Jill Valentine x fem!Reader - resident evil 3
summary: Through chaos and ruin, you fought to survive the outbreak that consumed Raccoon City. From collapsing streets to fleeting allies, every choice blurred the line between courage and desperation. Haunted by what you’ve seen and what you’ve done, you keep moving, because stopping means facing the one thing more terrifying than the horrors around you: yourself.
warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of injury, death and loss, psychological trauma/PTSD, hallucinations and paranoia, anxiety and mental instability, mentions of blood and weapons, survivor's guilt.
The hotel room was dimly lit. The TV was on in the corner, the news reporting the danger that had taken Raccoon City by surprise, yet there was nobody to pay attention to it. The desk next to the closed window was illuminated by a lamp that was on its last legs, casting light on opened documents, scribbled notes, letters, photos of disturbing creatures, disfigured humans, and vials of strange substances. You were as much of a mess as the desk you were sitting at.
You knew that in a few days you would be forced to leave Raccoon City. Not that you didn’t have somewhere to go, hell, you had a whole apartment. Chris Redfield, your former S.T.A.R.S. teammate, had pressed you into buying an apartment outside the city, “for your safety,” as he had said. The reason behind your stubbornness? You wanted- no, needed to find out the truth behind the horrors that took place earlier that year in July, also known as the Mansion Incident. You had been left unemployed soon after that, as Chief Irons disbanded S.T.A.R.S. not long after learning what had happened. It was no surprise to you.
After the incident, you insisted on staying in the city as long as you could, going under fake identities and staying in a cheap hotel room, aware that Irons and Umbrella had men everywhere. It was their city, after all.
By September, you barely felt human anymore. Coffee after coffee, secret after secret, you had managed to uncover the truth behind what was really happening. You discovered why your life had become a living hell, full of injustice, betrayal, and trauma. They had never wanted you to get this close to the truth.
You uncovered secrets they had been trying to keep locked away from you, or anybody else invested in finding out. Not only were they developing viruses, but they had already begun experimenting on humans, creating failed subjects such as actual living dead, or mindless, brainwashed bio-organic weapons that Umbrella used to eliminate anyone they considered dangerous.
That alarmed you. You were most definitely one of their targets. So were Jill, Chris, and everyone else who wanted to know everything.
Being too deep within your own thoughts, you were startled when the telephone rang.
“God,” you muttered, out of breath, pressing your palm against your chest in an attempt to calm yourself.
You got up to answer the phone, wondering why anyone would call at 4:58 a.m., and quickly realized why. It was Brad, one of your former teammates in the Special Tactics and Rescue Service.
“Y/N, I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing- get out of there! Leave! Get away from the city!”
“Brad?” you asked, confused. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I can’t explain… just look out the window! I need to call Jill…”
Looking out the window, taken aback by the horrors happening outside, Jill’s name caught your attention.
“Jill? She’s here? Where is she?”
There was no answer. By then, he had already hung up.
“Damn it,” you sighed, quickly grabbing your gun, the remaining bullets in the hotel room, and your combat knife. Even if you had wanted to stay a few more days until you would have inevitably been found and forced to leave, you had to give up on that. You needed to find a way out.
Chris was away, in Europe, digging deeper into Umbrella’s secrets. He had told you that. Everyone else was either dead or had already gotten out of this hellhole.
Jogging out of the hotel, everything was eerie, empty, and bloody. People were running around, screaming for their lives.
You had finally come face-to-face with the source of all the horror. Someone was pinning a woman to the floor. She was screaming for her life as the… person… dug into her, filling their mouth with her flesh.
You took out your gun and shot him in the head. He didn’t drop dead immediately. Turning toward you, he came at you again. A second bullet to the head finally killed him. As if he wasn't dead already.
You rushed to the critically injured woman, trying to think of a way to save her.
“You’ll be fine, I promise! I’ll… I’ll take you somewhere safe!” Your voice cracked. You knew it was a lie. She couldn’t be saved.
“Please… end me… I don’t want to end up like him…” she whispered before going limp. You understood what she meant. Even if she died now, she was infected. Her last wish was that her body would remain still after her soul departed. So you honored it.
Moments later, you realized, “Shit!” You were down to seven bullets. You didn’t want to waste any more, even if you had ten more in your pocket.
You knew this street well. A few meters down and a right turn would lead to an entrance to the subway station. Someone had to be there. If not Jill, then… more survivors.
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Stepping over small bits of dirt and debris that had fallen from the crumbling ceiling, you made your way down into the subway station.
Close to the platform, you could hear voices, several people talking. Among them, you caught the voice of a woman. You picked up the pace, rushing toward the group.
You were met with two men in tactical gear who immediately pointed their rifles at you, and Jill, who quickly stepped in once she recognized you.
“Y/N?” Jill asked. “What the hell are you still doing here?” she scolded, to which you replied, “I could ask you the same thing…”
Taking a better look at the two men, one Latino, with messy, fluffy hair and a solid build, and the other older, injured, with a thick Russian accent, something caught your eye that made your blood boil.
“Umbrella?! Are you kidding me, Jill? You’re working with these assholes?” you snapped. That pharmaceutical company had caused you hell, and the same went for Jill. Why the hell would she work with them?
You stormed toward the men, anger pulsing in every step, ready to throw hands, but Jill grabbed your arm, pulling you back.
You looked at Jill, staring into her eyes, at she did the same. You could tell that she went through rough moments that night as well, looking into eachother's eyes, as if they were talking silently.
“Y/N! Stop!”
“Me? They should stop! Have you forgotten all the people who died and are still suffering because of them?!”
“Whoa, ladies, calm down!” the younger man said, raising a hand.
“I have no idea what kind of nonsense you’re spouting, but I can assure you, neither me nor Mikhail had anything to do with this.”
You stared into his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. Arguing was the last thing any of you needed right now.
“Fine. But I don’t trust you. I’m only cooperating because I want to get the survivors out of here.”
The man, Carlos, nodded.
Later, sitting inside the train to catch your breath, Jill joined you, taking a seat beside you.
“How… how’s life been treating you?” she asked quietly.
“Shit,” you muttered. It was the only word that came to mind, earning a short scoff from her.
As you talked, Jill told you she’d been chased by an abnormally large bio-organic weapon, one that kept muttering a single word over and over.
“Umbrella sent it,” you said flatly. “I got too close to the truth over the past few months… They sent it to get rid of us.”
That reminded you of Brad’s call earlier that night. “Did you meet up with Brad?” you asked. A heavy silence filled the air. Your heart sank when Jill told you not to get your hopes up, he was most likely infected.
Mikhail sat across from the two of you, examining you quietly.
“You seem to have experience,” he said, grunting as Carlos sprayed medicine over his wound.
“I’m a former S.T.A.R.S.,” you replied, earning an ironic chuckle from him.
“So that’s how you know Miss Valentine?”
“…We were teammates. On the last mission of the law enforcement.” you said.
Silence fell once again. Then Carlos stood up, telling you he needed to stay and tend to his superior’s wounds. But he needed one of you, if not bot, to restore power to the subway system.
Carefully stepping back onto the surface, Jill warned you to stay sharp, that “thing” was still roaming around somewhere.
As the two of you moved through the streets, you split the tasks. Jill had more ammo and better gear, so she’d handle the fighting, while you focused on gathering intel and finding the supplies needed to move forward. She was the physical, you were the strategic.
Just as you unlocked the office door that would allow full power restoration to the subway, you heard a deep, guttural voice echo through the distance.
“S.T.A.R.S…” it growled, each syllable vibrating through the ground beneath your feet.
“Shit,” Jill muttered. “It’s him again.”
You looked from her to the monstrous figure approaching, and froze. You recognized him instantly. The pictures on your desk. The classified files. One of Umbrella’s best experiments: Nemesis. A bio-organic weapon built to hunt down S.T.A.R.S. members.
“Jill,” you said, your voice firm. “You need to make a run for the office.”
Before she could respond, you stepped toward the towering creature, almost twice your height, your steps deliberate.
“Hey, big guy! You wanna hunt? Catch me if you can!” you shouted.
Its gaze fixed on you. You were now, without question, its newest target.
But to your horror, it wasn’t slow anymore. It charged. Fast.
“Shit!” you hissed, sprinting away from Jill, drawing it as far from her as possible.
For hours, it felt like an endless chase through the ruins of the city. But eventually… silence. You realized Nemesis was no longer behind you. That was worrying, because Jill might not have realized that yet. But for now, it was a rare chance to catch your breath.
Climbing a set of cracked stairs, you emerged from an alleyway onto a main boulevard. You looked to your left, and your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.
A tall building, surrounded by gates, with a huge sign that read: Raccoon Police Department.
This could go both ways. Refuge… or horror.
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You managed to pry open the gates of the Raccoon Police Department and carefully stepped onto the concrete. After hours of running, escaping Nemesis, and shooting down the dead in a desperate fight for survival, you reached to reload your handgun, only to realize, to your horror, that your pocket was empty.
“What? You’re kidding me! No- no!...”
The remaining bullets had already been loaded. You hadn’t even noticed, not with all the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You checked the number of bullets and sighed in disappointment. Three. That was all you had left.
Well, at least you still had your knife. Your military training would have to do, though close combat was never your strong suit. You were trained to handle all kinds of firearms, but right now… this was a last resort.
Still, you were standing in front of the literal police department. Maybe you’d find ammo inside, especially in your old workplace, the S.T.A.R.S. office.
After closing the gate behind you, blocking anyone, dead or alive, from entering, you approached the main doors. That’s when you found out exactly what happened to Brad Vickers. You heard the familiar groans before you saw him.
The man who had once been your teammate was now undead, wandering aimlessly, hungry for flesh. When his eyes met yours, you knew, he’d found his next target.
You couldn’t shoot him. You couldn’t kill him. Not just because you only had three bullets left, but because he was your friend.
So, you ran. You dodged his grasp and shoved through the entrance, slamming the massive doors shut behind you.
The inside of the police station was… creepy. That was the only word that came to mind.
There wasn’t anyone there, neither dead nor alive. From the dark east wing came a low chain of growls, so you did the safest thing possible: you locked that section down and cut the power. If there was even a chance someone was still alive in there, you wouldn’t risk attracting danger to them.
At the reception desk, you checked the computer, searching for the safest path to the S.T.A.R.S. office. The best route was through the library on the second floor. So that’s where you went.
You took the key left on the counter, unlocked the library door, and then locked it again behind you. Better safe than sorry.
Saving those three bullets turned out to be smart; you used two to put down a pair of zombies before reaching the hallway that led to the office.
When you opened the door, an eerie wave of familiarity hit you. The place held so many memories, but you couldn’t dwell on them now.
You found your old ID where you’d hidden it and used it to unlock your locker. Inside: a Magnum handgun, a small box of ammo, and a few rounds for your regular pistol. Not as much as you hoped, but 25 bullets would have to do. You promised yourself not to waste a single one unless absolutely necessary.
You grabbed two green herbs and a first-aid spray, ready to leave, until a thought stopped you. Jill. You needed her to know you were alive. To know where to find you when this nightmare ended.
You tore a page from a nearby notebook, grabbed a pen, and wrote:
To Jill Valentine,
I know you’re alive. Whether you’re reading this yourself or someone tells you about it, I need you to come find me at my apartment. You know where it is.
Please, come find me when this hell is over. I know you’ll make it out alive, you always do. You’re strong, stronger than I am.
If I don’t make it out… the key’s under the mat by the front door.
I’ll see you again.
- Y/N
You left the note somewhere clean and obvious, then started clearing the office of anything useful, including documents with valuable information.
That’s when you remembered him. Wesker. His betrayal, and the hell he’d dragged you and your team through. His office was right in front of you.
Opening the door, your skin crawled. Guilt clawed at your chest, the faces of those you couldn’t save flashing in your mind. You stood there for a while, lost in thought, until you forced yourself to focus. You had to survive. You had to believe Jill would too.
You scavenged what you could, but the flashes of memory wouldn’t stop. And then... you froze.
On Wesker’s desk sat a photo, and beside it… him. Standing there, menacing, that same smirk on his face.
“You’ll die in here,” he said coldly. “You’ll end up just like the others.”
Your breath hitched. You raised your gun at him, hands trembling.
“How can you protect anyone when you can’t even protect yourself? Without your weapons, you’re nothing. You’ll die-”
Two gunshots echoed through the room.
When you opened your eyes, Wesker was gone. The only thing in front of you were two bullet holes in the wall.
He wasn’t real. None of it was.
You couldn’t stay there any longer. The air felt too heavy.
You bolted out of the office, heart racing, your knees threatening to give out beneath you.
Then you saw them, five silhouettes approaching fast. Their groans told you enough. Wasting ammo wasn’t an option.
Down the hall, down the stairs, straight to the first floor, only to find even more of them waiting. Your body screamed in exhaustion, but instinct took over. You jumped through a window, landing hard on the pavement below. It wasn’t high, just enough to bruise.
You got up, panting, looking up at the dim orange sky. The sun was already setting. One full day of hell.
You needed rest. You couldn’t sleep, but maybe you could catch your breath somewhere safe.
Your memory kicked in. You knew exactly where to go.
Hour after hour, you fought for your survival, or rather, escaped for it.
It was September 29th, sometime in the evening. Your handgun was useless by now, completely out of ammo. You were sure you’d find some at Kendo’s shop, but that was still a long way to go.
You were soaked to the bone; it had rained all day. Bruised, scratched, and worn out from everything you’d been through.
After what felt like an endless spiral through the ruined city, you finally reached the gun shop. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you and pressing your back against it, breathing harshly. For the first time that day, you let yourself stop, just for a second.
You walked slowly through the aisles, searching for anything useful. You managed to find a few grenades, then finally, a handful of bullets, fifteen, if that. Someone had clearly been here before.
You headed toward the back of the shop when suddenly, a voice snapped:
You froze, staring down the barrel of a shotgun, until the man holding it realized who you were.
“Kendo! It’s me!” you said quickly.
He lowered the gun immediately, sighing in relief.
“God... why are you still here?”
“I’m trying to find a way out of this hellhole, or at least survive until it’s over,” you replied.
“And you?” you asked, your voice softening. “Why didn’t you leave? Where’s your daughter?”
He looked away, silent for a moment before muttering, “It’s... complicated.”
“She’s alive!” he cut you off, eyes darting nervously. “I swear, she’s just... not feeling well.”
You decided not to push him further.
“Who was here before me? There’s barely anything left, just a couple of grenades and some ammo.”
“Jill was here,” he said.
Your heart skipped a beat. “Jill? What did she say? Where did she go? Was she hurt? How bad-”
“Easy,” he interrupted. “She came in a few hours ago for supplies. Left a bit extra. Said you’d probably come by. She didn’t look any worse for wear, but she was definitely in a hurry.”
“Nemesis...” you muttered.
“Thanks, Kendo. I’m gonna stay here for a few hours, catch my breath... if you don’t mind.”
“God, no. Go ahead. I think I’ve got a sandwich to spare,” he said.
You sank down behind the counter, sitting on the dirty floor , you didn’t care anymore. You’d been through worse.
The sandwich wasn’t great, but it was food. After eating, you managed to get some rest. When you woke, the sky was still dark, clouds heavy with rain.
“Thirtieth,” you whispered to yourself, keeping track of the days for the sake of your sanity.
Just as you were about to leave, you heard voices, two people bursting into the shop. You ducked beneath the counter, heart racing. Alive or not, you couldn’t risk it. You were being hunted.
Kendo confronted them the same way he had you, gun raised, before realizing they weren’t a threat and letting them pass through the back door.
You followed, curiosity pushing you forward. Whoever they were, they moved with purpose. Maybe they knew something. Maybe they could lead you to answers.
You tailed them from a safe distance, twenty meters, give or take, as they made their way through the sewers. Even though you’d reloaded your handgun, you didn’t dare use it. The sound could give you away. Your knife and instincts would have to do.
Hours passed before you managed to jump onto the back of a lift, the same one they used to descend into Umbrella’s NEST laboratory. Jackpot.
Once inside, you slipped away, determined to uncover whatever secrets Umbrella had buried.
Then you heard movement, voices echoing from an office. You raised your gun, creeping closer, only to freeze at the sight before you: a brunette in a black tank top, a small blonde girl in an oversized red jacket, and an older woman with sharp, tired eyes.
“Who are you?” you asked, still breathless but lowering your gun slightly.
“I’m Claire... Claire Redfield.”
That name hit you like a shock. You holstered your weapon immediately. “I’m Y/N. I worked with your brother, Chris.”
The tension melted. You glanced at the older woman, recognition striking hard.
“You’re... Annette Birkin,” you said, your voice tightening.
She looked down, guilt shadowing her face. She knew that you knew.
You didn’t hold back. You pushed her for the truth, forcing her to admit everything. Her husband’s experiment gone wrong. The infection. The outbreak. The monstrosity chasing her daughter and Claire through the city.
From then on, you and Claire fought side by side, battling through the lab, gathering evidence, just trying to survive long enough to escape.
When the self-destruct alarm blared, you were almost grateful. It meant an end, one way or another. Together, you and Claire took down William Birkin before fleeing aboard a subterranean train.
There, you met the man you’d followed earlier, Leon Kennedy, the rookie cop who was supposed to arrive at the RPD that same day.
You told him what you’d learned, but not everything. Some truths were too dangerous to share.
And when the train finally reached safety, you slipped away. Quietly. Without a word.
You needed to get home. The nightmare was over... or so you told yourself.
But as you walked through the empty streets, the rain still falling in slow, endless sheets, the shadows seemed deeper, heavier. Every alley looked like it might hide something. Every echo of your footsteps sounded too sharp, too deliberate.
You spun around at every small sound, a distant crash, a rustle, a dripping puddle, certain something was stalking you. Your heart pounded. Your hands trembled.
You told yourself it was nothing. Just your imagination. But the feeling wouldn’t leave.
You caught a movement at the edge of your vision, and your breath hitched. Something, or someone, was there.
You blinked. The street was empty.
You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but even then, the sensation lingered. The fear, the paranoia… it didn’t fade.
Even when nothing was there, you felt hunted.
All you could do was keep moving.
After a long, eerie walk home, you finally found your apartment. Pulling the key from under the mat by the front door, you glanced behind you again, still convinced someone was tailing you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The moment you stepped inside, the place still felt foreign, like it wasn’t truly yours. You immediately locked the door and set the key on the shelf next to it. Then you undressed and took a long, scalding shower, desperate to wash away the smell of death and smoke clinging to your skin. Afterward, you threw on whatever clothes you could find in your closet and shoved the dirty ones into the washing machine, setting it on the longest program, even though you had promised yourself you’d burn them.
That night, you didn’t sleep. You couldn’t.
Thankfully, you still had a full kilogram of instant coffee in the kitchen. You quickly slipped back into the unhealthy routine you’d kept before the disaster, cup after cup, barely noticing how much you were drinking. Slowly, without realizing it, your mental state began to spiral. You started hallucinating people who were dead, missing, or once your enemies. You saw things that weren’t there, moments of the past flashing before your eyes like cruel reminders. Sometimes you’d see Wesker flicker in and out of your vision, the guilt clawing at you, making you regret even surviving.
On the rare nights you managed to fall asleep at your desk, you were haunted by nightmares, of Brad Vickers, William Birkin, or worse… of Jill not making it out of Raccoon City.
Your mind was breaking. Every noise made you jump. You kept your gun loaded at all times, convinced they’d find you again, convinced it was only a matter of time.
One night, as you sat at your desk with yet another bitter cup of coffee, a knock echoed from your door. You froze. Heart racing, you grabbed your gun and approached quietly. The second the door opened, you aimed at whoever was behind it.
But when you recognized her, relief washed over you so suddenly it hurt.
“Jill! Oh thank God, you made it!” you cried, throwing your arms around her, not caring that she was sweaty, messy, bruised, and bloody.
“Quickly, get in! They might still be lurking around…” you whispered, dragging her inside and locking the door several times.
“Who? Who’s coming?” she asked, confused, though it was obvious now that you couldn’t tell reality from memory anymore.
“Umbrella! They’re coming! Nemesis- he’s coming for us-” you stammered, your voice trembling, but Jill cut you off.
“Nobody’s coming for us, Y/N. They’re gone. Everything’s gone.”
“What..? How? That can’t be, I can hear them,” you muttered.
“The government blew up Raccoon City,” Jill said softly. “It’s over. Nobody is chasing us anymore.”
It hit her then, even though she’d suffered physically, you were the one truly broken.
Hours later, after Jill had cleaned herself up, she borrowed a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt from your closet. She gently guided you to bed, forcing you to lie down while she made tea in the kitchen.
The next few nights were still rough. You’d wake up in cold sweats, panicked, trembling, but Jill was always there, holding you close, whispering that you were safe now.
Weeks later, you were doing better, still fragile, still haunted, but healing. The two of you began working together, piecing together what had happened between July and October.
You spent Christmas together that year, and even celebrated the New Year.
The road to recovery was long, and it would take years to accept what had happened, to live with it. But you and Jill promised to be there for each other, no matter how hard things got, no matter how heavy the memories became.
