Work Header

I'll Drown When I See You

Work Text:

Finding herself homeless and directionless after Raccoon City’s destruction, Jill kept clinging to the only real leads she had: Chris was somewhere in Europe, and Barry was helping from the background, prioritizing the safety of his family. She’d be meeting them soon. But she was tired and hurt. There was not a part of her that didn’t ache, mentally or physically, and for now she needed a place to rest.

Checking in at a hotel proved itself to be a difficult task. For all she’d been through, all the tragedy she had endured, Jill Valentine couldn’t stand the glare and the whispering about her reasons and the state of her body; Why does she have so many bruises? Why is she limping? Is she on the run from something? Is it even safe to be here? Did she come from Raccoon City?

Those questions lingered on the eyes of anyone who even glimpsed at her. Sure, the blood and dirt were gone and the clothes were new (she’d made good on the promise of burning the old ones), but the situation remained the same. She had just escaped from a city that had been wiped out from existence and her own figure was a walking reminder of that.

Then Carlos; sweet, compassionate Carlos, all battered and bruised too, offered shelter. Asked Jill to stay with him in this small rented cabin he’d found.

And now here they are.

She’s not allowed to worry about anything else besides her own healing, that’s the deal. When the topic of buying new clothes and some other necessesities comes up, Jill’s adamant that she’ll buy them herself with whatever money she still has stored somewhere but Carlos stands his ground. She’s his guest, after all. And he’s taking the couch, no problem, she gets the bed. She needs it more.

When she tries to reason with him that she doesn’t mind the couch, it falls on deaf ears.

“Don’t worry, Supercop,” he says. “Just take it easy.”

And she does. Or at least tries to. The second her head hits the pillow, she can’t close her eyes. Whenever she does, that thing shows up, or the corpse of another teammate. Joseph always makes a guest appearence in her dreams. The first real death she’d witnessed at the start of this entire nightmare. He always stands there, half-eaten, limbs missing, speaking through a hole in his face, asking her not to leave him there. It’s cold. It’s cold and he’s alone. And she wants to scream, to tell him she did try to save him, she tried to save everyone, she really did.

She always wakes up before she can hear an answer and spends the rest of the day haunted and frustrated.

Which is why she’s more than confused when she sits up on the bed, sweaty amd startled, looks out the window and finds out it’s night time. A glance on the clock tells her it’s 22:00 PM.

She doesn’t feel rested at all.

Spotting a bag near the end of the bed, she leans over and brings it to her lap, looks inside to find some toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap and a body moisturiser. A couple of other bags are neatly placed on the floor, next to the bed. Inside them, she finds tank tops and t-shirts, two pairs of sweatpants, shorts and brand new underwear. It makes her smile, her first moment of true relief afer all that hell. But the thought of Carlos trying to guess and pick which kind of underwear she’d like is almost too cute.

On the nightstand there’s a water bottle that she opens and drinks in small sips even though what she wants is to drink it all in one go to quench her thrist. When she’s done, her lips feel softer, something she appreciates immensily. Ignoring the aching muscles, she picks some of her new clothes (a pair of sweatpants, the tank top and her brand new cotton panties), stands up on unsteady feet, takes a few steps foward and realizes she needs to brace herself against the wall to get some support.

Heading to the bathroom, she refuses to look at herself in the mirror while setting the clothes she’s going to wear on top of the sink. Undressing, she holds herself when a chill runs down her spine. It’s fine. A false pretense, perhaps, but it’s fine, it’s a worthy delusion. Let her drown in it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.

Starting the shower, she rests against the tile wall as she waits for the water to get warm. The cold tile against her skin makes her gasp in surprise. She stretches a hand out to check the water’s temperature and then steps right in.

She can barely move her arms without feeling them burn, but she scrubs her body and washes her hair until her skin is red and her scalp hurts. Something needs to be done, something needs to happen, but her chest feels broken and she’s got no home, no plan, no instructions to follow now. Only ghosts that haunt her at every corner.

Calling her out.

Daring her to go on living while they remain dead and frozen in time, wiped out from existence as if they never even mattered in the first place.

As the water runs down her body, she realizes the extent of her injuries. Her right shoulder is bruised, left arm stinging as the soap clings to that wound, her thighs are purple and yellow on different places, and if she squints she can almost pretend they’re something pretty and delicate, like little glaxies on her skin.

There’s a cut and a bruise just above her hip that probably need more attention than she’s currently showing.

She stands under the showerhead for a while, letting the hot water hit the back of her neck, easing her strain. The urge to cry is strong, eyes already rimmed with tears, but she’s way too stubborn to let them fall. Not the smartest choice considering all the words she refuses to say out loud are choking her, chest tight with agony as she swallows back a sob.

She’d give anything to disappear right now.

Taking a deep breath, she finds the courage to cut off the water and step out of the shower. She dries herself with a towel, biting her bottom lip to keep the discomfort that raising her arms brings, and puts on her new clothes, feeling at least a little bit refreshed. She brushes her teeth with her brand new toothbrush and when she’s done, she stares at object for a moment.

He’s thought of everything.

Back into the bedroom, she can hear him pacing around the main room, and she  tries to prepare herself to go meet him. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous or why her heart is beating a little faster and she refuses to think too much on it.

But that’s Day 1.

Day 2 is quiet.

She’s siting on a worn out couch, body finally giving in to all the injuries it sustainted just a few days ago and it’s hard to move. Her arms feel like they’re about to fall off and she’s sore all over. Some wounds are still tender, and speech doesn’t come easily without the presence of a headache.

Carlos goes out again, brings her painkillers, helps her chase them down with a glass of water. She smiles at him because she can see how worried he is, can even guess what he’s thinking.

Maybe the vaccine didn’t work.

“Do you wanna watch TV?” he asks, voice giving him away. “The reception is, uh, pretty bad but there’s gotta be something good to watch.”

She shakes her head no, still eyeying him like a hawk, and he moves back to sit next to her. “You hungry then?”

“Not at all,” she manages to say.

“You sure? I don’t mean to brag but I’m a great cook.”

“You are?”

“Best one around.”

“Hit the jackpot then.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in and when they do, Carlos gives a boyish smile and says, “That’s my line.”

She tries to laugh and move but that ache pulls at her strings once again, making her flinch. He draws her closer to him, and she lets him.

They fall into a  routine by day 4.

Carlos cooks for them and does some errands and no matter how much Jill protests, she’s told she needs to stay still and heal. She does point out how flawed that train of thought it considering he went through hell too but he always ends up making an excuse.

To say that her heart is free from all that agony from before would be a lie but by now the only thing that truly bothers her-physically- is her left arm. It aches from time to time, a jolt of pain that stings and keeps her awake at night, completely alert, a reminder of what could have been.

She looks at the wound that monster left her, a little gift, exames it again and again, and it’s closed and healing but the pain is still there and Jill knows, she knows that it will never go away.

Carlos comes back that day with some new blankets (the ones at the cabin are simply awful and prickly) and some pepperoni pizza.

This sort of domestic bliss, where they function on pretending the outside world doesn’t exist and they won’t have to figure out what to do about all they’ve been through carries on through day 5 to 6.

On day 7, Jill gets out of the shower, puts on a t-shirt (blue, as Carlos assumed that’s her favorite color), a pair of panties and some shorts and heads to the kitchen to help with dinner.

He smiles when he sees her, a beer in hand, and jokes he’s got a great taste for clothes.

Perhaps it’s the sense of peace that has fallen over them, even if temporary, or maybe it’s just the carefree way he makes her feel, but Jill sticks her tongue out, steals his beer, takes a sip and smirks at him.

She expects some teasing, some kind of silly payback. Instead, he steps closer, leans in and kisses her. Just like that; no warning, no nothing, as if the two of them have been doing this forever, like it’s a habit they’ll never grow out of. And she responds eagerly, kissing back, arms going around his neck when he deepens the kiss, his tongue on hers, hands firmly placed on her hips, holding her steady, afraid she might slip away.

The tenderness is almost alarming. He’s taking his time, enjoying every sensation and she can’t help but press against him. He gets the hint, smiling in the middle of the kiss, sliding his hands down her body, grabbing her ass and squeezing, drawing a moan out of her. She steps back to catch her breath, already missing him. He brings a hand up to cup her face, thumb swiping across her bottom lip as he rests his forehead on hers, staring right into her bright blue eyes.

There’s another kiss before he drags his mouth away to focus on her neck, gently biting and sucking, leaving his mark on her soft flesh. She gives in to him so easily, mind racing with need. Reaching down she tries to unbuckle his belt but the action proves to be a bit too much for her sore shoulder and she ends up hissing in pain, wincing as the burning sensation flares up then goes all the way down to her hand. The wound on her left arm stings like crazy, and she tries not to think too much about it, despite the ache.

There’s no running from Carlos’ sweetness, though, and he stops everything he’s doing, stepping back to look at her. She can feel a slight blush sweeping across her face and she hates it.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says.

The last thing she wants is to ruin the mood, especially when he’s got her all worked up already and she’s been waiting for this, been needing this for a while.

Carlos shakes his head, “So stubborn,” he breathes out before picking her up. She doesn’t really know his plan, but she hooks her right arm around his neck as he takes her to the bedroom. His scent is intoxicating and by the time he gets her inside the room letting go of him seems like the hardest thing in the world. But then he sets her down on the bed, all handsome and sweet, shaggy hair all over his face, that crooked smile still plastered on his lips and she can hardly wait for what’s to come.

Sitting up, she adjusts herself a bit and watches as he takes off his black t-shirt, takes a second to admire his hairy chest and toned abdomen and then goes back to watching, biting her bottom lip while he unbuckles his belt, kicks his shoes and socks off before climbing on top of her, diving back in for her lips, hands working on taking off her t-shirt, helping her out of the sleeves. He discards the piece of clothing by throwing it across the room and draws back to take a good look at her. She’s at his mercy, breasts exposed, nipples hard, scars spread across her skin; some are rather large and faded, gifts from that cold, horrible mansion; some are new, pearly white and glistening around bruises and light scratches still lost in the process of healing.

And she’s beautiful.

“Oh, c'mon,” Carlos starts, licking his bottom lip. He leans down, right hand fixing up a few strands of her hair. “You can’t be real.”

Jill chooses to hide how much his words mean to her in a small smile and a scoff; she was never one to open up properly and she’s not about to list all the reasons why she has been avoiding looking in the mirror, at least not now. Thankfully, Carlos goes back to kissing her and that suits her just fine.

She trails a hand down his torso before reaching his unbuckled belt and then going further, palming him through his pants. He’s hard and she’s soaking wet and anxious and the little grunt he lets out in her ear doesn’t help things. All hope of self control goes out the window the second he kisses his way down to her breasts, bringing a hand to cup one of them while his mouth works on the other one, the tip of his tongue circling a nipple before sucking on it, making her arch her back and moan. He steals a quick glance at her, wishing he could frame the moment forever, as cliche and cheesy as that sounds. But she’s gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous, and to have her unguarded like this, for him, it sends him into a state of euphoria that he can’t quite explain.

He alternates between one breast and the other, enjoying her gasps and moans and by the time he’s done, when he comes back up for a kiss, her breasts are glistening with saliva, a slight flush covering them. His actions serve only to encourage her, demolishing any kind of hesitation or worry. She wastes no time unzipping his pants as he kisses her long and good, reaching inside his boxers to pull his cock out, holding it in her hands firmly; he is big and thick, smooth, veiny and throbbing, precome trickling down his length, and she starts stroking him slowly, up and down, pressing right against that sweet, sensitive spot under the head of his cock with each upstroke. He groans, mouth open against hers, closes his eyes and lets himself fall into her touch, hips thrusting into her hand, trying to set his own rhythm, showing her how he likes it.

Jill doesn’t see or hear anything that isn’t him. It’s impossible to think of anything else when he’s so handsome, throwing his head back and moaning only to stare at her with those kind eyes of his. She thinks she could stay like this for a long while, just watching him, her hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him hot and twitching, begging for something else.

He doesn’t give time for her to improvise though. Panting, he grabs her wrist, ceasing her movements. Grinning, he leans back, hands sliding up and down her legs until he hooks his fingers on the waistband of her shorts and pulls them down along with her panties. She can’t help the small smirk as she lifts her hips and bends her knees to help him take them off.

He’s stealing kisses, dragging his mouth down her body, marking her here and there, being careful around the bruises, fighting the need to just have her every time she lets out a shaky breath. He grabs one of her thighs with his right hand, the other one staying firmly on her hip, his mouth not once leaving her skin, and she gets the hint, spreads her legs to accomodate him further. That’s when he glances at her, finds her staring down at him, her short hair framing her face, and he almost loses it. But he carries down with his mouth, teasing and kissing her inner thighs, his beard tickling her, soft licks against her skin, breath ghosting over the spot between her legs until she gasps out his name.

And then there’s this moment, a fraction of time in which he realizes that this is happening, this is really happening and she wants him, too, she wants him and she’s waiting and so he runs his tongue along her slit, feels proud when her hands goes on on top of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He licks her slowly, explores every inch, every fold, wants to taste every bit of her.

When she moans he changes the pace, teases, circles her entrance with the tip of his tongue, presses it flat against her and licks like a hungry, needy man, eats her out nicely, takes his time. Then she begs, asks for more and he swirls his tongue around her clit one, two, three times, moves his head up and down, his nose adding a much needed friction and then he sucks on her clit, keeps going until she’s arching her back off the bed and grinding against his face. He follows her rhythm, the one she imposes, eyes closed, voice cracking.

“Carlos,” she says, sill holding on to his hair, desperately lifting her hips, rocking on his mouth. “I’m gonna come-” It’s the way her voice cracks at the end of the word ‘come’ that drives him insane, eager to taste more of her, to have her melting on his tongue.

He hums in response, increases the pressure and holds her tighter as she squirms and writhes, moans his name again and again until it turns into a soundless cry, until time stops and she tenses, comes on his tongue, muscles spasming and toes curling while he helps her ride out her orgasm. She tries to pull away, it’s too much, she’s too sensitive, but he can’t help himself, he wants just a bit more because maybe he’ll never have her like this again, maybe this is just a one time thing so he wants every drop of her, he wants to be a little selfish here, make sure this day will be burned in his brain forever; she’s honey scented, holy in every way, and so he gives her one final lick and stops when she starts shaking.

The sound of her breathing echoes through the room, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he backs away and looks up at her, a satisfied grin on his face when he sees the state she’s in. He’s got something to say, a little joke to make, but it fades to nothing the second she grabs his face in her hands and pulls him into a bruising kiss.

Too many things hide in that kiss, from little trinkents to precious jewels, that kiss changes everything the second she tastes herself on him, the second he grabs hold of her again and deepens said kiss, finds all those treasures hidden in each soft breath, and he feels her hands tugging at the waistband of his pants, “Take these off,” she says through gritted teeth and he does as he’s told, moves away from her for one second that feels like forever and slides out of his pants and boxers, cock twitching, missing her hand, wondering how her mouth would feel on him, knowing that there’s no way he can let her do that to him now otherwise he won’t last, he won’t last at all.

“Come here,” her voice is low and demanding in the softest way possible. He gets back on the bed, sits in front of her, kisses her again, and they stay like that for a while, just exploring each other’s mouths until she can’t help herself and grabs hold of him and he grunts in her mouth because he’s been hard for so long now, been needing her for so long, and watching her orgasm a few moments ago, knowing he provoked that almost made him burst right then and there, and now her hand is on him again and he can’t control himself.

“You’re the sweetest thing I have ever tasted,” he confesses, breathless, “Jill, you’re the sweetest fucking thing.”

And Jill nods, not really knowing how to respond to such a bold statement, her face flushed, she nods and flattens a hand against his chest and pushes him down on the mattress, straddles him and although her plan is clear, she winces and hisses in pain the second she tries to move her other arm and as much as she tries to play it off, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos.

He’s quick to sit up, to cup her face, eyes scanning her frame. “You alright?” and his words are a bit rushed, stumbling in his own want and worry. “Wanna stop?”

“No, don’t even think about it,” she adds quickly.

“You sure?”

“Wait, I’m not Supercop anymore?” she says with a smirk. “I’m just a little sore.”

“Then let me take care of you,” he says, caressing her face, robbing her of a kiss. “If it’s still okay.”

The concern is endearing, the implication of his words even more so. “Of course it’s still okay.”

Another kiss, he lowers her onto the mattress, runs his hands up and down her body until he stops them at her bent knees. She spreads her legs for him again, and he’s so consumed by her he feels almost tipsy, everything goes hazy for a minute. He’s been hard and aching to the point of desperation even, but he swears, he does, that if she asked him to just go down on her again he would, oh god, he would, no doubt about it.

Except she’s waiting, the gleam in her blue eyes making him fall in love with her, because yes, that’s what he’s feeling, love. He’s known for days and she’s changed his entire life and he won’t stomach it when she leaves. She’s worked her way into his heart, growing around it like a vine and he doesn’t want her to let go.

“Carlos,” she whispers, but there’s urgency hiding behind her tone.

He grabs her legs, bringing her closer to him, holding his cock by the base then gently guiding himself inside her; just the tip first, to see her reaction, and then he moves an inch more and she bites her bottom lip again, looks down at him, expectation written across her face. Then he goes all in; she’s so wet, so ready, there’s no resistance. They both sigh in relief at the feeling, her little moan contrasting with his grunt, and she’s grateful for the time he gives her to get used to him; it’s been a while since she’s been with anyone but even then she had never felt as complete as she’s feeling right now.

He fits so perfectly, stretches her up good, and he’s looking at her as if she’s made of diamonds, searching for any sign on discomfort on her face and honestly, having someone care so much like this is bringing her to the edge of tears.

This is not a quick fuck. This is not a we made it out alive kind of celebration. There’s more here, there’s so much more, she can see it in his eyes.

He leans forward, his body covering hers as he props himself up with one arm on her side to keep from crushing her. Staring right into her eyes, he kisses her lips and starts moving. It’s a steady pace at first, as if he’s trying to understand her, trying to see what drives her crazy, what she likes.

Can he be rough?

Can he hold her a little tighter?

Those silent questions are answered when she urges him on, her hands on his shoulder, bringing him down on her so her breasts are flush against his chest and his face is an inch away from hers. He kisses her when he starts moving, feels her breaking into a moan but then respond, moving her hips in accordance to his, but even so she’s letting him lead; he’s the one in control this time around.

So he thrusts slowly, long strokes that make her want to just push him down again and ride him because she thinks he might have made her a little insane here, a little too obsessed. She watches him, his handsome face and its perfect features, then darts her glance down to where they’re both connected, sees him move, sees and feels him pullig back until just the head of his cock is inside, and then he slides in again, repeats the motion again and again until she can’t take it anymore, wraps her legs around his waist and says, “Faster.”

“Yeah?” he asks, still set on that same rhythm, looking for permission, focusing his gaze for one instance at a huge bruise near her hip.

“Please,” she begs in the middle of a kiss. “Please.

He increases the pace gradually, watches the changes on her face, and when she throws her arms around his neck (all the flinching and wincing still there but to hell with them to hell with them, this means so much more), he finally lets go. His thrusts grow harder and faster, so much so that he accidently slips out, and when that happens he drives her mad by grabbing his cock and rubbing it on her clit for a few seconds, a small tease that earns him some more pretty little moans, his name spilling out of her lips like sugar.

He’s in trouble, he concludes, he’s in trouble. This woman may as well be his everything.

He will drown himself in her if she asks him to.

Lodge himself into her bones.

Never let her go.

If she wants him as much as he wants her.

(and he hopes she does he hopes she does)

When he thrusts back into her, he wastes no time, no more teasing, he moves, feels her nails digging into his flesh, little red moons forming all over his skin, she’s clenching around him and he’s pounding into her so fast and hard the slap from skin against skin is loud enough to reverberate on the walls. Throught it all, he doesn’t break eye contact, no, looks at her as if she’s meant to be worshipped.

Jill is lost in a trance, feeling his cock in and out of her, he’s so big and hard, he’s so perfect, so good, she could stay like this forever and then he hits that spot, that little spot and she clenchs around him and moans, which in turn makes him groan. “Right there,” she says, “Right there, don’t stop, please, just like that.”

Carlos nods, he’s mesmerized, trying to hold back his own release, showering her neck with kisses, licking the salt off of her skin, hips working nonstop. “Fuck,” he says, voice hoarse. “You feel so good. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

She clings to him as if her life depends on it (and god knows it did), she clings to him, their hearts beating in perfect synchrony.

This is meant to be, she thinks, this is meant to be.

His thrusts are even harder now, rocking them back and forth on the bed. He buries his head on the crook of her neck, muffling his groans. She gives up on trying to follow his rhythm, gives up completely, this is too good, too fucking good, she can only take it. She’s so close, he knows, she doesn’t even need to tell him with the way she tightening around his cock, the way her moans are turning into almost sobs, her shaky voice trying to utter a warning, one that he loves so much.

He keeps up the pace while sliding a hand down her body, finding her clit, still a little swollen and sensitive from his earlier ministrations. This time she does cry out, holding on to him. It’s overwhelming; she’s right at the edge and she doesn’t want it to end, fuck, don’t let this end.

He’s losing control, pumping into her, his warm breath on her skin, and when that wave hits her, when her face gets hot and her breathing heavy she asks for one thing, just one tiny thing. “Come with me,” she says. “Come with me, please, please, come with me.”

“Inside you?” and such simple question should sound a lot more like caution than it does in that moment. In that moment though, that simple question is about trust above anything else, and she nods, all desperate and pretty, she nods.

“Inside me,” she orders as he kisses her. “Inside me, it’s okay, fill me up, let me-” her voice breaks when he speeds up the pace. “Let me feel you, I need to feel you.”

He places a hand around her neck, doesn’t apply pressure, just keeps it there and stares at her and fucks her and kisses her and says “I’ll fill you up then, I’ll do it, you’ll be all mine, right, just mine?” he asks in between pants, voice rough and brash and still laced with adoration.

“Just yours.”

She means it.

He thrusts into her with hard, fast, long strokes, and she’s clenching around his thick cock, coming with such intensity that she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from truly screaming.

At the same time, his movements grow erratic, his grunts and groans a lot louder, and then he’s burying himself into her to the hilt and coming deep inside her, breathing so hard he feels like he might pass out.

She holds on to him as they both wait until they can breathe normally again, but he can’t resist kissing her, not when she’s giving him that look, not when he’s so scared of never seeing her again after this that he can feel his bones trembling.

After a moment, when the world goes back to existing, he slips out of her and rolls to her side, brings her with him. She’s curled up around him like a cat, and he’s smiling, stroking her hair idly.

“You’re not in pain, are you?” he asks.

Shaking her head, she chuckles. “Sex is one hell of a drug, you know.”

“You’re one hell of a drug.”

“Oh god,” she laughs at the line.

“No, I’m serious. Got me screwed up for life here,” he admits. “Pretty sure I’m addicted.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Carlos is already cursing himself for ruining this. Too blunt. Too blunt and they don’t even know what they’re going to do tomorrow.

But then she looks up at him, and says: “For life is a big commitment.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a man of my word,” he says.

“That’s good to know,” she smiles at him, rests her head on his chest and closes her eyes.

Carlos wraps an arm around her then, holds her tight and close, the stupidest smile decorating his face.

And for the first time in months, Jill sleeps peacefully.