Author's Notes: A oneshot for a dear reader, Roo-reads! Hope you enjoy~ :D
"You didn't turn into one of them.", the stranger said, sounding relieved.
Jake's eyes remained fixed on the burning corpse of his fellow hireling. The unfortunate man had suddenly went at him with a sharpened knife. He thought it was a friendly brawl at first. But the gross multiple eyes along the merc's face that had stared and not stared at him said otherwise. He had made an attempt to crack the hostile's spine in two with a well-placed kick, when a well-placed bullet ended its futile attempts on harming him.
The grating sound of rusty metal captured his attention.
He turned to the woman standing by an open waste dispenser. She was clothed in a light blue leather jacket and grey jeans. Her eyes were a set of fading blues - almost transparent, while her hair was a too pale blonde.
Stubborn snow flakes floated into the run down hideout. Gunshots and explosions continued to ring loud and true outside. The sun's rays cast shadows and light along her slender frame.
Frenzied running footsteps echoed on the concrete, putting him on alert.
He watched warily as she holstered the sable handgun that ended the life of his previous assailant. Her bangs fell softly to the side as she inclined her head towards the chute.
"After you, Jake."
"Right." Did he give her his name?
He moved towards the shaft but stopped to have a good look at her one more time. "Who are you again?" Her expression was serene. Her stance all too collected. There was mystery around her, piquing his interest.
A group of mercenaries burst into the room.
"Go down and I'll tell you."
Her name was Jill Valentine, a B.S.A.A. special operations agent. An outbreak was currently in the works. His group had been issued a deadly mutagen not an 'energy booster'. Apparently, it was a new virus wreaking havoc on Edonia—fast-acting and deadlier, concocted by bioterrorists collectively called as Neo-Umbrella.
The world was that shitty he supposed. But all the chaos had given him a hard to pass up opportunity.
"Relay to B.S.A.A.'s top dogs that I'm taking two hundred thousand dollars upfront. And another two hundred once this mess is taken care of." They were heading for the exit offered by the sewer's passages.
"The discussion of your appropriate compensation would have to wait."
Her tone seemed nonnegotiable. He wondered what she would do if he just run off.
Probably shoot him on the leg... A shot to break his kneecap.
No bullshit. All business.
"Besides, it's not your 'prowess' in fighting we need..." The gunfire was louder now and closer.
"It's your blood."
They needed his blood? They needed his blood to create a vaccine for the new big bad virus? They needed his blood to save the world?!
Well they were about to get all five liters of it spilled on the dirty snow-stained ground once that gunship's rain of bullets cut him down in half.
"You said you are on their side!"
"It's not like they're going to see my ID down here!" They both took shelter in a shack, not like it could provide ample protection. They would have to keep moving. "It's your clothes! You're dressed like those mercenaries that have turned to J'avo!"
They began to run again. And it seemed like there would be a lot more running to be done ahead of them.
At least she was a good shot.
She was more than good. None of the thirteen ACP rounds her handgun housed went to waste. She moved like a veteran. It was hard to tell her age. She was so agile, almost like a feline, almost out of this world... almost out of his league.
What?
"What are you doing?!" Her touch and her breath was too warm for the pallid color of her skin. She had grabbed him by the back of his jacket and forced him down on the ground as three of those mutated freaks fired at them with fucking assault riffles.
"Try to be at least more attentive." He watched her fingers drop and ease a fresh clip into her weapon. She was just so smooth with everything she did... like water. "We have to get you out of here in one piece." There was an edge of frustration in her voice.
And he wished he could stop fixating on every damn detail about her... like that trail of sweat starting at her fine hairline... trickling all the way down to the collar of her off-white turtle neck.
"Reload." She looked at him with saintly patience and impatience at the same time.
What was wrong with him?
Spacing out like that?
His tongue moved around in his mouth as he mauled over something snide to say. But he only came up empty-handed as he replenished the bullets of his nine-oh-nine.
What was wrong with this woman?
Setting him off like that?
"Several B.S.A.A. special operation units are stationed at the center of the city proper...", she started, wiping sweat off of her face with the back of her hand. "We can board a helicopter there that can take us out of here." The plan sounded doable enough with them sitting out like ducks just a few blocks off of the city hall. It was definitely doable if there wasn't a tank set up by his employers at the main bridge, which would have annihilated her people by now.
"I don't think your troops will be cutting through that tank." For a second, concern flickered in those blue-grey eyes. She spared a long moment intently looking at the burning town to their far-off right.
"We're more resilient than what you may think, Jake. Besides..." She turned to him with a small smile gracing her face. It made his heart race. "Alpha team is built like a tank. More so their captain." The fondness in her tone almost made him want to hear her talk about him with that voice of hers too.
And he had only met her an hour or so ago.
A sniper rifle had been stolen from one of their adversaries. Ammunition was found along the way. She picked out the J'avos manning the mounted automatic cannons one by one. It didn't take long for someone else to take up the vacated vantage points. And it didn't take long for her to include them in the rising body count.
Her skills were just jaw-dropping.
He almost felt like a cub following her around, uncertain to leave the safety of her side but eager to impress her all the same.
"You holding up?" She was panting... At least she was panting from the exertion earned from all those stunts. He was so close on concluding that she was not human... That she was enhanced in some way.
A gurgling scream echoed in the tunnel. The kind that said to run than to investigate. So they did just that, running towards the opposite direction of the sound. A squad of J'avo was gaining on them but that fact wasn't troubling at all...
The troubling one was Frankenstein's monster lumbering behind them, its mechanical claws decorated with fresh blood and sinew. It looked thirsty to puncture more flesh.
"What the hell is that thing?!" He didn't sign up for that, but if it was worth the money then so be it. A B.O.W. of that size would surely fetch a good price.
"It's an intelligent form of bioweapon. It's tracking you... This certainly complicates things for us. I've encountered something of the sort back in 1998... We'll have to get rid of it." The confidence in her voice was laudable.
They ducked behind a few bent metal beams. Then he fired a bullet into a nearby gas tank. The explosion that followed surely got his blood pumping with adrenaline. He, after all, was capable of doing impressive stunts as well.
He turned to his 'guardian' to see her reaction.
"That won't be enough." She said in a voice so breathy and low, his mind entertained other things that were inappropriate for the given situation.
The disfigured Hulk rose out of the flames, made a show of showering himself with the foul blood of a captured mercenary. It let out an angry and determined growl.
That was their cue to run again.
The warehouse had collapsed and buried that monstrous mutation.
She was injured.
She had pushed him out of the way when the B.O.W. was about to crush him with its nasty looking right hand. All he could do was wince when a needle-like assortment embedded itself into her left side.
She would bleed out...
Definitely bleed out from that kind of wound...
Just when the city proper was right at their fingertips.
He doubted her comrades would feel thrilled to take him in with her cold corpse in his arms.
"Are you alright?" she asked him, while she was the one doubled over in evident pain. Her hands were clutched on her side. He could make out crimson color spilling out of the crevices between her fingers.
"Let me see it." He had no medical expertise. But he could at least try. She had been nothing but accommodating and protective. It was her mission but still...
"I'll be fine..." Her breathing was labored. How deep was that wound? It could only be fatal given the skin crawling equipment that had caused it. "Just... give me a minute." She held up a bloodstained palm to keep him at arm's length.
He was never to pry. But her hand was shoved out of his way anyway. The jacket's soft leather was torn along with the thick cotton sweater underneath it.
The laceration was ghastly... but somehow gradually healing.
"What..." He had been right. She was not entirely human, clearly enhanced with other abilities.
There was shame in her features as she weakly pushed him away. That was what he get for being nosy.
"Maybe they need your blood... not mine."
"I've been in the B.S.A.A.'s labs for three years... We won't be here if there's a cure in me." Her clothes were readjusted as she straightened back to her full height. She was pretty tall, standing just half a foot shorter than him.
"Shall we go? The sooner we're out, the sooner you get your dollars."
Her pace increased at the sight of the armed counter-bioterrorist troops.
The bunch didn't seem to have the need to see her badge or anything. They easily recognized her.
"Captain! It's Jill!" One of the boys announced, excitement written on his face. He looked like an amateur... somewhat soft? And kind-hearted. He would die in a place like this.
The 'captain' stepped forward. Hardened features and battle molded stance. But at the sight of her, his eyes undeniably softened. They seemed unaware of how they gravitated towards one another. Judging by their hurried steps, there was an urgency to get close... but they stopped to maintain some vague sense of decent distance—professionalism.
"I thought the United States government will handle this?" the captain said, voice gruff, obviously displeased by the current chain of events. "Agent Kennedy was supposed to..." She placed a delicate hand on his chest, halting his next words with just a stern look.
There was something between them.
And Jake didn't like the unnamed something bothering him at the thought.
"The objective's almost done, Chris. And it's about time I got back in the field." She looked reassuring enough, but the blood on her clothes didn't get to escape the captain's concerned gaze.
"You're hurt.", he said. And the air of professionalism was dropped along with the assault rifle in his grasp. The jacket was almost torn off of her and Jake had half the mind to shove the man a few good feet away.
"I'm fine. I'm fine! I'm fine, Chris." Her hands caught his seeking ones.
Jake looked away and noticed the subordinates had done the same, except for that one who was glaring and frowning at him for some reason. He returned the warm gesture as he leaned on some vehicle's broken shell.
Everything was about to end with rainbows it seemed... until a gigantic B.O.W. was dropped on them.
Make that two.
The stealth helicopter was too spacious for only two passengers.
Captain Redfield had looked like he wanted to hitch a ride with them while she, on the other hand, had looked like she wanted to stay and fight alongside him.
Their parting looks almost disgusted him.
Almost.
"I guess the government will take you in as well. The creation of a vaccine for the C-virus is imperative. If more hands... more labs are on it - the better." She was rummaging through a military-issued bag. From his peripheral, he saw her pull something dark out of it.
Then she was just shrugging out of the jacket and slipping off the sweater.
He averted his gaze, just in time to commit the three little fish hooks at the back of her black bra into memory.
Her skin looked soft and almost untouched.
What the hell?
His thoughts were embarassing him big time.
"You sure you haven't met Chris before? Anywhere? B.S.A.A.'s operations often send him to different parts of the world." There was a rustling of clothing.
The captain had stared at him with... recognition of some sort... There was something definitely off about him.
"If it isn't his first time in Edonia... Then yeah, maybe we passed by each other or some—" He turned back to her, thinking she had changed into a fresh set of clothes, only to be greeted by a pair of perfectly shaped breasts encased in some unnecessary push-up cups.
His mouth went dry then watered in the next breath he took.
She was standing there, stretching a long sleeved shirt in her hands, preparing to put it on maybe... checking for its size... contemplating if it would fit around her tits.
"You probably just look like someone he knows..." He could look away. That was the right thing to do. But if she was comfortable then he could be too.
She was unblemished.
Except for the scars on her chest.
The shirt was slid on before his blatant staring could be noticed.
He usually kept to himself... always been solitary... But it wasn't like they would meet again after this little journey.
"So... How long have you been with the B.S.A.A.?" The shirt was too big for her. It probably belonged to that Chris.
"From the beginning." That seemed to be a very long time. He wasn't even a teen yet when the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance made their presence known to the world.
"How old are you?" Oops. Surely, he could have phrased it in a better way. Weren't women sensitive to such questions? It wasn't like he could take it back so he opted for keeping a straight face.
She was then laughing...
Seating herself across from him.
Her laughter sounded like glasses shattering...
Seeping into his very being.
The B.O.W. dangerously obsessed with him had survived and ruined everything. They were now stranded in a snowstorm, holed up like rabbits in some crumbling cabin.
It was surely a sort of cliché.
What else could it be?
He was attracted to some woman who had just invaded his life in no less than a day.
They had run together for their lives. Fought while looking out for each other's backs. Saw each other bleed...
He couldn't heal just like her.
And even though his wound could be classified as non-life threatening, it still hurt like hell. Thank God the helicopter's blade just nicked him or else he would have been in absolute hell at the moment.
Her oversized shirt had enough excess fabric to be used as some makeshift bandage. A fire had been started but her touch made him shiver with every minute shift.
"Your boyfriend's most likely looking for you by now."
"I hope so." He winced when the dressing was tightened a bit too much and then she was unraveling the little knot she did so it could be redone. "And Chris is not my boyfriend." He was glad she was too focused on the task at hand to actually see his face, lighting up with misplaced hope.
"He's my husband."
And that was what one get with hoping.
He was too obvious.
Romance had never been his forte, not like it ever came his way. Women were seen as a fleeting enjoyment in his line of work. Some mercenaries paid for their company. Some shed blood for their love. He had been with a few... for a night or two, purely physical and hardly memorable.
And she was laughing at him again.
It turned out Chris was not really her husband. She was only messing with him. No elaboration on the nature of their relationship was given. She said that it was cute that he had a crush on her. The assumption had been made when he asked for her age.
He was speechless.
"You're really too young for me though.", she said, amused smile never leaving her face. "Almost two decades apart. I'm unfortunately nearing my forties." She was so open about it, clearly not bothered by the fact that she was 'single' at forty.
"You don't look like it." Great. And he was flattering her even more, when he could be denying the existence of his feelings of admiration.
But she didn't look flattered.
A saddened expression had settled on her features as her gloved fingertips touched her cheek, caressing the tight skin there. Her eyes looked more glassy and far away... like she was remembering... seeing a memory and feeling its reality.
"That's another thing he took from me then."
Unexplainable guilt sat in his gut. She had gone silent as she sat so still infront of him. The flames enveloped her frame in a warm yellow glow. Her face like a picture, guarded and arranged.
"How did you become a mercenary?", she asked, trying to break the awkwardness.
"Money is easy in this way of life." A decent job would have failed to provide. An honorable life would have not changed a damn thing.
His mother would have still died.
There was a thoughtful expression on her face now, like she was imagining him in a different life... a different setting, like she possess the ability to bring about change in his fate... in him as a whole.
"Killing can't be your only talent, Jake Muller."
The roaring sound of snow mobiles reached their ears. He hated to put a halt in their little heart-to-heart.
But a group of J'avo was approaching.
He thought that with his blood being miraculous and all, it entailed that God was looking down somewhere, watching him, and guiding him in his endeavor...
Not sending an avalanche his way.
How would he fucking save the world when the world was against him?!
His fingers were cramping on the hand grips, tightening more as snow and wind chased them without mercy. His eyes fell on the whipping strands of her light blonde hair. The harsh winds had unbound it from its tie. Now she was like a beacon amidst the darkness.
And she was on his side...
The storm seemed to have passed.
And the freezing caverns had an opening where in the starry night sky could blink upon the earth.
They were transfixed by their shine. The icicles around them shimmered with their own luster.
She somehow fitted in amongst the crystals and the chill and the wonder. He shuddered in the cold while she seemed to bask in it.
All the while her presence set him alight on the inside.
She was ice and fire combined.
A storm that could destroy him.
The B.O.W. dangerously obsessed with him could only be based on fucking cats.
How else could it keep coming back to life?
She emptied a clip in its head for good measure. He watched as she inspected the corpse pinned by the bloody drill. She was reloading her gun, looking unsatisfied with their work... even when the monster remained unresponsive— because it was dead.
Finally.
Hopefully.
"We can try and set it on fire at the very least.", she breathed out, turning to him expectantly. "Look for supplies. Or do you still have some of those remote-controlled bombs?" Was it wrong to feel so impressed of a woman talking about body disposal in the most nonchalant way? It was her years of experience and air of superiority that seemed to... attract him.
He was nuts.
And it was just not possible.
Not gonna happen.
No way.
Nope.
She blinked, waiting for him to give a response.
How long was he gaping at her like a fish?
He cleared his throat, pretended to cough because of the cold.
"The bombs were all used up. I would like to watch the big guy burn up in nice flames. Watch him get all black and really charred. But I don't see any gas..." He made a show of looking around him, exaggerating his movements. "Anywhere. And I think it will be best if we just beat it."
She shrugged, agreeing with him.
And he regretted it a minute later.
The lady— the bitch in the blue dress had them all playing right into her hands.
He had no qualms on feeding that pretty china doll face his fucking fist. She would fucking pay for this... as soon as he got out of the boulder-like weight grounding him.
She was saying things... a lot of things. Maybe she was just that fond of her voice. A bit too much, he supposed, because he was sure she had no captive audience.
His eyes were on her... and her alone, trying to see if she was breathing. His ears were on her... and her alone, trying to hear if her heart was beating. His hand was unconsciously reaching for her...
If he had listened and fried that monstrosity into a crisp, then they would have been done with these unpleasant surprises.
"Wesker Junior..." The bitch almost purred at him. He was no junior. Who was she really when she wasn't distributing fake energy supplements? The leader of Neo-Umbrella?
It was almost laughable. She looked too dainty to be an evil mastermind. But it would be stupid to judge a book by its cover.
"Albert Wesker was a collosal imbecile. A fool who tried to destroy the world." She and this Wesker must have been buddies then— idiots trying to end the human race.
"Are you making a point anytime soon? My backbone's about to break." His gun was too far out of his grasp and she was not moving still.
"He was also your father."
"What?!" Surely he didn't catch that right. He had been pretty preoccupied.
But the drug lady looked pleased with his reaction.
"That makes you heir to a very special blood type." A gesture had been made to knock him out.
Why didn't his father just made him heir to an indecent amount of amassed wealth and power?
He wouldn't be toyed around like this then.
Albert Wesker was an infamous bioterrorist. He was taken down in Africa. His plan to infect the whole world had been successfully thwarted by the B.S.A.A. The information he had gathered in his stark white prison was enough... and at the same time not enough...
He couldn't help it but wonder if she knew the truth about his lineage all long.
And if she somehow hated that fact.
Roughly half a year had passed since he last saw her. He was surprised and relieved to have learned of her survival. It was more probable that she had been 'taken care of' back in Edonia... But he still held on to hope that she continued to live. Neo-Umbrella seemed to be picky with their test subjects. But she was special enough he guessed... with her ability to heal at that rate.
The excessively thin 'hospital gown' left little to nothing for his imagination. She looked more done with the place and their captivity than him as the line of lockers were hastily inspected.
"Clothes and gear... There's some luck for us still it seems." Her tone was trying too hard to be light. And he guessed the boiling questions inside of him were best saved for later.
"You know anything about an Albert Wesker?" But he was never known to be patient. She stiffened for a second before continuing to dress. Her flawless back turned to him as his eyes trailed the length of her skin.
"We have to get out of here as soon as possible." All clothing available were in black, so suitable for his sour mood. "If we can get to a communication device then I can contact the B.S.A.A. headquarters for backup."
She avoided his query so he might as well do the same.
"They talked about him a lot. Apparently he had antibodies that could fight off any virus. He abused his gift. Took it for granted. Ended up turning himself into some kind of monster." He turned to see her face. She was as placid as an undiscovered lake, almost looking like she was tuning him out.
"I thought my dad was just a deadbeat who skipped out on us. But it couldn't have been that simple for me I guess. He was actually a freaking nut job who almost destroyed the world!" His chest felt like it was filled with stones, wearing his body down, grinding his mind out.
"Your father's actions have nothing to do with you." So diplomatic. He guessed diplomacy didn't work on apprehending his father, so they had nuked him or something instead.
"His blood does! It's the reason why we're here! They said my blood can be used to enhance the C-virus! Make it worse!" His voice was getting louder by the second. There was just this turmoil inside of him. And he couldn't control it.
The lockers didn't stand a chance to the rage brewing within him. His fist had slammed against the metal at the side of her head before he could think through of his actions.
"You think crazy doesn't run in the family, Agent Valentine?", he growled at her. "That nothing of who my father was didn't somehow get passed down on me?!" He saw her flinch, take a deep breath, and steel herself.
"That's all up to you, Jake Muller. If you want to be like your father or not." She shoved him out of her personal space. "You can prove to the world that you're not like him and will never be like him, instead of blaming the consequences of your own actions to a dead man whom you never knew."
Her voice had never sounded so cold.
And her gaze was simply glacial.
They ran to Captain Redfield's Alpha team again. It couldn't get any less than fated.
Warring emotions seemed to plague the older man's mind when he saw her. There was confusion... recognition... more confusion and then sudden guilt on his face.
"Chris, are you alright?!" She held him when the man cried out in sharp pain. He clutched his head as he almost keeled over.
It was his second-in-command who stepped in to give a reason for the situation.
The captain suffered through some post-traumatic amnesia after his team had been wiped out in Edonia... Her disappearance had been the nail to the coffin.
That explained why his squad looked different. The newbie certainly had perished. The right hand man had persevered—existing there and still frowning and glaring at him.
He almost felt responsible when affliction adorned her face when they had to press on... and she had to leave her Chris.
They had been able to get in touch with the B.S.A.A.'s director. She was then instructed to head to the given rendezvous point while avoiding contact with anyone.
And now she was chatting up with two individuals who had burst out of nowhere, instead of getting out of that hellish place as directed. The red-haired woman was eyeing him with caution. Her overall look reminded him of someone he couldn't quite put a name on. The funny-haired guy, on the other hand, had taken another step closer to Agent Valentine, interrogating her about Neo-Umbrella and some evil blockhead named Simon or Simmons. He was clearly riled up, said some girl—his daughter?— had been kidnapped.
She had already told them everything she knew. But the incessant questioning continued, compelling Jake to step in between them.
"You are meant to avoid contact with anyone. Chris and his boys were a different matter. But them—" A hand was placed on his chest, soft and firm at the same time, he took a step back without being pushed or anything else.
"They're not just anyone too, Jake. Claire is Chris's younger sister. And Leon had been a part of us since Raccoon."
They were all survivors of Raccoon City?
His father had been—
Reflexes suddenly kicked in and only a split second had been given before he could pull her out of the way of an incoming... plane's turbine engine.
The fuck?!
The B.O.W. dangerously obsessed with him had returned with a vengeance.
They were back in the bitch in blue's vile clutches.
Albert Wesker's legacy had to be preserved somehow and further cultivated.
And that legacy included her.
Jill Valentine was a super solider in perfection.
She was his father's masterpiece.
"I can see your father in you."
"Chris, this isn't—"
"Hold on a sec. So you knew him?" Her face said how against she was of the current direction the chanced meeting was heading.
"Yeah. I did." Her body slid in front of Chris, most likely trying to talk him out of what he was trying to do with just her piercing blue eyes. "And I'm the one who killed him." The older man trudged on and before Jake knew it, his hand had closed around his gun's grip. An urge that could only be attributed to him being his son stretched his arm out to aim a deadly shot.
"It was you?" She turned to face him, took a few steps forward, and enclosed the barrel of the gun with her fingers. The whiteness of her complexion stood out against the blackness of the weapon.
He almost pressed the trigger when she yanked it down to level with her chest.
"That's right. It was him. And I won't let you do this." Stern and final. He was agitated by her inexplicable power over him.
"Jill." Chris grabbed her by the elbow, intending to pull her out of the line of fire. But she stood her ground—unmovable and almost untouchable.
"Tell me. Were you just... following orders or was it personal?" Jake would set aside the detailed discussion once the world was saved... for her. But this he needed to know now.
He watched Chris Redfield's gaze fell on her still form. The look was filled with regret.
"Both."
It had been personal.
The last showdown had been long and drawn. There was no doubt that abomination couldn't return with the hell fire that had engulfed it.
They were squatting in some hotel just outside of Lanshiang, waiting for further directives.
She settled on pacing around the room, burning a hole into the carpet, worrying the threads of the curtains. The flashing lights of the buildings' signs outside played along her skin.
He had no appetite to eat. The meal provided remained unappealing.
Tension was riding his spine.
So he hid himself in the shower.
All the television channels were covering the outbreak in China. He was reaching for one of the DVD cases when the sound of the bathroom's door slamming bounced out from the bedroom.
He checked on her and found her sprawled on the sofa bed. Her eyes were fixed on the scenery outside the window. A cold can of coffee was being nursed by her hands. Blaring sirens reverberated, reminding him of the ongoing chaos outside.
His attention was seized by the dripping water on the tips of her hair. Nothing but a loose button up shirt, light and flimsy, covered the curves of her body.
She looked at him.
And the rest of the world faded into nothing.
He towered over her, breathing under control while his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He reached for the arm rest, body hovering closer to her folded form. Her eyes watched him, a blue stare that didn't falter, almost challenging. What could they see, he wondered. His intention? His want?
Outside, a neon sign brightly flickered, the static reached his ears as he focused on her parted lips stained with caffeine.
Would she taste bitter, simply electrifying? When did he leaned so close... His hand was no longer on the armrest, but on the cotton of her night shirt.
How do you kiss a woman like her, he wondered.
His mouth sought hers, finding a clumsy fit. Teeth catching the pout of her bottom lip.
She tasted like coffee alright—addicting.
He expected rejection.
But she remained receptive of his exploration.
Her breasts were heavy and full in his hands. And as he suckled on her with such greed, he wondered if they had been filled with milk before... His palm skimmed down the dip of her abdomen... so toned and lithe. Her breath hitched when the tips of his fingers brushed the seam of her panties.
She pushed him down the bed. His body went along with her whims. She clambered on top of him. The thin white shirt still held by a few buttons did nothing to conceal her nudity.
He was pulsating in his pants... so strongly he almost couldn't breathe.
Her nails dragged on his exposed skin, scratching along the hard planes and tracing along the raised scars. He was tainted by poverty and marked by war, so imperfect compared to the woman slowly undoing his zipper. Her perfection lasted even with that flaw on her chest. It was a part of her somehow... and somehow he was wired to find every inch of her captivating.
The neon lights painted her in alluring shades of red, orange, and yellow as she reached into his pants.
His hips lifted off of the mattress, eager to press his need against her capable hands.
Her searing warmth and softness almost made him come. Each stroke made him leak. Each twist made him throb. Her hands stopped working him once they were soaked with precum.
She stood to her full height on the rumpled sheets, and he watched as her drenched panties slid down her legs. His hands closed around her ankles as her fingers undid the remaining buttons on her shirt. His digits ran along her calves... up to the back of her knees where she seemed so sensitive... ticklish.
Her body crumbled and he caught her. Their skin melting in a hot mix of sweat and want.
He urged her close... closer to his parched mouth. Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she spread her thighs wider right before his face. He could taste her in the charged air around them. Wasting no more time, he leaned in to finally quench that thirst. His lips closing around her swollen clit made her arch and throw her head back. Her moans made him pulse and drip. Her essence poured into his mouth...
He could feast on her for the rest of his days.
Skin on skin— she was rubbing against him... Movements so sure, so precise... And then his cock was sliding inside and the entirety of him was shuddering outside.
He pulled her down on him, intending to keep her from moving so soon.
The pressure was too much... too hot... too wet. He felt like her heat alone would break him.
Her palms planted on his chest, nails burrowing mercilessly into his flesh, as she pushed herself up.
Lips parted in soft pants. Eyes glazed with blazing lust.
Her body undulated on top of him.
Obscene and overwhelming.
His release left him powerless.
"That was pretty fast." There was playful laughter in her tone.
He formed a fist around his flaccid length, stroking himself back to hardness. It was nearly painful, leaving him short of breath. But he wouldn't wait longer and he wouldn't let her dissatisfaction linger.
His long fingers tried to coax a climax out of her but she pulled away from him, teasing and luring.
He was led to the edge of the bed... where she took him again into her body. Her back bowed against him, silhouette so sinful—it burned in his mind.
The angle struck her in the right spot and she cried out, shivering against his chest, tightening even more, and robbing him the rest of his coherence.
His thrusts were hardly controlled as he rained fevered kisses along her skin.
He needed to feel her come around him...
He had to consume her with his need.
She was flat on her back now, slim legs splayed on his arms, as he rutted into her once more.
"Jake." She gasped his name out, prompting him to pound into her so deep he could feel her tremble.
The neon signs were like flames dancing along the paleness of her image.
He wouldn't last.
She was making him come so fast.
His seed spilled inside of her for the third time and he fell boneless in the cradle of her warmth.
Her fingertips were mere whispers on the skin of his hip—forcing his blood to run faster, rekindling want into his tired body.
She was a fire starter.
"Chris and I were in the same squad as your father. He was our captain."
He didn't ask. All he wanted to do was sleep... for a really long while.
"It turned out he was working for Umbrella, chose us as his guinea pigs. We thought he died in the mansion at the Arklay mountains. It turned out he survived and so it was left to us to hunt him down, bring him to justice, give peace to our fallen comrades... to ourselves. We found him again.", she paused to swallow. "And sometimes... heroes just don't win."
He searched for her in the dark room. She was by the window again, gazing out at the scenery outside her eyes weren't really seeing. The shirt was on again, wrinkled and notably missing buttons. Her hair now dry and in a tangled mess. Her skin with hints of little bites and bruises. She was scratching against the scars on her chest.
He almost regretted touching her.
Almost.
"Did he touch you?" The question snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned to him, looked at him with eyes so clear yet so shrouded. There was an unease in her that she was desperately trying to hide.
"I don't remember. The drug was potent. It addled my mind and distorted many memories."
She was good at lying.
And he was glad his father died.
He was... a stranger lurking in the scenes unfolding before him.
The hero had returned, alone and broken.
His sister soon joined him along with the other old-timer. Someone new was with them, a girl with short blonde hair and blue eyes brimming with innocence. The trio created a picture that was more than familial.
His interest with them unhinged the moment she stepped into the room.
The captain rushed and crushed her in his embrace. The bulk of him shuddered against her small frame.
They were a pair with unseen bonds so tangible he had to walk away.
Romance had never been his forte, not like it ever came his way. Women were seen as a fleeting enjoyment in his line of work. And a woman like her... he was afraid couldn't be kept.
Fire couldn't be caged.
His father had already tried and failed.
He was better off scorched than reduced to ashes.
Author's Notes: I really wish I could have made it longer and more fleshed out. But certain ideas can only fuel the imagination for so long haha! Maybe someday I can write a multichapter fic with Jake and Jill, something that can explore them better. For now, I hope this oneshot is enjoyable enough :D
Thank you for reading! Reviews are always welcome~