks into his blue eyes with pure love and nothing else, she couldn’t even imagine not having him in her world.

“i love you too, pretty girl.” he says back, his blue eyes melting into hers, his caresses soft and loving. he was hers and she was his. she didn’t have a doubt in her mind that she couldn’t marry him, have his kids and be his forever.

the simplest and most divine love, like a flower in spring. blooming and beautiful. even when the rain came down, the love was still beautiful.

just like the two of them.

pretty and beautiful.

taglist - @heartsforvin

(comment to join the taglist, pls reblog and follow for more <3)

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy smut #re2 leon #ada wong #jill valentine #re2 remake #re4 remake #leon kennedy au

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nyctophiliq · 11 months

Text

☆ ➣ LUNCHBREAK DESSERT. jill valentine

— “i’m addicted and i’m never coming down.”

synopsis — requested by anonymous content warnings — female bodied reader, the reader wears a skirt, nsfw content, fingering, cunnilingus, office sex, semi-public sex, the door is locked, kissing, grinding

“THE DOOR IS LOCKED, BLINDS ARE CLOSED…”

it was hard to go around and pretend she didn’t look hot in her uniform, the blue shirt tucked into her office-issued dark blue cargo pants with the beret on top of her head, waltzing around the halls like she owned the place. it was so fucking attractive, even if she was only just existing and trying to get from one office to another one. it wasn’t fair. it made your heart race a little harder. it also didn’t help that she knew damn well she looked good in that outfit.

"stop playin' please..." you sigh as jill's hand slides down your thigh, her nails scratching lightly at the spot below where your skirt is lifted a bit. you groaned as you wrapped your arms around her neck and deepened the kiss. it felt so fucking amazing, the warmth of her skin was almost suffocating. she tasted like chocolate and coffee and everything you thought heaven would taste like and honestly, you needed this more than you needed air.

jill laughed at your needy acts, clawing at the nape of her neck and subtly rolling your hips into hers, trying to close the gap between your core and her thigh that was wedged between your legs. you whimpered against her mouth when her fingers started to work their way underneath your skirt to find the slick patch of wetness between your thighs. "fuck," you whispered, "in a minute, m'yeah?" she chuckled, pulling back slightly to grin up at you.

"gonna treat this pussy real good." she purred, leaning forward to kiss you again and pushing a single finger between your clothed folds. you let out an embarrassing whine when she prods at your clit, just barely rubbing it as she teased and played with the wet patch of your panties. you pulled away suddenly, looking her dead in the eyes. "jill, wait. i -"

"you wanna come on my tongue?" you nodded frantically, your heart beating wildly and you were pretty sure you were going to pass out. she smirked before reaching behind her and getting her chair to sit on, spreading your legs with both of her hands further open to reveal all your glistening glory between your thighs.

jill grinned widely and leaned forward to lick your clothed clit, teasing you as her arms came around your waist pulling you to the edge of the desk. you gasped, gripping her hair tightly while grinding your hips into her face. "oh god jill, fuck," you panted, feeling yourself growing wetter and weaker with every stroke. your knees wobbled as you sat heavily on the table, your whole body trembling. your mind was fogging up, trying to figure out how you were meant to function without cumming, but you couldn't think straight.

"so wet for me, hm? barely touched you, baby, haven't even got a real taste of you." she murmured against your glistening cunt hiding behind the wet panties, sending small vibrations through your body as she talked, humming almost after every word.

"just p-please, jill, fuck me please..." you whined your fingers clawing into her scalp, bunching her hair up with trembling digits and weakly pulling on them. jill nodded as she looked up at you through her lashes, her teeth hooking into your panties and pulling them to the side. she took you in easily, licking at your sensitive bud while she sucked your clit before taking it into her mouth and playing with it gently. your hips jerked against her mouth, moaning loudly as the sensation built slowly inside you.

you cried out, hand coming up to clamp over your mouth and muffle the next set of moans as jill dipped inside your entrance before her tongue pressed flat against your clit, grinding. you gripped her hair tighter as she licked you harder and faster before finally popping your clit and letting her tongue flick against the bundle of nerves, leaving you shuddering helplessly against the desk. you didn't even notice one of her hands loosening on your waist until you felt two cold fingers and her hot tongue play with your hole.

oh, fuck. she slid her tongue inside of you, making you gasp loudly as she pumped herself, sliding in and out of you in perfect timing, hitting every nerve you had until you were begging to come. jill hummed again, pumping herself faster as her thumb moved up to circle your clit, keeping your orgasm building. you clutched her hair tight, gasping for breath and crying out in pleasure, your body shaking with the effort of not cumming yet.

"jill! oh gosh, i'm gonna -" your words were cut off by your sudden release as you came undone beneath her tongue. you could feel her smirk against you as your vision filled with white spots for a few seconds. she removed her mouth from you but not before giving a last few suck to your clit, pulling her fingers free from the comfortable confines of your thighs and sitting back against the chair.

"good girl," she murmured, her voice low with her ragged breath, licking the sticky mess from her lips. "i was dying for something sweet all day."

AUTHOR'S NOTE ! the hardest part about writing this fic was is coming up with a title, that’s why this one took so long, i had no idea what i was gonna title it until well, yesterday when i finished the other request BAHAHA, hope you like it dear anonie ♥️

#📗 — written by moss !#resident evil jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x reader smut #resident evil jill x reader smut #resident evil jill x reader #jill valentine x reader #resident evil x reader smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil 3 x reader #resident evil smut #re smut #re x reader #re x reader smut #re3 smut #resident evil 3 smut #jill valentine smut #jill valentine x female reader #jill valentine x female reader smut #jill valentine x you

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roseglazedlens · 7 months

Text

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

➠ series masterlist | 🔃girl’s route | 🔃boy’s route |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY & CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG & JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER chapter synopsis: You are amongst the top five selected for this infiltration to take down Glenn Arias. An argument unfolds between the agents and you are forced to pick a side. chapter content: smut in next chapter, resident evil: vendetta spoilers, zombies, haunted mansion, explicit themes throughout this series. a/n: welcome to my second series!! (need to finish my first one oops) on a thursday one month ago, i thought to myself 'zombie threesome hehehe', then i took the idea and sprinted with it and this series is born. so, uh... zombiefuckers rise up?? « 3.3 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Millions are dying—Mass infections are happening across the globe swamping the streets with an unbeknownst fear. The symptoms of this virus are faint, indecipherable next to an x-ray of a man who is perfectly healthy. Not even the carrier themselves are aware of how the virus lies underneath their veins, dormant, until a click of button is pressed from a commander far away, then their symptoms worsen: a headache, a cold, veins turning purple as the poison hatches in them, spreading, until the only thing that can manoeuvre their limbs is the word: KILL.

That’s the greatest strength of this virus. Anyone can be infected, and maybe, you already are.

This product first reached the underground market three months ago. Called the A-Virus; a bioweapon succeeded in the market for its ability to infect targeted communities remotely and leaving no evidence on the perpetrator, which no other distributors had successfully produced before.

Engineered by Glenn Arias, the researcher sold over thousands of this bioweapon, becoming a billionaire overnight at the cost of lives lost from the whims of the rich. He supplied the wealthy and corrupted, like insatiable brats, with new remote-controlled monster trucks, who only aims to tear down families and have their victims beg mercy to a monster that will not speak reason.

Hence, this problem brought attention to a global scale, having the DSO come in alliance with the BSAA and other independent mercenaries to hunt down the vaccine and put a stop to Arias’ grand schemes. Handpicking five agents who are equipped with both experience and skill to combat a zombie attack on this scale of doom and urgency.

Those five agents are Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, and you.

A plan is already in place. A distraction concocted with your intel and the help of a senior researcher of all things bioweapons, Rebecca Chambers. While Arias is busy attending fake business meetings on the other side of the world, the five of you will infiltrate his private mansion to retrieve a concentrated sample of the A-Virus. Rebecca can use the sample to reverse engineer it into a cure and send her findings to facilities across the world.

The plan sounds brilliant in writing, but when you arrived his private mansion in Queretaro region, Mexico, something is off about this place.

Arias is a mastermind, you had been warned many times, in which you appropriately prepared all your best gear for this mission to treat it with utmost gravity. You’re thinking armed guards, well-equipped security, BOWs. But when the five of you pushed open the front doors of his mansion, it was quiet.

Empty. Not a single soul. Just five of you greeted by the whisk of wind through weakly hinged windows that somehow makes the humid air stick to your skin further. Did Rebecca get the wrong info? No one lived there. From what you heard when you were in town, not even the locals dare to venture anywhere near the odd gothic mansion on the top of the hill. They said it’s abandoned, cursed, rumoured to whisk away young children if they ever step foot inside.

It’s a story they say to stop the naughty kids, you remind yourself. It’s not haunted. And you’re not a kid anymore.

The inside is abandoned. Cobwebs lay thick between cornices and carved columns, the floors laced with a film of dust on the luxurious dark wood flooring, creaking with worn age as you take each step. Besides the chandelier, every single piece of furniture is either the same colour of black or red, or nothing else. The soft red velvet upholstery and the rug are made with the same fabric. And you can find the same dark wood in every corner of this house. It’s in the tables, the shelves, the chaise, the painting frames, and stone-like head sculpture whittled with the same exact dark wood, ridged the exact uniform way.

Then, you look at the wall. Black patches of mould smearing across the burgundy wallpaper like a crime scene.

Something creaks behind you. The hair on your arms stands up as you shiver, immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. Despite the number of times you had taken down hordes of incoming zombies like they’re cardboard targets, why is a bit of wind freaking you out? It’s not a ghost, just old foundations, maybe mice, or wind kicking something off a table, like how every old house sounds like. You look around to see if anyone else catches you jumping at nothing, before Jill says, thankfully unaware of your worry:

“God, the smell. What have they done to this place?” Her hand flies over her nose as if that will help to shield any smell whatsoever. Unfortunately, the building is moulded far beyond salvageable that the stench lingers in every part of the mansion.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. We get weeks-old corpses in body bags every day. It’s absolutely retching.” Jill’s earpiece fizzes into life, and she recognises the familiar playful lilt of Rebecca’s voice on the other side of the line.

“At least that’s refrigerated and contained, Rebecca. This fucking stinks.” Jill scrunches her face like she just ate something unpleasant.

“I’m sending my sympathies from my well-conditioned lab right now.”

Carlos appears from Jill’s behind, placing a firm, teasing hand on top of Jill’s shoulder. His wavy curls catch in the wind and his teeth glistens sparkly white. “Yeah Jill, got a problem with my natural musk?”

Jill shrugs his hand off, grimacing at his attempts at flirtation. “Take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

In which Carlos laughs, holds his hand out at his heart as if it was just torn into shreds. “That hurts my feelings, Jill. Why aren’t you ever saying things like that to pretty boy over there?”

“I have a name, Oliveira.” The blond man turns around at the call of his nickname, familiar with the nickname, but it's not pleasantly received by him.

“I think pretty boy suits you more, Kennedy.” Carlos replies, a glint in his voice that hints something a bit less than friendliness between them.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” Leon quips back while staring directly into Carlos’ eyes, before getting cut off by Jill.

“I would, Carlos, but if I have to hear one more corny ass comeback from Leon’s mouth, I’ll throw myself out the window right now.”

“Takes a genius to get my humour.” Leon smirks.

Your eyebrows raise almost immediately to chime in. “Erm… I think we have different meanings for the word ‘genius’.”

Quiet chuckles ripple through the room. It helps that you have worked with these guys throughout the years and had come to know and get close to them—some a bit closer than just friends—but none of them are strangers by far. Usually, you would be working with only one or two of these guys, never in a big group like this, but it seems that everyone is already well-acquainted with each other.

You toss a glance at Carlos and catch him staring at you, smiling. Ah, you see now. Carlos must have been trying to lighten the mood because you had been jumpy ever since you had arrived. You nod at him, a silent thank you before the five of you venture deeper into the eerie atmosphere.

The goal is to arrive at Glenn Aria’s office. According to Rebecca’s intel, Arias hid a concentrated sample in a safe last time he was here. You will need Ada to crack the safe to retrieve the sample and deliver it to Rebecca. As you traverse the corridors, it twists and turns in different directions—whoever engineered this did not enjoy unexpected guests at all. But under Rebecca’s guidance, she walks you and your team through the labyrinth with ease and precision.

But unfortunately, not ease and precision on your part. You trip over your own leg and almost fall to the floor as you round a harsh turn according to Rebecca’s instructions, and Jill catches you right on the arm before you fall.

“Easy there.” Jill pulls you up the ground, and you regain some balance. “You good? Mind your step.”

“Why did I agree to babysit?” Ada speaks, finally, for the first time in this mission. Despite how quietly she spoke under her breath, her words abruptly cut through the air, and all attention is on her and the red sweater dress that curves into her frame perfectly now.

“Oh, I bet once you get your paycheck it will be worth it. Or will you be betraying us, huh, Ada?”

Leon smirks loudly. Ada’s face goes from tired to exhausted in one second. “You just can’t let bygones be bygones, can you?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who used to work for Wesker.” Ada’s heels come to a stop, and with a slow turn, she stares deeply into Leon’s eyes that speak a million threats without needing to be utter a word. Oh, and believe me, you do not want to be messing with Ada. You learnt that the hard way.

“Woah, guys. Let’s keep this civil. No need to get heated.” Carlos rushes to stand right between them as the duo glares at each other with passionate fury and resentment.

You nod, joining Carlos’ side to stand by him. “Carlos’s right. This is not the time to pick a fight.” But it falls on the deaf ears of Leon and Ada.

“Thousands were killed. I want what’s good for the people, and I’m not sure Ada here is on the same page.” Leon continues, adding fuel to the fire.

Ada lets out a disbelieved gasp in response, before recollecting herself and replying in her usual tone of calmness: “Someone has to pay the price. I’m just the executor.”

“Regardless of our motivations, we all are on the same side here.” Carlos attempts at resolution again, putting his hands up in between them, and fails embarrassingly once more.

The air is heated with hostility; Leon and Ada’s eyes are locked in a trance, a hazy spite that reigns their composure, that looking away from each other means forfeiting. You don’t see either of them walking away first, they are both prideful people after all.

“Uh… Jill? Some help?” Carlos looks around to find Jill, who is leaning against a wall, her arms relaxing by her sides, unphased by the fire stirring right in front of the crowd.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Jill is merely waiting for either one of the parties roll over.

You feel speckles of flame through the two of them, as if steam is retreating over the top of their heads, burning not just them, but also everyone else in the room. Until the boiling point hits, and it erupts all in one second. The duo walks away, off to different directions in bitter adrenaline, until you and Carlos are just looking at each other.

“I guess we’ll take five. There’s a safe room up ahead.” Carlos is speaking, but you’re the one listening.

The five of you enters the safe room in silence. It is a storage room—despite its name, it’s quite large for a normal storage room—with boxes stacked on all ends that made the room seem smaller in comparison. A ceiling light illuminates the room dimly, but it isn’t enough to shade away years of old animosity from their past.

The lively conversations you had mere minutes ago is gone now. Just silence and awkward rustling as each of you sits in your own designated corner. Carlos and Jill find themselves a seat on top of a firm box. Leon and Ada giving each other the silent treatment, standing on farthest end of the room to each other. You are simply minding your own business, gathering materials to craft a flashbang to pass the time. Doesn’t hurt to have more supplies anyway.

There is a notable division on each side, an imaginary alliance that you choose to be on neither side. Until Leon crosses the boundary line, somehow making his way to you. He picks up an empty grenade case next to you, assembling the pieces together for your project.

“Sorry you had to see that.” A little guilt tugs at Leon’s voice.

“Not at all. I get why you felt that way.” Leon nods, a look of gratitude hanging softly through a smile. His other finger seals the flashbang cap and hands it back to you. “But you need to learn to control your temper. Especially when it comes to Ada.”

Speaking of Ada, a shiver runs down your spine suddenly. The feeling of someone sending laser signs and telepathic warnings towards you. You turn around towards the direction of the aura to find Ada, her back leaning against the wall, arms crossed without engaging or acknowledging anyone in the room. She stands by herself alone, and that’s how you had always known Ada—distant and in her own mysterious world. Not really a chatter, despite the number of times she had saved you in the past.

Ada does not look at you, but you can feel her glaring down—either you or Leon—with her entire body.

“Good to see the two of you getting along at least.” Carlos holds out two plastic water bottles to you two from a supply crate he found in the room, which Jill has finished downing two of them already.

You two gesture ‘no thanks.’ Ada does not spare Carlos a glance at his direction when he offers.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Carlos says sarcastically, before taking in a generous sip from his drink.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, a moment of dry coughs; a squeak of footsteps, a joint click from a stretching neck. Then silence once more.

“I’ve had enough.” Jill slaps her hands on her thigh before pushing herself up from her seat. “You guys gonna keep acting like kids? Grow up, this isn’t high school anymore. Take your drama outside. If we’re gonna take down Arias, we have to get along. And yes, that means moving on from shit that happened… five years ago? Five years ago and you two are still hung up? Unlike you all, I’m actually looking forward to go home and get a decent shower, hopefully soon.”

You nod in approval as Jill speaks her mind, and you are glad at least the few of you have their priorities in order. Ada flicks her head away from Jill, but her silence is telling of how much she is thinking over Jill’s words.

“Leon, can you accept this?” Jill asks.

There’s a bit of reluctance in his voice, but he agrees anyway. “Fine.”

“Ada?”

Before Ada can respond, smoke is creeping into your vision, coming in quick. It merges into your view, obscuring it, and you whiff something artificial, some kind of chemicals that is piercing to your nose and eyes. You can’t help but wince, hands groping the air in attempts to find comfort in the person closest to you—anyone for that matter—to indicate you’re safe and is indeed not under attack. Your fingers find themselves in a fistful of someone’s shirt, muscles tensing tightly underneath the fabric on their shoulder cap.

“Leon. Is that you?” You cry out.

“It’s me. Stay close and don’t let go. It’s an ambush.” Leon pulls your arm towards him, securing your safety with his hand in yours.

There is some coughing through the air, faint panic in voices underneath the hissing of gas that seems to be coming from above. You hold onto Leon a bit tighter.

Carlos calls out desperately “Where are you guys? Is everyone okay?” as he flaps his hand around the smoke to stir it away. He finds you and Leon almost immediately, and looks down to your hands, finding them clasped tight against each other. Your hand lets go of Leon flying behind your back, but Carlos already saw it.

Jill is coughing deep from the smoke. “I-I’m here!”

“It seems like we’re all here.” Ada says, composed as ever despite the circumstances.

The smoke dissipates—until most of the fog fades away, escaping through the cracks underneath the door to the other side. Leaving the five of you standing in the same storage room darting eyes around, seemingly unharmed, and even more confused.

After what feels like a while later, Jill finally breaks the silence: “Huh. What was that?”

“No enemies.” Ada unholsters the pistol from her belt, inspecting the room and the door behind the room. “Clear on this side too.”

It’s strange. If this is an ambush, why isn’t there an attack?

Leon places a finger on his earpiece to activate his microphone. “Rebecca, come in. We’ve just been ambushed by some kind of smoke, but nobody’s hurt. Happen to know what’s going on?”

His earpiece buzzes into life. “Hmm, let’s see. From the architecture plans, I see the vents are connected to a lab below. It seems abandoned, there are no signs of anyone triggering an attack on my end.”

“Whatever it is, we need to investigate.” Leon’s voice is firm and serious. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

You swallow deeply, fear settling back inside you. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think…” Leon pinches his chin. “…Arias knows that we’re here.”

Your heart drops—Bundle of fear, anxiety and stress springing back into your nerves as you probe at the possibility of Glen Arias knowing where you are. What you’re trying to do. Making sure you will never reach that sample despite your hardest wills.

“He shouldn’t. Rebecca, didn’t Arias get on the jet?” Carlos is also thinking too.

“Affirmative. Security footage showed Arias walking into his private jet, and it took off four hours ago. He should still be in the air. No signal of them making a pitstop anywhere.”

You hear black pumps clacking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting the sample.” Says Ada, her foot is already halfway out of the door. “Follow me or not, I don’t care. I’m here for the objective, and only that.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Carlos asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens.” Ada waves dismissively.

“Ada’s right, we could be set on a wild goose chase.” Jill chimes in. “Millions of lives are dying. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, pretty boy.” Carlos rounds his arm around Leon’s neck, bringing him closer in an almost choking grip, a little too close and tight to his liking. And with Leon’s history with Carlos, Leon refuses to believe this is just a friendly gesture.

Leon grimaces, removing Carlos’ hand over him. “So that’s it? We’re splitting up?” The answer is unanimous. “Fine. I guess we’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

Rebecca, through the other side of your earpiece, speaks: “Be careful everyone. You don’t know what kind of schemes Glenn Arias had set up. Please stay safe.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we don't have any traitors in our team.” Leon says the word ‘traitor’ while maintaining eye contact with Ada. She ignores him, simply deadpans.

“Well, what about you?” Leon nudges at your arm.

You are faced with two options. Indulge in your curiosity and find the source of the gas, or stick to mission as planned? Both options will be dangerous. So who will you trust with your life?

[OPTION A] “I’ll follow the girls.”

[OPTION B] “I’ll follow the boys.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 thanks for reading! come check out my other works! —yours truly, rose. i love my beta reader @scar-crossedlvrs! series taglist: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

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elliesno1gf · 4 months

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I would obey these women whenever they order me to do something.

They tell me to cook them something.

IM COOKING 👩‍🍳

They tell me to do the laundry’s.

I AM DOING IT 🫡

if they tell me to strip

Oh I’m stripping all right 🤤

Anything these women tell me to do I AM DOING IT WITH NO HESITATION 🫡🫡🫡

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #the last of us 2 #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #jill valentine #ada wong #black cat #lara croft

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ch-4-eri · 2 months

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LOVE POTIONS — Jill Valentine.

best friend’s mom! jill X female reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni!! age gap (don’t say i didn’t warn you) oral, dirty talk, hints at the reader being a virgin if you squint. i don’t know if i’m missing anything let me know.

word count: 1.4k

i’m so sick for this, i’ll go to hell on my own, don’t fuck your friend’s mothers guys. but do enjoy this.

you couldn’t explain it, even if you wanted, the whole thing was messy from the beginning.

it was supposed to be something innocent, completely harmless and has no threat to anyone in your life or yourself.

or your best friend.

if only you never met his mother, Jill Valentine, government agent, and a former RPD S.T.A.R.S member.

but god, you didn’t think it through.

didn’t think your attitude and the way you looked at the woman were entirely calculated, jill knew.

this woman has a love for details and reading you, every time you came over; what you’d say and what’d you do, what you’re wearing.

she’d show you she’s busy, working documents and important things for the BSAA, jill to you was just a best friend’s mother.

but you both had one hell of an unspoken sexual tension.

which you tried to hide, tried to shove in the back of your mind as your age gap is fucking nuts and you always worry someone would read your mind which isn’t even a realistic idea, but still, you were too anxious to act on it, even alone, self awareness preventing you from being able to stay in your head for long.

but jill on the other hand… when every time she analysed you, how you talk, how you act, your ass in your tiny skirts drives her fucking crazy enough she finds herself unable to sleep, her hand inside her shorts as she’s pumping herself up at the thought of you with her hand covering her mouth.

surely she felt ashamed, a woman her age acting and thinking like this, she felt so much guilt and shame for operating like a damn teenage boy riling with hormones over a girls ass in a skirt.

a girl her son’s age.

she knew if he ever found her out, he’d hate her forever and she can’t afford losing him, not after fighting for his custody for many years with her ex husband.

but that’s not what she had in mind that day, when she had you splayed down her bed so late at night, her fingers in your mouth as she ate you out like no tomorrow, your legs on her shoulders, your moans muffled by her thick fingers pressing down your tongue, drooling all over them.

“taste’s so good..” jill groaned against your clit, her mouth engulfing you, sending your back arching, she pulls away and sits up, making you ache at the loss of contact and the warmth you felt between your legs.

jill removed her fingers from your mouth, wiping your saliva off them down her bedsheets, going on her knees to meet your eyes as you were so lost in the feeling of pleasure you never got from anyone else other than this woman, a woman you shouldn’t even be doing this with.

but neither of you were even thinking of that right now.

jill had your chin in her palm as you opened your eyes, your breathing shaky and heavy, drool covering your chin as you smelled like sex and vanilla to the older woman’s nostrils.

“i want you to sit on my face, yeah? can you do that for me?” jill smirked, licking her lips with the tongue you want to be inside you again so badly.

you nodded eagerly, the thought of having her mouth against your pussy again was driving you mad with chills coursing through your body. “mhm.. yes please.” you begged, your eyes staring into hers pleadingly, like a lost puppy. fucked up enough.

jill patted your legs, lying down on the mattress of her huge bed, she wasn’t wearing anything other than her lacey bra and underwear, she was a fucking sight, you’d drool on her looks alone. even for a woman her age, she was damn delicious and you couldn’t get your eyes off her as you went on your knees and crawled to her.

she prepared the seat that was her face you were going to be sitting on for the next many minutes, hopefully hours if it were up to the older woman. moving her short brown hair away from her blue eyes you’d drown in.

as you made it closer to her, you were a bit nervous, a question rolling around your head you had to make sure of, you had to ask, as silly as it made you sound to a woman with so much experience.

“do i sit or hover?” you asked, your voice betraying you, your cheeks rosy and lips red and swollen.

jill chuckled, like she was making fun of you. “sit.” she demands. “i want you to suffocate me.” jill added, taking a hold of your thigh as she brought you closer with her strong grip.

“i want you to cum in my mouth.. am i clear, sweet girl?” she demanded as soon as you gasped, raising an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“y-yes..” you nodded like the puppy you are, you weren’t going to upset her, you hated to refuse jill.

and jill hated it when you refused her.

you finally scooted up to jill’s head, placing a knee next to her head, the other doing the same as you lowered your body so your wet pussy made contact with her nose, both of you let out a sigh while jill’s hands positioned you properly on her face, and as soon as you felt her tongue lick a long stripe up your sopping wet hole you let out a sickeningly pornographic moan, your hands grabbing at the headboard of her bed.

“ah.. jill..” you breathed, your thighs squeezing the older woman’s head, her tongue sucking and licking at your hole as she made it her sole purpose for you to cum in her mouth and if she keeps this up you’re gonna do it more than once, not that jill would complain.

her strong hands gripped your ass so tight, her tongue brutally slamming inside of you, as was her nose, sliding it up and down which drew pathetic moans out of you.

jill was humming, groaning into you, making your legs shake and your thighs closing in on her, and you were worried you were hurting her even though jill was having a fucking blast, she adored those damn thighs, if she suffocateds and dies like this it’ll all be worth it.

“please.. can’t take this anymore.” you cried out, making jill just suck at your clit like a starved woman, her body humming and shivering as she was desperate to get touched as well, rubbing her thighs together while her hands reached your hips in a bruising grip.

you were shuddering and whimpering, your legs so weak as you didn’t want to put your full weight on the woman’s face. “jill..” you moaned as she flicked her tongue against your sopping walls, your thighs filled with goosebumps.

“i’m..” you start, your lower belly so tight with a burning sensation that you were so close to your release, jill positioned you right into her mouth as she knew you were close, drinking you up as you finally gushed your orgasm down her mouth like she wanted.

“mmm..” jill mumbled, swallowing every last bit of what you can give her, you tasted like heaven, fucking delicious.

you were trying to catch your breath, your heart hammering against your rib cage as jill patted your thigh.

you weakly pulled your knee away from her head, your legs were shaking like crazy, your center so sensitive and puffy.

“i bet you can’t walk now, huh?” jill joked, sitting up on her elbows, her cheeks red from the heat of being between your thighs for as long as she just was, her nose and her lips shiny and sticky from your release and you were so sick for thinking she looked so darn good with your cum on her face.

you gulped, heat rushing into your cheeks at her words. “just a little sore.” you mumbled shyly, like you weren’t just seated on her face.

“a little sore hm? come here for me..” jill gestured for you to come closer to her. “you think you can just rest without returning the favour?”

jill smirked and brushed your hair away from your face, brushing two fingers against your hardened nipples.

“i know you can’t handle me sitting on your face… i’m afraid i’d break you entirely… but you have fingers don’t you?”

she says in a suggestive tone, grabbing your nipple into her mouth, your eyes closing at the sensation, your hands going into her hair as a moan escaped you.

jill took your hand and brought it near her panties.

then she pulled away with a pop, her blue eyes staring into yours so intensely. “now be a good girl and touch me.”

oh boy you’re screwed.

#jill valentine x female reader #jill valentine x you #jill valentine x reader #jill valentine smut #jill valentine #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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elfven-blog · 8 months

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Make it up to you

Summary: With Jill ignoring you, you decide to just rid yourself of your own frustrations. Jill Valentine x F!reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, masturbation, thigh riding, fingering, just sex Word count: 1.3K

Ever since Jill had come back from whatever had happened with Wesker she had been distant. Not that she would tell you, she didn’t like discussing it. ‘It was in the past now’ would be the only response you’d get. And even after getting Chris and Rebecca involved, nothing had changed. But with her being distant came other challenges.

Which is probably what led to this current situation. Your legs spread on your shared bed, head back on the pillows and back arched as your hand dipped between your thighs. Fingers swirling at your clit as your other hand moved to your chest, fingers pinching at your hardening nipples. Mouth falling open with a low moan as slick drooled from your cunt, fingers moving to gather it before pressing into your warm and wanting hole.

You really had tried everything to get Jill's attention in the last few months, wanting nothing more than to spend intimate times like this with your girlfriend and not your toys. You’d send pictures ranging from scantily clad pictures of your tits to full videos of your hands between your legs. And nothing worked, you had gotten a few compliments from her, and some words of what she’d do but by the time she was home? She was too tired.

So, you continued to pleasure yourself. Lip trembling as your eyes slipped closed while your fingers pumped in and out of you, adding another to stretch you out and your legs spreading further before your hips rocked up into your palm. Heel of your palm rubbing against your clit and causing whines to fall from your lips.

You didn’t notice as Jill came home, hip propping against the door frame as she watched your fingers disappear into that sweet hole. Pupils swallowed the light blue of her eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she moved forward quietly. She felt as her own slick gathered at the sight of you, and dropped her clothes on the way to the bed until she was able to kneel down on the soft mattress between your legs.

She placed her hands on your thighs, slowly moving them up as you stopped, jumping at the sudden feeling and your eyes shooting open to see your girlfriend above. “ ‘m so sorry baby, must have been neglecting you” you felt yourself heat up as her eyes wandered all over you before she placed her hands either side of you and leant down to press a kiss to your mouth. Jill kissed you until there was drool slipping down your chin, and her tongue was licking into your mouth like she’d starve if she couldn’t taste you.

One of her hands trailed slowly down your body, fingers pinching at your nipples until they were sore before continuing the path. Her fingers left small sparks of electricity until she could play with that now sensitive clit, drawing slow circles to watch as your thighs trembled, and hips rolled upwards into her own hand. She moved to your side so she could watch your reactions, her mouth pressing wet kisses to your neck and her tongue dipping to lap at the skin before she gently bit into your neck. A grin on her face at the loud whine and sharp buck of your hips as she continued the actions.

Her fingers dipped lower, gently pushing one into your dripping cunt and causing a gasp to fall from you. Jill always felt different to your own hand. The one finger inside you curled right against that spot, your hand covering your mouth and Jill shook her head. Using her other hand to remove yours and hold it to the mattress, “Do I need to rope you, sweet bunny? Keep your hands up for me, let me make it up to you” she watched as you nodded, eyes already dazed from how well Jill knew you.

She added another finger while her thumb continued to circle at your clit and your eyes fluttered closed. Jill slowly moved down, her mouth pressing more marks into your skin. “So pretty like this, all open and willing. Letting me do what I want” she moaned into your skin as your pussy clenched down on her fingers “Like that baby? Like me using you when I want, nothing more I like coming home to then a sweet pussy just cryin’ for me to give her kisses or fuck her senseless”.

Her words had you whining, arms twitching to move but you kept them still. Wanting to be a good girl. She gently nipped at the soft skin of your breasts, your back arching into her mouth as she soothed at the mark with her tongue “That’s a good girl, just let me apologise sweet girl” The brunette took your pebbled nipple into her mouth, tongue licking over the area before she suckled gently at your breast.

Jill moans at the feeling of your cunt pulsing around her fingers as she continued to fuck into you with them, the feeling of slick gushing from your hole only spurring her on more as she feels your thighs tremble against her own. Her mouth moving to the other tit so she can wrap her lips around the neglected bud, saliva drooling on your chest as your hips move down onto her hand. Her eyes never close as she watches you, and the whines leaving you sound like heaven to her ears.

You squirm under her as you feel that pressure building, legs starting to close before she pulls away to harshly nip at the underside of your breast “No do not close your legs” She moves her leg between yours, holding them open and settling her weight against your thigh. “God bunny, feel that? S’all for you” your leg presses up against her pussy, her slick covering your thigh as she begins to slowly move her own hips.

“Just gonna use this pretty thigh, get it all wet, keep you here like this for me to use whenever I want” her words had your head dizzy and your hips rolling up in the same rhythm your girlfriend had her hips moving against your thigh, the sound of your shared moans fills the room before she takes your mouth with her ow again. Tongue immediately pushes past your lips as you open it willingly so she can press her tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch as her fingers curl again.

She had you easily panting into her mouth as you tried to keep up, hands clenching at the pillows while her own moved to massage your breasts. Finger pinching at the pebbled nipple, her mouth moving into a slow kiss as her tongue dipped into your mouth. Her fingers curled again, and your thighs shook as your back arched, your cum dripping around her hand as your hips bucked up.

With your own orgasm, you decided to return the favour, your hands sliding up Jill’s legs before grasping at the plush of her ass. Your hands helped to guide the way she rode your thigh, her pussy grinding down as she soaked the skin with her slick. Her mouth falling open and her head lolling back as she moaned, your eyes focusing on the way her tits bounced from the erratic movements.

With the help of your hands pressing her down harshly onto your thigh, and the frustration of no recent release, it didn’t take long for Jill to fall forwards with a low moan. Her head resting against your neck as her orgasm coated your leg and dripped onto the sheets below, mixing with your own. You both lay there for a moment trying to catch your breath as Jill placed sweet kisses against your skin, your hand massaging at her legs.

She buried her head into your neck, pressing one more kiss to it “Sorry I’ve been so distant its just…its, ya know?”

You nodded your head, hand coming to stroke her hair “I know my love, I know”.

#jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x fem!reader #jill valentine x f!reader #jill valentine smut #jill valentine #resident evil x reader #resident evil x f!reader #jill valentine x you

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mrswint3rs · 3 months

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𝐈𝐧𝐤 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ༆

pairings - Tattoo Artist! Jill x Fem! Reader

𝐂𝐰- readers first tat, vaginal fingering, oral sex, orgasm denial, teasing through the clothes, overstimulation, praise and minor use of pet names ❦

a/n- i hate the flow of this but it’s jill so. based off this audio!! (ive never gotten a tat before but plan to soon, so forgive me if i got details wrong)

tags: @flkwh0re

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Jill is cleaning up from her last works mess when you, her next scheduled client, walks in. She gets the chair ready for you, letting you get comfortable while she gets her needed equipment ready.

“First time?” she inquires, not even looking up from the tattoo gun. “Seem a little nervous, sweetheart.”

“No need to worry, I’m real good at what I do.”

“Sorry, I just don’t know what to expect is all…” you reply.

She shifts her rolly chair to the side of yours, looking you over silently for a bit. She wanted to see what she was working with. “Well,” she starts, “Any specific design you want?”

You nod, pulling up a picture you saved on your phone. The design was simple, something she could definitely do more with if you were willing enough. “A womb tat for your first, hm? You sure you can bare with me? That’s a pretty sensitive spot.”

“I’m willing to try. I have a decent pain tolerance...I think.”

She chuckles a little at the uncertainty in your statement.

“Well we can stop anytime you need to. Just let me know if you want to take a break at any point, okay?”

You try to relax, feeling those anxious butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Jill gets closer to you and you stiffen again in anticipation.

“Relax,” she places a gentle hand on your thigh. “Just doing some simple skin prep first. Not bringing out the big guns just yet.”

She slowly lifts your shirt just far enough to expose your lower belly. “Might have to pull your shorts down a little. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, whatever makes it convenient for you…miss.”

“Jill.” she corrects. “Sorry for not introducing myself.”

Your shorts are shimmied down, just below your bikini line, leaving you to feel a bit out in the open. “It’s gonna a get a little personal with the way I have to go about this. Let me know if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

With that, she puts a white cream across your skin, rubbing it in as she goes, following with shaving the area, careful not to prick you in any way. She was very obviously skilled in this department as she stated earlier. She was quick and smooth with her movements.

“This might hurt a bit,” she warns when she finishes shaving. She brings out the ink gun, adjusting it as needed.

It turns on with a buzz and she lowers it toward your skin. When it makes contact you again tense up, wincing at the sudden sting.

Her arm rests on your outer thigh as she works from the side, starting the outline. “You’re alright,” she coos softly, tracing comforting circles around your leg. “Is it too much for you?”

“No, it’s fine…i’ll live.”

“Such a brave girl.” she remarks almost flirtatiously, dragging the needle steadily over your skin.

She repositions her arm to rest right on top of your crotch. Guess that’s what she meant by ‘personal’. Every time she shifts her arm it’s enough to make you squirm. You’re starting to get distracted from the pain, more focused on the throbbing between your legs.

The sounds you’re voicing start to sound less like ones of discomfort and more of enjoyment and she can’t help but take notice.

“Hm…that feel good?” she taunts, adding more pressure to your cunt. “Makes it easier to take the pain, huh?”

Clearly she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

You bite your lip, trying not to be so noisy. “Sorry, it’s just-“

“I know baby,” she interjects. “Want me to stop?”

You don’t even think about it, immediately rattling your head ‘no’ and she grins, getting back to work on the outline.

She continues to press against your sensitive parts, sliding up and down as she draws across your lower body like it’s her personal canvas. You feel yourself pooling through your panties, but the teasing’s not enough to make you cum.

Still, it did make the pain more bearable so you weren’t about to complain. But when she again repositions, removing her arm from its placement, it makes you want to cry.

The sting sets in again, nothing to take the feeling away and you feel tears uncontrollably welling up along your lash line.

“Aw, poor girl. Let’s take a break.” she turns off the machinery when she notices, setting it off to the side. “You’re doing so well for me sweetheart. It’s alright. Halfway through.”

To ease your mind, she decides to be a little bolder. She pulls your shorts the rest of the way down. “It’ll be easier with these out of the way, hm?”

You don’t deny her in the slightest. You slip the rest of the way out of them, letting them fall to the floor.

“It’s just the two of us in the studio today…so how about a reward for being such a good girl so far.”

Your legs spread open like they have a mind of their own and Jill hums in approval, gliding her chair to the front of yours now directly aligned with you.

Her gloved hand comes down to toy with you. She traces the shape of you through your panties, amused at how wet you got from simple friction.

When she pulls them to the side, they’re practically glued to you.

She takes off one of her gloves, setting it aside and dipping her two middle fingers into your needy entrance.

Immediately, you clench around her digits and she thumbs at your clit to loosen you up a little. Slowly, she pumps her fingers in and out, curving into that spongy spot almost too accurately causing you to mewl out.

She tucks her hair behind her ears before leaning in closer. Her mouth attaches to your sensitive nub, suckling as if she was trying to drink a milkshake through a straw that was too frozen to come out.

Your hands dig into the leather armrests of the chair, head lulling back and your jaw tightens along with your core.

The pace of her thrusting becomes rapid, bringing you closer to bursting.

She feels the way your walls start to pulse, continuing until you’re on the brink before stopping entirely. You let out a pitiful whine at the sudden emptiness. Was she really gonna leave you hanging?

“Please don’t stop…” you plead to which she only giggles.

“We can do more once you’re finished with the tattoo. I do still have a time limit.” She releases her hold on your underwear, letting them go with a snap against your cunt.

So cruel.

Once again she picks up the gun, returning to your right side for a better angle. She turns it back on, getting back to work.

Your bottom lip starts to quiver again, mind clouded by the burning sensation on your stomach as she continues.

It’s enough to make her feel bad, seeing you looking so helpless in agony. So she brings her freehand back down, cupping your swollen heat and teasing her fingers in and out again. “Be a good girl and sit still for me. Don’t wanna mess up your pretty tat.”

Again you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to stop squirming and be a little quieter.

The pain is replaced by the pads of her slender fingers, coaxing your insides. She pumps slow and deep, making your toes curl.

“That feel better?”

“Yes ma’am..” you whine out in appreciation, trying your hardest to obey her wish and calm your wriggling so she can finish.

“Almost done with this part,” she reassures. “Then we can take another break before the shading.”

The mixture of pain and pleasure goes on for another half hour or so, leaving jill’s fingers to prune from your soaked cunt.

The break is given as promised.

Her tongue jabs in every slit and fold, sloppily lapping up your sweet juices. Her movement is relentless, making you clamp your thighs around her, practically suffocating her. She goes on, forcing you to your long awaited orgasm. But she doesn’t stop there.

She continues to lick and suck up everything you’re giving, not stopping as your legs shake violently. You’re practically sobbing, pushing her away yet at the same time wanting it to go on.

She doesn’t stop until you beg for her to.

At that point, you’re too dumb to think straight, laying there drained and panting. She uses the opening to finish up the tat, shading over everything.

It doesn’t hurt as bad as what she was doing before, making the hour go by pretty quickly. You almost didn’t want to leave, you’d gotten comfortable, melting into that cushiony chair.

She finishes up, gently applying the after care ointment and wrapping your lower abdomen with a plastic wrap.

She hands you a bag, explaining what to do for aftercare and things to avoid doing for the new few days.

“If you have any questions or concerns, you know where to find me.” She smiles, catching you off guard with a sudden kiss to your lips. She lingers for a while, not wanting to send you off.

“Or, just call me whenever you need me.” she adds, “left my number in the bag somewhere, if you don’t mind a little detective work.”

mlist

#resident evil #smut #fanfiction #jill valentine #jill x reader #jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x you #re3make #re3 remake #resident evil 3 #resident evil x reader #tattoo au #jill valentine smut #resident evil smut #resident evil fanfiction #audiomack #soundgasm

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admirxation · 3 months

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The Perpetual Chase | Chapter One | Leon Kennedy x reader series

links to other parts: part two | part three

𓆩♡𓆪┆pairing: las plagas!yandere leon s. kennedy x fem!reader (afab) & Chris Redfield x fem!reader (afab)

𓆩♡𓆪┆summary: the reader is finally free from the physical prison Leon held her in, but she remains in a mental trap that makes her constantly think about the incident. with an effort to move on, she is living with Chris, Jill, and her son, trying to continue life without leon.

𓆩♡𓆪┆word count: 2.8k

𓆩♡𓆪┆disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! i do not condone everything i write. this is for 18+ readers, so MDNI. you’re responsible for the content you consume so if any of the follow warnings trigger you, click off now.

𓆩♡𓆪┆warnings: NSFW 18+. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. female anatomy and she/her pronouns used for the reader. this series will mention things that happened in ‘broken locks’, please read before you read this to understand and know what you’re getting into. specific chapter warnings: healing trauma, reader suffers with remnants of Stockholm syndrome, & mention of of death.

𓆩♡𓆪┆a/n: heyyy! sorry this took forever, life has been hectic, but i hope you enjoy, please like and reblog if you did. just wanted to mention one thing though, i did name the son in the story, i didn’t want to keep putting “insert sons name”. i know its an x reader but there is only so much customising i can do without it being exhausting, so please do not hate on that. anyways thank you for all ur support, love y’all.

Chapter one: a broken beginning

The warm lamp on the bedside table filled the cosy room with an orange tinge around the four walls; the sleepy five-year-old was nestled in his mother's arms, clutching his favourite stuffed bear as he eagerly awaited his nightly fairytale from you — his beloved mother.

“Once upon a time, in a faraway land,” you began with a soft and melodic voice, “there was a beautiful queen named Seraphina.” You brushed Mason’s dark blond hair away from his forehead, his eyes sparkling warmly as you delved further into the story.

“Queen Seraphina had the most radiant smile that lit up the kingdom, and her kindness was known to all. She had a little prince called… Mason,” you saw him smile; you always liked to change the name to involve him and to hear that little giggle, “and Mason was her pride and joy.”

You continued with the tale; your words weaved a story of love, bravery, threat and danger, getting to the part that always scared Mason — the mentioning of the wicked sorcerer who became obsessed with the queen's beauty and vowed to take her away from everything she knew for his own selfish desires.

“Queen Seraphina was smart and strong,” your voice tinged with a hint of caution, “she had a magic charm, a special kind of protection that kept her safe from harm.”

Mason listened intently, his innocent eyes fixed on your face, soaking in every word that was uttered.

“However,” you continued, lowering your voice slightly, “the sorcerer’s obsession grew stronger by the day. He plotted and schemed, waiting for the perfect moment to take Queen Seraphine away from everything she loved.”

This was Mason’s favourite part, where the narrative took an unexpected turn as Queen Seraphina's castle was suddenly surrounded by darkness and then…

There was a knock on the door. Jill came in.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your storytelling, but it's time for bed; Mason has a big day tomorrow,” Jill said as she waited for Mason to walk with her.

“You heard Jill, off you go.”

“But Mom, I want to hear what happens to Queen Seraphina,” he whined.

“You’ve listened to the story millions of times,” he pouted, making your heart melt “Tomorrow I’ll tell the story earlier, and I promise we will finish it… Now go with your Aunty Jill,” he hugged you as he went off, leaving you to put away the book.

You walked outside your room, watching Mason get all pouty as Jill tried to get him into bed, noticing Chris walk by and jokingly tell him to behave — Mason always listened to Chris; he almost looked up to him and tried his best to copy his mannerisms. You four were all living together in an unknown area, even though you couldn’t tell the actual location for safety reasons due to your “turbulent mental health” and your contact with Las Plagas, as the doctors put it, but you liked living with Chris, Jill and your son, as well as the ones who created a protective sphere and kept on guard. You were healing over your trauma after what happened five years ago, but there were still doctors who would check up on you and, most importantly, Mason; they were 99% certain you weren’t a carrier, but they continued to be sceptical of the child you bore from an infected man, Las Plagas had to be coursing through his veins — but every test showed he never carried the disease, but this didn’t satisfy or stop the frequent checks.

You understood the measures that had to be taken, but every time you had a check-up, that incident played in your head; it didn’t help that you had other factors like Mason’s favourite fairytale being about kidnapping; it all just made you remember Leon and what he had done to you — how he violated and manipulated you. The first year was hard; you woke up every night and only slept periodically, your eyebrows darkening. Jill and Chris made things easier; they were patient and understanding, reassuring you that Leon was dead and wasn’t coming back — but that didn’t silence your mind completely. You never admitted it to them, not those who checked up on you, but you still had nightmares, picturing Leon’s face with those dark veins and that perverted, dark smile he would always have when you were vulnerable. But you also thought about how you loved him towards the end; you remember putting your finger on the trigger and telling him, “I love you”. You felt guilty for having those bittersweet memories; the psychiatrists kept telling you it wasn’t healthy and that love doesn’t begin like that, and you knew that, but another part of your brain thought about the moment he took care of you. You remembered when he hugged and cared for you and helped you in the bath; all those memories had a dark tone, but you missed him.

The nights where those mixed feelings kept you awake, you wished you could get over it all and just think it was in the past, but it was hard, and despite Jill insisting on you needing to “heal”, you thought that was never going to happen; you thought that you were forever broken no matter the new life you were living. Five years on, it was a little easier to handle, with an emphasis on “little”, but there were still improvements. You had your friend Jill with you, and you were starting to get to know Chris, finally getting over the fact he wanted to kill you when he first met you, but that was something to joke about now — an extremely dark joke, but a joke nonetheless. Even though you loved Jill, the most understanding person was Chris; your developing friendship helped you along the journey, whereas Jill’s constant talking about a “healing journey” was coming from a good place but put pressure on you on how you should feel and where you should be in that “healing journey”. You felt like she didn’t truly understand the trauma you were going through; of course, no one really did, but Chris managed to make you feel comfortable and like he was actually feeling your emotions.

You had talked to Chris about how Jill’s words affected you and made you continually think about your broken mental health. He offered a shoulder to cry on, and you felt a connection with him. These feelings were confusing; you longed for Chris to stay longer when you had your late-night chats when he went off guarding duty, but it felt wrong to have these feelings when you were still thinking of Leon and what could have been if he remained that sweet neighbour you would make meals for. You didn’t know if this was the beginning of what they call “moving on”, but all you knew was that you liked it when Chris sneaked past Jill’s room when she watched over Mason sleeping and how you giggled together and sometimes had a little nap in each other's arms.

Tonight was another night you would have those late nights with Chris; you two had gotten into that routine of waiting for Jill to put Mason and then drift off before Chris would get off guard duty — you two weren’t doing anything physically intimate, but you knew Jill wouldn’t be comfortable with you having a flirtatious moment with another man, especially Chris. You felt guilty — at times — knowing you were keeping something from your best friend, but you also knew that this secret wouldn’t last forever; this secret would last for a while but would come out of hiding if anything actually sparked between you two, but you know when you would admit it you would get a lecture and experience her overprotectiveness. You did understand why she was acting like this, but you also wanted some freedom now to take it at your own pace and not be constantly monitored.

You waited in your bedroom; your door opened a crack to let Chris know you wanted him to come in; the anticipation bubbled inside you as you waited for him; you loved feeling that excitement; you hadn’t felt that innocent thrill since when you used to give meals to Leon, you remembered the excuse of your awful portion sizes and the smile he would always give when tasting your cooking… You missed that. You often thought about what could have been if Leon had never gotten infected. Would you two have gotten together naturally if he was still the boy next door? Would it have been a beautiful romance? Well, it doesn’t matter how much you thought because it would never be a true reality.

As you were getting lost in your thoughts, you subtly jumped out of your mind to be taken back into reality when you saw the door open, then met with Chris’ smile when he saw your face.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he closed the door behind him.

“No, no… I wouldn’t have had the door like that if I didn’t want you here,” you lifted yourself from the foot of your bed, putting your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his chest as he brought you in his arms, “I’ve missed you.”

“Wow, I didn’t know I had the effect on you,” he laughed. You just rolled your eyes.

Inside the dimly lit bedroom, you two sat on the floor on the comfortable fluffy carpet that was by your bed — you would often start your conversations here. You felt like you were wrapped in the warm comfort of Chris’ presence; the soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a gentle hue that invited closeness.

“I don’t think Jill will be waking up any time soon… I heard slight snoring coming from Mason’s room,” you both laughed.

“Means she’s out like a light,” he moved close to you, and you caught the sense of his natural scent that drew you closer and brought that excitement back; it felt like a true romance was blooming, but those previous thoughts kept making you think otherwise.

“How do you think she would react to… all of this?” you asked to break some silence.

“To be honest, I don’t know, but… I don’t want to talk about that now,” you raised an eyebrow out of interest, “Y/N, I want to talk to you about something, and it’s fine if you don’t want to engage, but please hear me out.”

“Wow, just a few minutes, and we’re already getting serious.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it all day, but shut up for a bit and let me speak,” you both laughed, “For the past five years, we’ve gotten closer. I got to know you, and I’m glad you got over our first awful first impressions, but… I didn’t expect to have what we have now. We don’t do what usual friends do, fair enough, we’ve never done anything, but I feel something. I suppose I’m trying to say I feel something for you, I care about you, and I want to see if you feel the same, and maybe we could build on that.”

You looked down at your hands before saying anything, watching his anticipation: “Chris… I do like you, but… I don’t want to lead you on. I feel like we have something, but I think everyone knows I’m not totally over what you know who did with me; I mean, I don’t think I can do things like sex for a long time.”

“We don’t have to have sex for us to be something real,” he softly grabbed your hand, “I understand if you don’t want anything with me, but if you did, I wouldn’t rush you into things like that, I would wait… Sex doesn't always make something real; we could have our own terms.”

Thinking about your memories of Leon, watching Chris, and the warm energy you felt from him. When you looked at the picture of Leon in your mind, you had bittersweet memories, romantic at times but truly traumatic and what he did ruined your life; you were ready to admit that. But when you looked at Chris, you saw a new beginning, a broken beginning, but something that could blossom into something beautiful if you let it and let go of Leon's hold on you even in the grave.

“Kiss me,” he widened his eyes with shock, watching you to make sure, “Kiss me, and I’ll truly know if I’m ready to say yes to this.”

He leaned in slowly, his soft lips brushing against yours until the skin of your lips fully collided into a passionate kiss; you had to adjust to this intimacy you hadn’t had in years, but you melted into the rhythm and let it take over, your eyes were shut, and your hands reached for his shoulders, inviting you to roam your hands around. Chris moved himself closer, lost in the interlocking of passion that was taking hold of you two… Until it had to stop.

“...I do want something real with you, Chris… But please be patient with me.”

“Of course, everything that will happen, I will make sure you’re 100% okay with it… I won’t hurt you.”

You smiled softly, thankful for his understanding and how much he wanted to be with you. The night drifted with you two conversing, hugging, and finding the moment to kiss again, giggling about how much you missed that sensation with another, glad to share it with Chris.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Hours had drawn on, finally hitting where you two had to depart before Jill was up. Chris still couldn’t wipe that smile off his face, knowing you two were finally moving into something, not being ambiguous about anything. You two looked at the time, not mentioning it, to see if Chris would stay with you a little longer.

“I think I need to go before Jill finds out I’m here,” you wrapped your arms around him even more tightly.

“Will I see you again soon?”

“I’ll be here again before you go to bed, and I’ll see you throughout the day.”

You gave him a final kiss before parting with him, watching as he closed the door fully, letting you close your eyes and relieve the whole night for a few moments before Mason came rushing back into your room.

As you turned over, oblivious of the outside, Chris was met with the one person you didn’t want to see — Jill. Every morning, after the countless nights together, Chris would sneakily close the door without a sound, rushing back to his spot before Jill even woke up, only today she happened to wake up earlier. She stood there with her arms folded, head tilted as she waited for Chris to speak. He just looked at her, defeated.

“Speak of the devil,” Chris said to himself, “Jill, just say what you want,” he turned to face her.

She moved one step closer: “You can never help yourself, can you?”

This ignited subtle anger in Chirs; all those nights you two had, how you confided in him about Jill’s overprotectiveness, Chris thought about how he would tell you; you were probably overthinking, but now he could witness the overprotectiveness that made you feel like you were constantly behind in your process with trauma.

“Y/N can make her own decisions; I never forced myself or made her be with me; we just… kinda hit it off.”

“You know she isn’t in the right state of mind to make a decision; she’s traumatised, she needs to heal, and all you’re doing is… being a safe replacement for Leon.”

“I’m not a fucking replacement!” he raised his voice, “If it was a few months after, fair enough, but it’s been five goodman years; in those years, we’ve made something that is finally happening, don’t you dare call me a replacement.”

“Do you like her, or is it just the easy option with the lack of missions recently? I don’t trust that you’re being sensitive to her situation.”

“Jill… That’s low, and you know it is… Ask her yourself if you don’t trust me,” he looked away, returning to his spot.

“Oh, before you go, Chris,” he rolled his eyes, “Leon woke up, he’s downstairs in the quarantine zone being monitored… He wants to speak to someone; it might as well be the man moving in on the woman he has a child with.”

Right there and then, time had stopped. You weren’t aware of this, but Chris, Jill and everyone who walked the building knew Leon wasn’t dead as you believed. When you pulled the trigger, you didn’t damage any vital organs and allowed him to live. And now he had woken up… Striking fear in everyone and making everyone watch him like a hawk to protect you.

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