Warning: This story has dubcon/noncon elements.
Author's Notes: As I've said before, I'm trying to rework my stories from last year. Time is not on my side though, only allowing me to do tweaks here and there. This story of mine is the most raw, but I had a real blast when I was writing it before and I would like to thank everyone who simply loved it AS it was. I've received multiple requests to put it back, to continue, and to finish it. Thank you for the motivation. I'm trying my best and hoping that I will eventually finish this piece.
Thank you for taking the time to read as always.
Your support is more than appreciated~
Survivor.
That word had always defined her, after all, surviving was what she had always did best.
Adapt.
Fight.
Survive.
Her life had been a series of nightmares since that fateful night in Raccoon. A nightmare. One after another. She remembered with clarity the stench of decaying bodies. Clawed hands furiously reaching for her. Hungry mouths eagerly waiting to feed on the flesh of the living. Monsters in human form. Monsters in animal form. Monsters in forms that shouldn't even exist.
She had survived all of them.
So this should come to an end too. Just like all the other nightmares before it.
And then she would live again…
Or at least pretend to.
Her eyes remained locked on the ceiling, on the glittering chandelier - its hanging crystals like frozen tears. Greedy hands ran the length of her body, until an all too warm palm cupped a breast—testing.
Always testing.
A soft moan escaped her pale lips. Her back arched towards the exploring hand, body curving so that the softness of her pressed tight against callouses.
Always pliant.
A shadow soon hovered over her naked form. Hellish red eyes observed her with undisguised desire.
Wesker peered into her passive face as his strong fingers began to squeeze.
A gasp tumbled out of her little mouth.
She couldn't close her eyes to the image of sin.
"You did well today." A praise hissed against the outer rim of her ear, making her shiver.
The searing warmth of his hands left her tender. His fingers traveled down the length of her body, dipping at the apex of her thighs. And her legs fell open invitingly, welcoming his will.
No. Don't. Her thoughts whispered, caged inside a lustful body tethered to his want. Fleeting words that had been uttered countless of times in the shell of herself. They had probably lost their weight by now. Their meaning.
All of this was not wanted.
But she had tried fighting. Tried fighting before. She had tried fighting. Tried for a while. Tried. Only to learn that her body was not hers anymore. Her hands that were once trained to end his life only pulled him in closer. Her mouth that was once capable of cursing him to hell and back could only gasp and moan in response to his vile touch. She had tried fighting, only to find out that this was a fight that couldn't be won by sheer strength alone.
Her struggles only existed in her mind. Her screams only echoed in her mind. They did nothing to aid that physical part of herself, the part writhing uselessly under his mouth. They did nothing to help that part, the part feeling every torturous pleasure he inflicted on her.
She had discovered that the harder she fought against the poison he fed her; the more exhausted she was when her body had finished metabolizing the last of it. She was then reduced to a rag doll when the last drop of the P30 was gone.
Powerless.
Unable to fight. Unable to escape. Unable to live.
So Jill Valentine decided to sit quietly in the cold cell that was her mind.
Adapting.
Waiting for the right time to fight.
Surviving.
Without warning, two long fingers slid into her wet cunt, curling in deliciously. Her mouth opened in a silent cry and a sinister smirk etched itself on his face. Her eyes shut close again when those sinful fingers began to move inside. He always took his time. He wasn't disillusioned, knew well that her compliance was only a lie created by a mind control drug. He took delight at the sight of her undeniably drenched, unable to hide the arousal he could effortlessly raise in her.
His wrist turned and the pads of his fingers dragged over her front wall. Slow stimulating strokes. Her thighs trembled and her legs twisted over the sheets.
Jill felt herself flutter around his digits.
All too soon, she was moaning and panting.
His looming body lowered over her. Hot mouth ghosting over her parted one. She stared at his lips, anticipating the claim of his kiss. Her fingers anchored themselves on his shoulders, nails raking into the fabric of his shirt, scratching over his clothed skin...
Her peak fast approaching.
But he stopped and ruined everything.
Typical.
She wanted to claw at the smug look on his face when he promptly got off of her. But found that her body, as usual, wouldn't do anything that would remotely go against his will. So her body helplessly laid there. Her legs spread open. Her thighs slick with want. Her breathing uneven.
He settled against the pillows fully clothed, not a single strand of hair out of place, studying her still. He was a black blotch against the silvery white sheets. His fingers, well-coated with her want, were brought to his lips. His tongue slithered out to taste her essence, a low groan escaping him. The mere sound of it moved her body. She then found herself crawling onto his lap.
And he allowed her to settle on top of him.
It seemed to be the first time she saw him like this—at this angle.
Looking down at those calculating eyes of his.
Looking down.
At him.
A shiver uncontrollably ran down her spine. Her eyes turned away from his, as her deft fingers moved to rid him of his clothing. She dutifully undid all the buttons on his dress shirt, slowly revealing unblemished skin to her eyes. She had seen him take bullets and blades. And she had seen him recover from all sorts of fatality. He had truly turned himself into a monster.
Thump. Thump. But that damned heart defiantly existed. Beating underneath her fingertips. She almost took offense at the feeling of it. Its existence like a mockery. How could he still possess such a thing? Someone who had thrown away his humanity. Someone who had been all too glad of ridding himself of it.
His hands pulled her to him. His mouth latched on the rosy tip of her left breast. She threw her head back, crying out loud. The intensity of the sensation swept her under and tied her down to the hungry pulls of his lips.
Thump. Thump. Her own damned heart took its turn on mocking her.
Wesker grabbed at her hips, spilling her there on his lap. He watched her cry out when his clothed erection caressed her bare skin.
She could feel him.
All of him.
Rigid and wanting.
Heat pooled in her belly at the contact. His mouth closed around her other nipple and she moaned in response. Her fingers threaded into his slicked back hair, disarranging his strict styling. He groaned around her teat, his tongue swiped over her hardened peak until she was just tingling all over. She proceeded to grind herself against him, her body undulating wildly in her need. The rough material of his pants scratched at her skin, titillating her further.
Her body was so wanton. Shameless in its craving for his touch.
So she chose to shut the windows in her mind.
Pretended it was a different person out there.
Fooled herself into unseeing… unhearing… unfeeling.
The fire within her flared and consumed her whole. His hands released their grip on her hips. His lips found her pulse as her arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer. He nipped there, leaving a fresh bruise to cover the old ones. She felt his fingers return to her wetness, slipping easily inside, stretching her, preparing her. She got lost to the rhythm of it—of him playing her.
"Please… Please…" She heard herself murmur on his ear.
He was always gracious to her indecent pleas. And so he brought her higher and higher still. His fingers twisting and spreading, opening her to him. She didn't notice his other hand fumble to loose his belt, to tear his pants open. She could hardly care as her moans got louder, and her body got closer and closer to that edge his long fingers were urging her to. His thumb pressed and dragged over the bundle of nerves at the top of her slit and then she was done.
Just done.
Completely unmade by him. Blood rushed in her ears, blocking all other noise, blocking the whole world out. Her breathing came in short pants, making her head pound, making her heart pound.
So hard.
She trembled and whimpered in his strong arms. Her fingers tangled in his blond locks, holding on tight as her body helplessly rode the orgasm he bestowed upon her.
During the contractions, his fingers left her twitching body.
Through the haze of it all, she felt him rub the bulbous head of his cock against her. Once. Twice.
He was so hot.
Burning hot.
Then he was ripping into her.
It hurt.
Still.
It fucking hurt.
Even after all the times before.
Jill struggled to catch her breath.
It felt too big. Too wide.
It was too much. Too sudden.
She tightened painfully around his turgid length. The pleasure her orgasm had brought seemed to work against her. She was tensing and fighting the intrusion and simply feeling so full.
So full of him.
She wouldn't be able to take him like this. It would just hurt. The sting of the forceful stretching could already be felt. Tears made her pale blue eyes glassy. Behind the bars of her own mind, she wanted to desperately escape his clutches.
But her body seemed to have other ideas. She bit her lower lip as she concentrated on taking him in. His eyes were on her face, watching her effort—relishing in her struggle.
Her face burned as he observed her rub her clit to ease the discomfort. Her hips moved in little hypnotizing circles. She was like a bundle of thread unraveling with each grind. Her throat produced those little sounds that made him groan and throb for her.
He made a slight thrust of his hips. Another testing.
She moaned as she took every inch inside. Unabashed noises slipped past out of her bitten lips. And soon enough, he was completely seated inside of her.
All of his length inside. Lying snug. All of him. Filling her.
A gasp of his name escaped her.
He was so deep, his tip was pressed tight against the entrance of her womb.
Her hands took leverage on his shoulders and she brought herself up slowly, her thighs shaking. She could feel every bulging vein along his pulsing length as her hips moved excruciatingly slow. Her eyes fixated on where their bodies were joined. The heat there was making her melt from the inside out. Despite the discomfort, there was no bleeding. She had bled plenty because of him before.
She was getting used to it… To his cock… To his want... To everything him—again. Her mind was horrified by the thought but her body was thrilled by it. She moved her hips down, effectively impaling herself on the whole length of him. The moan that left her throat sounded so lewd that she didn't want to believe it came from her.
A strong hand closed around the base of her neck, roughly demanding her attentiveness. And she looked straight at those bright cold eyes as she tried to ride the cock between her legs. He gritted his teeth as he pulled her close. His hot breath fanned over her sweaty face.
"I'm afraid we haven't got all night, Jill." An order.
Her teeth bit on her lip hard, until she tasted the bitterness of her own blood.
And then she rode him. Faster. Harder. She panted at the effort. She watched him eye her heavy breasts as they bounced with each thrust. A minute pain was still there. A nagging reminder. Wasn't it said that the presence of pain meant something was wrong? That was probably the reason for the pain whenever Wesker took her.
No matter how wet she was.
No matter how many times he had made her come.
There was still pain. Because all of it was wrong.
What he was doing. What she was doing. What they were doing.
She felt his bruising grip around her hips, tightening even more with each downward thrust.
It will be over soon.
The demanding ride she had to endure would be over soon. The act itself never lasted too long and she had taken comfort from that fact. He ground himself deeper into her, before he met her thrust for thrust - his strength unrestrained.
He could break her one of these days, she thought, if he hadn't already.
A rush of pleasure washed over her body, originating from her core. She tightly closed her eyes as her thrusts faltered.
He snatched her close, grunted loudly in her ear as he reached his own release.
It always felt like drowning every time he finished inside of her, that sticky heat of his flooding her. Consuming her. Claiming her. She hated that the feeling of his warm release pushed her over the edge again. Every. Single. Time.
Her body bowed in his arms in an almost impossible angle, contorting into something that should not resemble herself. And he held her close against the hard planes of his body. Bruising and oh so close.
She should be suffocating from his embrace and from the unbearable heat surrounding them.
But she continued breathing.
Surviving.
She rested her head on his bare chest, catching her breath. She felt boneless—fucked senseless. And she couldn't help it but moan a little at every slight movement he dared to make. He was still hard inside of her. And she involuntarily clenched around him upon noticing. His seed spilled out of her in lazy drips along his length.
Jill closed her eyes, powerless against the false state of peace the orgasm had left her in. She laid still in the arms of her enemy, waiting for the freedom only sleep could give her… when she felt it.
Suddenly.
Like tiny sparks running rampant under her skin. The telltale signs of the drug leaving her system.
She forced her eyes open, trying to look for a clock. How long did it last this time? Wait. What was the time when he last injected her in the first place? Her brows furrowed together as she tried to remember.
Her train of thought was unceremoniously disrupted when her worn out body was pushed to the side. The abrupt withdrawal made her wince, not exactly because it hurt, but because it felt… obscenely wet.
There was the usual soreness, especially there - deep inside.
She felt his seed trickling down her inner thighs. Her legs closed as she held a shiver in.
She found herself staring up at the unlit chandelier again. She took a deep breath in as she turned her head to the side - the side he wasn't occupying. She proceeded to watch her fingers from the corner of her eye. Her hand laid there on the mattress, palm up - looking so defenseless.
Her mind willed her hand to curl into a fist. She observed as each finger then curled in on itself, like closing petals of a flower, until only a solid fist was there. A fist. Made by her own will. Made by her own doing.
It was almost like a wonder, almost like a toddler learning how to walk for the first time. She waited for her breathing to even out, waited then for normal strength to rush into her body.
Control—it was hers again.
"Jill."
His voice was roughened by their activity. It took her longer to respond to his wishes. But she looked at him in time and saw him standing there. His blond hair in disarray because of her hands. His black pants still undone. His body sweating like any mortal man.
Her eyes strayed from his form after the quick assessment.
Disinterest.
So unlike when she was under the drug. In there, Wesker was the center of everything. The only one she could focus on.
She took his room in. She had been there many times before. She had slept on that bed many times before. And yet, it felt like it was the first time she was seeing all those sleek furniture. The silken sheets even felt nice, cool against her overheated skin.
Her eyes found a black case by the bedside table. She froze up for a moment, recognizing that it was her special case. The case for the P30. He would give her another dose if he found out that the drug was already out of her system. Her heart started beating faster as she tried her best to collect her thoughts.
"Jill, come."
He sounded impatient. And that would not do.
So she sat up hurriedly on the bed, legs slipping over the edge. She saw him leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. When did he get there? There was the sound of water running inside. She swallowed the forming lump in her throat as she felt him assess her. She got on her feet rather quickly.
This would not do. She couldn't panic. She couldn't allow him to see through her. She tried to go to him as fast as she could, only to wobble like a child and fall on her knees.
Pathetic.
In a heartbeat, hardened hands seized her back to her feet. Like cold shackles closing around her wrists. She was still surprised by his speed every time. She mustered all her courage to look up at the man who chose to be a monster. To look at him without hatred bleeding through her eyes.
Would he know it was gone? Of course he would think it had run out. She fucking stumbled. The P30 wouldn't let her trip like that.
He released one of her wrists. His free hand then tilted her head up, thumb caressing her bottom lip stained prettily with her blood.
She tried her best not to swallow, not to flinch away.
The alarming of his phone then split the silence in the room. She had no idea what that alarm was for but it made her sweat bullets.
Moving her neck a little, her tongue slid past that pair of plump lips to trace along his calloused thumb. Then she put it in her mouth, sucking softly. She made a little noise at the back of her throat, tasting the lingering essence of herself on his skin.
She was stalling for time. What was that alarm for? For replenishing her P30 dose?
She sucked harder.
And her hand closed around the heavy length of him. Her eyes still locked with his. It felt strange—seducing him. It was uncomfortable in its familiarity. He felt slick to the touch, coated in the aftermath of their coupling. She gave him a tentative stroke, her hand gliding over the tight skin with ease, little thumb pressing against the hard underside.
He remained unmoved.
Or so she thought as her lips released his thumb.
That wouldn't do at all.
So she slid down on her knees before him, saw his nostrils flare at the sight of her surrender.
Her knees didn't quite reach the carpeted floor, for she was jerked right back up on her feet.
She stifled a gasp when his arm wound around her waist and lifted her off of the floor. Out of instinct, she found herself wrapping her legs around his hips... afraid that he would drop her. Or that he would throw her across the room. Or… Or… She didn't really know.
So she wrapped her arms around his neck instead, masking the frantic pounding of her heart with pretend eagerness.
Pliant still.
In the next moment, her back was pressed hard against the wall of the shower. His throbbing length poised at her entrance.
Hot water beat down on their slowly cooling bodies. She bowed her body off of the cold wall, only to end up pressing herself quite suggestively against him.
"So eager...", he murmured on her ear.
Thrill laced in his tone. There was a pleased rumble in his voice that made her face burn in shame.
A sound of protest escaped her throat when he started sinking into her. In a single thrust, he buried himself inside. All at once. Right down to the hilt. Leaving her no room to breathe as he filled her to the brim.
His thirsty mouth swallowed her whimpers and cries. He didn't wait for her to adjust this time. He started pounding into her body with reckless abandon. His thin lips trailed fervent kisses down her jawline and to her horror, she realized that she was dripping all over his cock. Fucking dripping. Her poor pussy squelching around him, hungrily sucking him in.
Feeling that good was criminal, wrong in all manner.
But he was sliding in and out easily. So easily. It was just embarrassing. Her body had loosened enough to accommodate his girth. She threw her head back, wrenching her mouth from his, moaned loudly as he stroked at that sweet spot deep inside of her. There was tenderness, but the heat steadily pooling in her belly soothed the ache. Her legs locked around him way tighter than before, helplessly clinging to the devil plundering her body.
She was surely going to die there—in his arms.
Burning and burning.
Turning into ashes.
"No, no, no, n-no…" she uttered mindlessly.
Wesker smiled against the heat of her skin, well aware of the pleasure overriding her morals.
He dipped his head and captured her traitorous lips in a searing kiss.
"No?" He asked her in a voice so low that it sounded almost genuine. Almost caring. Almost.
He caught her eyes. Her pleading glassy blue eyes. So confused. So vulnerable.
And he knew she was there—all of her, the real her.
He slowed his thrusts but increased the depth of each one. He watched her face. Contorting in rhythm with the intense sensations.
Exquisite.
He gave her a rather sharp thrust to hear her keening.
She didn't disappoint.
"Wesker—" she gasped out as she tried to make sense of what to do. Her fingernails were digging into his back, trying to hurt him. She couldn't exactly fight him off. Or wouldn't? He would know the drug had lost its effect if she did. She needed him to believe the drug was still in control of her. That he was still in control of her. But wasn't he still? Her nails dug deep into his back, breaking his skin, drawing his foul blood.
He let her.
"Do you want me to stop, hmm?" He suckled on one of her breasts. The sound alone made her whole body burn hotter. She tightened around him and he groaned at the feeling of her—so wet and constricting and just right. "Jill." He gritted his teeth, his pace picking up again.
Her teeth bit down on her tongue, preventing herself from begging him to stop.
She could do it. Endure everything. She had to.
Her lips crashed on his and she kissed him with all the desperation she could muster.
Making it look like she wanted it.
Making it look like it was still drugged Jill.
Was there even a difference?
"Please…", she whispered. Her fingertips traced the sharp cut of his jaw. Her lips molded over his. "Please don't stop..."
He welcomed her bittersweet kisses, watched as she came apart in his arms. So lovely. Her cunt so tight and hot that he could do nothing else but spill himself inside of her. Branding her on the inside with his release.
He heard a sob escaped her lips after their breathing had calmed down. Her knuckles curled into tight fists against his shoulders. She was shaking, clinging to him, waiting for him to release her.
To be done with her.
Waiting patiently.
On her own accord.
Wesker dropped her on her weakened legs, gave her a false sense of freedom for a few seconds. He watched her rest her back against the wall. Her whole body was trembling like a leaf from the ordeal. But her eyes were bright—burning with that self-righteousness he so despised. He allowed her to bask in the illusion of release for another moment.
Before he took it crudely away from her, roughly pushing her face first on the transparent glass separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom.
She was panting still as she tried to hold herself up against the slippery glass. Her legs were threatening to give out on each passing second.
Without the P30, she would tire out faster.
Without it, she wasn't Wesker's super soldier.
Without it, she was just Jill Valentine.
She felt him press himself against her from behind.
"Wesk—", a thoughtless complaint. Her right arm reached back to dissuade him. He only grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her close. She was exhausted, felt like they'd been at it for hours. He never used her this long before. It was always just one round—a nightly routine for him. Some deed to re-establish his claim on her.
His gaze seemed to set her skin aflame. She could feel it travel the length of her body. His right hand slithered to her front, slipping between her thighs, making her whimper. She was torn between closing and parting her legs for him. His fingers touched her oversensitive clit and her knees buckled at the rush of pleasure.
Too much. Too soon.
He opted for parting her lips down there. And she felt the liquid warmth of him streak down her thighs. It was thick and abundant. She wanted to reach down. To wash his seed off of her. To cleanse herself of this filth.
It wouldn't matter, she thought, as his hands pulled her hips towards his, he would just seed her again.
He dipped his fingers into her cunt, moving in and out for a good minute or two, before he replaced them with his leaking length. She swore he got thicker every time. It should terribly hurt by now. But all she could feel was the smooth thrusting of his length into her supple body. She was reduced to a moaning and screaming mess with each thrust.
Her eyes caught the image of herself and the tyrant fucking on the mirror across the room.
That was her.
All that wet pale blonde hair and teary light blue eyes was her.
And even with her in full control of her body, she couldn't do anything else but watch him fuck her.
She watched him take pleasure from her body like it his right. His hand slipped in the apex of her thighs again. Her lips parted for a wordless cry as he abused that all too sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers. His other hand occupied itself with one of her breasts, pinching and pulling on her swollen nipple.
It was a sort of sinister pleasure.
And with it clouding her mind, she thought of herself and him from a different time. From a seemingly different lifetime. She and her tight little black skirt bunched up around her waist. He and his signature black tactical vest and blue undershirt drenched in sweat and left unbuttoned. They were bent over his old wooden desk - breeding like animals. He was whispering dirty reprimands on her ear.
Does this look like a proper office attire to you, Miss Valentine? The distant past echoed within her.
"Jill…" The dreadful present jarred her back.
The voice was the same.
But it wasn't the Captain she once knew grunting in pleasure against her ear now. Her body acknowledged his need though - a traitor to her own mind.
His pace quickened and her small hands clutched on the arms wound tightly around her aching body.
Together they found release yet again.
And with that, her body finally gave out.
He held her weightless form up against him. Her soft whimpers spurred him on. But he held back, untangling himself from her spent body, pressing a kiss at the back of her head.
She was barely awake when he placed her in the tub filled with warm water.
The scent of freesia invaded her senses, before she succumbed to a restless sleep.
Gloved hands toyed with the clasp of a black case.
Snap. Open. Close. Snap.
Shaded eyes looked at a sleeping figure.
Contemplating.
Wesker opened the case. Counted the syringes lined neatly inside. Red orange liquid inside them—the color of his eyes. Hell in little tubes, just waiting to be unleashed.
P30.
The human body could only take a specific amount. Too much could cause a mental breakdown, reducing the subjects into nothing but mindless beasts in human form. And when the drug was metabolized from their bodies, they were left in a vegetative state, turned useless. But it was a flawless form of mind control. For a time. A rather quick time. No grotesque mutations unlike the plagas. Expensive to develop. Wasteful.
But Jill seemed to have adapted to it. She was otherworldly under its influence.
Elegant. Fast. Strong.
Godlike.
So much like him.
He closed the case. Snapped the clasp in place.
No one could be like him.
No one.
She couldn't stay in that "godly" state without the drug. But under it, she was also under his absolute control.
She played an interesting game tonight though.
Jill Valentine.
Always so... tricky.
Pretending to be under the influence of the P30.
She challenged him. Still. Always.
Wesker turned his eyes to her sleeping form again, only to find that she was now wide awake. The dim lighting of the private plane cast shadows on her face. It made her eyes almost appear colorless. Cold and calculating. He observed her expression. And she stared back at him, feigning serenity.
He wondered if there was an ache between her legs as she sat there demurely. Clothed in a soft blue off shoulder shirt dress. Her light blonde hair loose around her, still a little wet. Her lips a swollen pink from his kisses.
His fingers flicked the case in his hands open, testing her reaction.
He watched closely as she looked at what was in his hands. Her eyes flickering in recognition.
Don't make this easy, he thought amused.
She stood from her seat.
He reclined on his, made himself comfortable as she approached.
Jill placed a knee in between his legs, her dress hiked up her pale thighs almost innocently.
Interest now caught. The case was placed on the nearby table.
His hand wrapped tightly around one of her wrists, tugging her down to sit on his lap.
He felt her stiffen. Just for a split second.
Before she willed her body to relax against him.
He let her curl there.
A mischievous kitten.
Amusing him to no end.
How long can you play, Jill?
