patchys masterlist

You stand in the doorway, staring, looking around.

Zeno watches you, waiting for you to move or to speak.

That is the first difference.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

You glance around again, arms folding slightly around yourself. 

“It’s… different.”

“I did not replicate his preferences, I saw no reason to.”

Something in your chest tightens at that. He wants to be his own person, not a shadow of someone who lived before.

"I mean, this is your space." 

You stop at that because you are still learning him.

Still trying not to measure every movement, every word, against a ghost.

Days passed after you first arrived.

You found yourself watching him when he is not looking. The way he moves through the kitchen, the way he pauses sometimes.

He remembers everything. And yet, he chooses differently.

That is the second difference.

“You’re staring,” Zeno says one afternoon, not looking up from the file in his hands.

“Sorry.”

He finally lifts his eyes to you. “You are comparing.”

“…I’m trying not to.”

Zeno sets the file aside as he leans back in his chair.

“Do not lie to spare me. I know what I am.”

“And what are you?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He stands up and begins to walk over to you, closing the distance. He stops in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Not him,” Zeno answers. He lifts his hand, running his fingers along the back of your hand. “But not separate from him either. I am what remains. And what continues.”

There is something in his voice that was never in Wesker’s. Something closer to vulnerability. Albert never showed weakness, and it made your chest ache.

The rings appear a week later.

You find them in a small black box left on the table beside you. You already know what it is. And what it means.

Zeno stands a few steps away, watching you.

Waiting.

Your fingers are shaking as you open the box.

Two rings.

Simple. Elegant. And completely different from the ones you once received.

“I thought… I thought you might want something of your own. Not only something that belonged to him.”

Your hand instinctively moves to your finger.

Your old ring was still there. Even when you told yourself you were moving on. Even when you walked away from everything that reminded you of him.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

Zeno nods once.

“I know. I just need you to know, I'm serious, I'm here. But I will wait for you to come to your decision.”

He had no anger in his voice. No malice or anything unkind. He was there, giving you a choice, giving you time.

And somehow, that makes it harder.

It doesn't take you long. You sit alone, the box open beside you, your thumb brushing over the old ring again and again.

Memories fill your mind.

His voice. His presence. The way he never asked, only took.

The way you gave anyway.

Your chest tightens until it hurts, because letting go feels like betrayal.

You didn't want to hold on anymore.

Holding on would keep you trapped in something that no longer exists.

You take one long look at your hand and then, carefully, you slide the old ring off.

The absence is immediate. Heavy even.

You stare at it in your palm for a long moment before placing it gently into the box.

Your hand hesitates only a second before reaching for the new ring.

It slides into place.

It fits perfectly.

When you look up, he is already there.

Closer than before.

His eyes drop to your hand, and for a moment, he says nothing.

“You chose me,” he says softly.

You nod, your voice quiet but steady. 

“I did.”

His hand finds yours, fingers tightening slightly around it.

And you notice the ring on his finger glinting in the light. 

“I will not waste that,” Zeno murmurs.

It is strange how quickly small things begin to matter. Like the way he watches you in the kitchen. You can feel it before you even turn around.

“You’re hovering,” you say, reaching for a cup.

“I am... watching,” Zeno corrects.

You huff softly, a hint of something almost like amusement. 

“You’ve been watching for ten minutes.”

“I am ensuring accuracy.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It’s coffee, not a chemical weapon.”

“…There is overlap.”

That pulls a quiet laugh from you before you can stop it.

Zeno stills, the sound surprises him.

To him, it matters more than it should.

You turn back to the counter, shaking your head slightly as you finish preparing the cup.

When you hand it to him, your fingers brush.

He takes a slow sip and then another.

“Do you like it?” you ask.

Zeno lowers the cup, his eyes finding yours.

“It is exactly as I remember.”

All you could do is offer him a small smile before you reached for your own cup.

The nights are the hardest. They always have been. That is when the silence used to creep in. When memories felt too loud to ignore.

But now… Now there is something else. 

Him.

You sit beside him on the couch, a film playing on the TV. You are not really watching it, your mind is filled with thoughts.

You are aware of him, of the space between you, or rather, the lack thereof.

Your head rests against his shoulder at first.

With Wesker, that would have lasted seconds at most.

He tolerated closeness, never invited it.

Zeno does not move.

Instead, after a moment, he moves his arm, wrapping it around you and pulling you closer.

“You can move if you’re uncomfortable,” you murmur.

“I am not,” he replies immediately. “You are.”

Something in your chest softens.

You let yourself relax into him fully this time, your hand resting lightly against his chest.

You hear it, that steady heartbeat.

Real.

Alive.

Yours, if you choose it.

You fell asleep just like that, curled against him.

Your fingers are clutching in the fabric of his shirt.

Zeno does not move for a long time, not until your breathing evens out, not until you settle fully against him as you belong there. Only then does his hold tighten, just slightly.

His hand rests against your back, his fingers running random patterns.

“You are mine,” he whispers, so quietly you never hear it.

And for the first time in a long time, you smile in your sleep.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

You tried to make new routines and meet new people.

You started with slow things. A change of furniture, a clean of the bathroom, but you refused to enter his office. It hurt too much.

As the years passed, it got easier, but your love for him never disappeared.

Because everything reminded you of him.

The way the kitchen cabinet closed with a thud, he promised to fix it once he is back. The sound of footsteps behind you when no one is there. The feeling that you are being watched.

You learned to live with it, even if it never got easier.

Years passed like this, until the night when everything changed.

The door does not creak when it opens.

It simply… moves.

You see it from the corner of your eye as you freeze halfway across the room, heart slamming so hard it hurts.

Someone got it. You know it even before you turn.

He stands there like something out of your memory. Tall. Motionless. Dressed in white.

Your voice barely works as tears fill your eyes.

“…Wesker?”

The man tilts his head slightly. Not quite the same. Not quite him.

But close enough to ruin you.

“Not exactly,” he says calmly.

The voice is perfect, but it still off. Your chest tightens.

“Who are you?”

“I am Zeno.”

The name means nothing and it is everything.

He steps closer, and your body reacts before your mind can stop it. You don’t move away. You don’t run.

“I was created using his genetic material. His mind. His memories.”

Your stomach twists, but you couldn't speak.

But he keeps walking until he is close enough that you can see it. The tiny differences. The way his expression holds something less controlled. Less perfected and more human.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

He is not your husband. But the way he traps you against the wall, with one hand next to your on the wall, sure makes your heart skip a beat just like your husband used to.

“I remember you. I remember the way you looked at him. The way you stood beside him when no one else dared. The nights you thought he was asleep, when you allowed yourself to be soft.”

You should tell him to leave. To leave you alone but you can't. Something inside you is still clinging to the memory of him.

But the man in front of you was not him.

“I remember loving you,” he finishes.

“That’s not real. Those aren’t your feelings. They’re his.”

Zeno’s eyes darken as he looks at you.

“They are mine now.”

Your breath stops. He sounded so serious, dangerous even.

You search his face for something that proves he is lying. Something that tells you this is just a copy. A hollow thing wearing the face of the man you lost. But all you find is him.

Different yet still undeniably him.

And something dangerously close to need.

“I didn’t come here to introduce myself. I came to claim what is mine. I came for my wife.”

Your heart stutters.

“You don’t own me,” you say, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be.

Zeno steps closer.

Now there is no space left, you are completely against the wall now.

“You chose him. You gave yourself to him completely.”

His hand finally touches your cheek.

It is warm, alive, real and very wrong.

“And I am everything that remains of him.”

Your eyes close for just a second. You try to process everything that is happening and happened. It was all so wrong.

When you open your eyes again, he is still there, still looking at you like you are the centre of his existence.

Like he has been waiting for you.

“Come with me,” Zeno says. His voice is more of a beg than anything. He is so different from your husband, and you know you should refuse.

You should push him away and tell him he is nothing but a shadow of a man who already ruined your life and left you behind.

But you can't. Not when he looks at you like this. You think of the past, but soon the future fills your mind. A future you can have. You would be stupid staying here living in the shadows and wait for the day you die.

And so, you lift your hand slowly and rest it against his chest.

You feel his heartbeat.

Steady. Confident. Alive.

Not Wesker. But not a stranger either.

“I know this is wrong,” you whisper.

Zeno’s expression softens just enough to break you.

“I don’t.”

That is the problem. Because to him, this is not a replacement. This is a continuation.

A way he can finally have you by his side, just like in his memories.

Your fingers tighten against his shirt and despite everything you know, everything you should do, you let him lean in and claim your lips with his.

He takes your breath away, he kisses with such need. As if he couldn't drink for days and you were the first glass of water he found.

But you know it is a lot more than that. Deeper. Engraved.

When he pulls away, you are out of breath. He pulls you into his arms.

"Finally." he whispers into your hair as your arms hold him close.

You let him lead you to the door and to the car.

Some part of you never stopped belonging to the man you lost.

And Zeno?

Zeno is your future.

A/N: The above picture is not mine! It is from Pinterest.

Part 2

~Masterlist~

You do not remember the first hit.

Not clearly, only fragments of it.

Your coworker’s face too close, too loud.

Then your hands were moving before your thoughts could catch up.

And then...

Impact.

Shouting.

Someone was grabbing you, pulling you back as your vision blurred at the edges.

And then everything was quiet.

The police were called, and they arrived quickly.

They asked a lot of questions. Questions you did not want to answer. Questions you could not answer.

Reports written about you as if you were not even there.

An evaluation where no one actually listened to what you had to say.

They spoke over you. Around you. About you.

Decisions were made quickly.

And labels were attached even more quickly. A psychotic breakdown. Crazy. Dangerous. Shouldn't be let back into society.

And where do these people go?

Rhodes Hill.

The first time you met Dr Gideon, you expected the same thing.

Judgment without listening to a word you have to say.

That look people gave you when they had already decided what you were.

Instead, he looked at you like you were interesting.

You sat across from him, arms folded tightly, your posture closed off, defensive.

“They told me you attacked someone, a coworker of yours.” he said as he read from the file before returning his attention to you.

“She provoked me.”

“That is not justification.”

You let out a scoff as you looked everywhere but him. Your eyes landed on the stack of paper behind him.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“No,” he agreed. “You did not.”

Silence filled the room.

You expected him to say something rehearsed. Something clinical and textbook. Something fake and manufactured. But instead,

“But you wanted to.”

Your eyes snapped and met his. You didn't reply to him, but he looked at you with more intensity. 

“Did you?”

“…yes.” 

The word felt heavier than it should have, even if you knew that was the truth.

“Tell me, did it feel good?”

You hesitated, you knew you should lie, make up some fake apology if you ever wanted to get out of here. But something about the way he was looking at you made lying feel pointless. You felt as if he could see right through you.

“Yes… for a second,” you admitted.

“Don't lie. Be honest.”

“You’re not even going to pretend that’s alarming?”

“It is expected.”

“What?”

“Most people experience the impulse. Very few admit it. You do not filter yourself the way others do. Others would have made up a fake apology in hopes of getting out of here. But not you.”

You stared at him, you were sure he could read minds.

“And that’s… what? A good thing?”

“It is a useful thing.”

That was the exact moment everything changed.

Because for the first time, someone was not trying to fix you, but rather trying to understand you.

You offered him a smile before the nurse took you back to your room. 

And after that, your evaluations became more frequent and a lot more personal.

Victor requested your file. No one else was allowed to question you. 

He took full control of it.

The other doctors stopped interfering, they were even scared to look at you. They rather ignored you that face Dr Gideon.

And your life at Rhodes Hill started to improve significantly. 

It started in small steps. First, your meals improved. You started to receive food you actually liked. And the quality of it also got better.

You were moved further away from the more volatile patients. You got a new room, bigger, cleaner and it no longer looked like a patient room.

Then the bigger things.

Privileges.

You were allowed extra time outside your room. You were allowed to roam free without anyone asking questions. You were not allowed to leave, but you were free. Well, as free as someone here can be. 

Your conversations with Victor were longer than they should have been. Most of the time, he just allowed you to speak, and he actually listened. 

And then, your release and court dates disappeared.

One day they were there and then the next, just… gone.

When you asked, him about it, he had no shame.

“You are not ready.”

You should have demanded a better explanation, but your mind was blank at the time, so all you could mutter was, “Why not?”

“Because the world will not understand you.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.” you smiled. 

---

“You are not unstable,” Victor told you one evening.

You were sitting across from him again.

“Then why am I here?”

“Because no one else knows what to do with you.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

You watched him for a long moment. The control he carried with himself. The way he chose every word carefully when he spoke.

“You don’t react to things,” you said suddenly, which made him raise an eyebrow slightly.

“Elaborate.”

“People say things. Do things. And you just…” you gestured vaguely, “observe.”

“That is correct.”

“So do I.” you leaned forward and whispered. 

He went still.

And for the first time, you saw something behind his eyes.

“You do,” he said quietly.

“I noticed that before you said anything. The way you listen. The way you look at people like you’re… mapping them.”

“And you do the same.”

“…I don’t feel things the way other people do.”

“Neither do I,” he replied.

And that was the moment you realised something that unsettled you more than anything else had.

You were not just someone he found interesting. You two were similar. You wonder why it took you so long to realise this. Was it obvious to him? When he first met you?

You became his favourite. No one said it out loud, but everyone knew.

The nurses avoided interrupting when you were with him.

The guards gave you even more leeway.

Other patients watched you with a mix of curiosity and resentment.

They saw it.

And you did not mind, not even a little. Because you were here for him from that point on, not for them. 

Then Patricia arrived.

Patricia Vale.

You knew something was wrong with her in a way you had not seen before. She was very different from everyone else.

She was not loud.

Not aggressive.

She did not cause scenes.

But there was something… off about her.

Her eyes lingered too long. Her smiles came at the wrong moments.

And when Victor entered a room, she changed.

You noticed it instantly.

The change in her posture. The way her attention snapped to him. The way she watched him. It made your stomach turn. Because you recognised it. You had seen that look before.

In mirrors.

“She watches you,” you said one afternoon, leaning against his desk.

“I am aware.”

“She doesn’t blink when you walk past.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“It’s not.”

He continued writing, but he didn't ignore you.

“She’s obsessed, Victor.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just ignoring it?”

“She is not my concern.”

“That’s cold.”

“No,” he said, finally looking at you. “I'm just selective.”

“And what am I?"

“My favourite.”

Patricia noticed you, too.

At first, it was subtle. She stared at you for a long period of time, then she started to smile. But her smiling felt more like a warning than anything friendly.

Then she started approaching you, asking you questions. Questions that felt more like accusations. 

“You spend a lot of time with Dr Gideon,” she said one day, sitting across from you without being invited.

“I suppose.”

“He doesn’t talk to anyone else like that.”

You shrugged.

“Maybe he just likes me.”

Her jaw tightened.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

You could see the anger in her eyes. 

“You think you’re special.”

“No,” you said calmly. “I think you’re obvious.”

“You don’t deserve his attention.”

“And you do?”

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly before falling backwards.

“You don’t understand him.”

“I understand him better than you do.”

She slammed the table making you flinch, before a guard took her away and back to her room.

That was when you knew, this was not going to end well.

You tried to warn Victor about it during your next session.

“She’s escalating.”

Victor barely looked up at you.

“She is insignificant.”

“She cornered me today.”

That made him pause and look up.

“And?”

“She asked what you see in me.”

Victor’s gaze flicked to you.

“And what did you say?”

“That she wouldn’t understand.”

“She will not act.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

You stared at him. For the first time, frustration crept into your voice.

“You’re wrong.”

“I never am.”

The conversation ended there.

But something in your chest didn't settle.

The next day, everything proved you right.

Lunch was quiet, you sat in your usual spot, alone. 

The way people were watching without looking like they were watching.

Your instincts sharpened.

A chill ran down your spine. Something was wrong.

You had just picked up your fork when a hand tangled in your hair.

Hard.

Your head slammed into the table.

Pain exploded behind your eyes as you felt like your head was about to blow up.

The room erupted.

You reacted instantly, twisting, shoving back, but Patricia was already on you.

Wild and uncontrolled.

“You think you’re special?” she screamed, her voice breaking. “He looks at you like you matter!” Her grip tightened. “You don’t deserve that!”

You shoved her back with as much force as you could.

“Get off me!”

But she was relentless as she lunged again.

Something sharp pressed into your side.

Hands were suddenly everywhere, pulling her away, voices shouting, alarms blaring.

Your vision blurred.

The last thing you saw was her still trying to reach you.

Still screaming.

A guard barged into his office, completely ignoring the calls from the nurses. 

"Sir! It's Patricia, she attacked another patient."

“She attacked who?” his voice cut through the room.

“Y-you need to-”

“Answer me.”

"...”

Victor was already moving.

Then he saw you.

Blood.

Too much blood.

Something inside him snapped.

“Out of my way.”

The staff scattered immediately.

He reached you in seconds, hands already working, precise but urgent.

“You are conscious,” he said, though it sounded more like a command than an observation.

Your eyes fluttered open.

“…hi.”

His jaw tightened.

“You are injured.”

“Yeah.”

Even now, you tried to smile.

It made something twist in his chest as if someone was twisting a knife.

“She attacked you,” he said, voice lower now. Dangerous.

“Yeah.”

His hands stilled for just a second.

“How dare she touch what is mine?”

The words came out before he could stop them.

You barely registered them before everything went black.

When you woke up, everything was different.

You blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room.

Then you saw him sitting beside you.

“You are awake.”

“Where am I?”

“My quarters.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed in here.”

“You were not. You are now.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I will not make the same mistake twice.”

“You didn’t listen to me.”

“I did not.”

“You dismissed me.”

“I did.”

“And I got hurt.”

“Yes.”

That seemed to hurt him. Not that he had to admit he was wrong, but more so the fact that you go hurt because he couldn't admit it.

“You don’t like being wrong.”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“You are no longer a patient,” he said.

“Then, what am I?”

“Mine.”

You let out a faint, breathless laugh.

“That sounds… a little unhinged.”

“It is accurate.”

You shifted slightly, wincing at the pain.

His hands were immediately there, steadying you.

“You need rest.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Something softened in his expression.

“You will stay here. Where can I ensure your safety.”

You looked around the room, then back at him.

“You’re not doing this because I’m valuable,” you said.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because you are the only one who understands me.”

Your heart faltered.

Then, realisation hit you like a truck, you understood him, and he understood you.

And maybe…

That was worse than anything else.

~Masterlist~

Just a small camera in the corner that blinked red every few seconds.

You tried not to look at it. But the blinking light slowly began to drive you mad.

You had already screamed at it yesterday.

And the day before that.

No one answered.

The door clicked.

Your body immediately stiffened.

The door opened to reveal him.

He stepped inside as if he owned the world. You were sure that the world you were in right now, he did in fact own.

Dr Gideon closed the door behind him carefully, his gloved hand resting on the metal for a moment before he turned toward you.

Tall. Impeccably dressed.

White coat smooth and unwrinkled despite the sterile chaos of the facility around him.

But it was the way he moved that unsettled you most.

He was too controlled, too precise.

His head tilted slightly when his eyes found you, the movement almost reptilian.

“There you are,” he said. His voice was soft, you found it disturbingly calming despite... well... everything.

As if you could have wandered off somewhere.

Your hands clenched around the bedsheet.

“Let me go.” you said, but you knew, there was no point. At this point you were only speaking to show some form of disiplen.

Victor did not react the way most people would.

He did not sigh. He did not argue.

He simply walked further into the room.

“You have said that twelve times today.”

“You counted?”

“I count everything.”

His eyes moved over you slowly.

The way a scientist might observe something under glass.

“You slept poorly,” he continued calmly. “You moved in your sleep seventeen times.”

You stared at him.

“You were watching me sleep?”

“Of course.”

“You’re insane.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully, walking to the small metal desk beside the bed.

“Possibly.”

He picked up the untouched glass of water sitting there.

“You have not consumed your hydration allowance again.”

“I’m not drinking anything you give me.”

Victor rotated the glass slowly between his fingers.

“You figured out the sedative.”

It was not a question.

You said nothing.

His mouth curved faintly.

“Remarkable.”

He set the glass back down.

“You are extraordinarily perceptive for someone with no biological modifications.”

Your voice shook.

“What are you talking about?”

Victor turned toward you again.

“Sit.”

You did not move.

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“Please.”

The way he said it was soft, but something in the tone made your body obey before your brain could argue.

You slowly sat on the edge of the bed.

Victor approached.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as he stopped directly in front of you.

He was close enough now that you could see tiny details in his face.

The faint shadow of sleeplessness under his eyes.

The intensity of his eyes.

“You are afraid of me.”

You let out a short laugh.

“You kidnapped me.”

“Yes.”

The answer came immediately.

Matter-of-fact. Victor leaned slightly closer.

“Your pulse increased by twenty beats per minute when I entered the room.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Stop analysing me.”

“But that is precisely why you are here.”

Your hands tightened in your lap.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Victor studied you for a long moment.

Then he spoke.

“That is exactly what fascinates me.”

Silence filled the room. Your throat felt dry.

“What does that even mean?”

Victor reached out slowly.

You flinched before you could stop yourself.

His hand paused in the air.

A strange flicker of something crossed his face.

Curiosity.

“You anticipate pain, I do not intend to harm you.”

You laughed bitterly.

“You drugged me and dragged me into some secret lab.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s not harm?”

Victor considered that.

“From a technical standpoint, you are correct.”

He resumed his movement, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

The touch was careful.

Almost delicate. His fingers lingered briefly near your cheek.

“Your skin temperature rises when you are anxious.”

You jerked away.

“Stop touching me.”

Victor withdrew his hand slowly.

But he did not look offended.

If anything, he looked thoughtful.

“Fascinating.”

You glared at him.

“I’m not a lab rat.”

“No. That is the issue.”

He began pacing the room slowly.

His steps quiet against the tile.

“I have studied thousands of infected subjects. Mutations. Viral evolution. Biological resistance.” He stopped beside the bed again. “But you. You are entirely ordinary.”

The way he said it made your skin prickle.

“I’m glad you noticed.”

Victor crouched slightly so he was level with you.

His eyes searched your face with unsettling intensity.

“No anomalies. No genetic markers. No immunity. And yet, I cannot stop observing you.”

Your voice came out quiet.

“Why?”

Victor was silent for a moment.

Then he said something that made your stomach twist.

“You notice things others do not.”

You frowned.

“What?”

“The sedative.”

He gestured toward the glass.

“The camera.”

Your eyes flicked involuntarily to the corner of the ceiling.

Victor smiled faintly.

“And that.”

Your face flushed.

“You catalogue information instinctively.”

He leaned closer.

“You analyse people the way I do.”

“That’s not true.”

“You recognised my footsteps yesterday before I opened the door.”

You had.

Victor’s voice dropped to a quiet whisper.

“You listen. You observe. You think.”

His expression darkened with fascination.

“And you are completely unmodified.”

Silence filled the room.

Victor stood up again.

Then he said something that chilled you.

“I have spent twenty years studying the extraordinary.” He looked down at you. “But you. You are the most interesting subject I have ever encountered.”

“I’m not your... subject.”

Victor smiled slowly.

“You live in my facility. You sleep in a room I designed.” He stepped closer again. “You eat food prepared by my staff. And you breathe air filtered by my systems.” He tilted his head slightly. “You are very much my subject.”

“Why me?” your eyes filled with tears but you didn't let them fall.

Victor studied your face again.

“Because when I first saw you. You were standing in a crowded street surrounded by chaos. And you were watching the world. Not reacting. Observing. You looked exactly the way I do.”

Silence stretched between you.

Victor straightened slowly and continued.

“You are not extraordinary,” he said calmly.“But you understand things most humans ignore.” He looked at you with unsettling intensity. “And I intend to learn why.”

With that, he left the room.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Victor visited every day.

Sometimes twice.

Sometimes three times.

He asked questions.

Strange questions.

What did you notice first when entering a room?

What sounds made you uncomfortable?

How did you choose where to sit in public spaces?

At first you refused to answer.

Then you answered out of boredom.

Then curiosity.

Victor began bringing books.

Tea.

Food that was actually warm.

He watched the way you held the cup.

The way you turned pages.

The way your eyes moved while reading.

“Why are you nice to me?” you asked once.

Victor looked genuinely confused.

“I am not nice.”

“You are, compared to kidnapping.”

He considered that.

“You are valuable.”

Your stomach flipped strangely.

Weeks turned into months.

The guards stopped speaking to you.

The researchers ignored you.

The facility was cold.

Loud.

Terrifying.

Except when Victor was there.

When he entered the room, the tension in your chest eased without you meaning it to.

You hated that.

You hated it even more the day you realised something.

You were waiting for him.

The door opened one evening later than usual.

You looked up immediately.

Victor stepped inside.

“You are agitated.”

You frowned.

“No I’m not.”

“You have been pacing. You expected me sooner.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that.

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

He stepped closer. He was right.

And without thinking, you said something you never meant to admit.

“I thought something happened to you.”

The room fell silent.

Victor stared at you.

Not analysing.

Not calculating.

Just staring. Shocked.

Then slowly, his lips curved into the smallest smile you had ever seen from him.

“You were worried.”

You looked away.

“I just didn’t want to be alone.”

Victor stepped closer.

Much closer.

His hand lifted slowly.

This time you did not flinch.

His fingers rested under your chin, tilting your head upwards so you can look into his eyes.

“You are adapting,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened.

“To captivity.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

Victor’s thumb brushed your jaw gently.

“But it is.”

His gaze darkened slightly.

“Because now.” He leaned closer. “You will never want to leave.”

Your heart pounded.

And the most terrifying part was that somewhere deep in your chest...

You weren’t sure he was wrong.

~Masterlist~

It was one of those days, the kind where nothing went right from the very beginning. Your shift had been pure terror: clients snapping at you, colleagues firing off snarky remarks, and the clock stubbornly refusing to move, no matter how often you checked it.

As if that wasn’t enough, you realized you’d started your period, the dull ache of cramps already settling in. Perfect. Just perfect.

You weren’t sure if it was your hormones or just the kind of day it had been, but even the smallest things seemed to throw you off balance. Your skirt felt too tight, your hair looked dull, and you already hated the breakout your skin was threatening to develop. Overall, you just felt awful.

Once your shift finally ended, you went straight home. You barely registered your coworkers calling out their goodbyes, too drained to look back. All you wanted was to disappear, sink into your bed, and breathe.

The moment you opened the door to your and Carlos’s apartment, warm scents of garlic, onion, and spices wrapped around you. Carlos always cooked when you worked late, and you were endlessly grateful for it, especially on days like this.

When you stepped into the kitchen, you found Carlos wearing a kitchen apron. One of yours, definitely too small for him, and far too covered in pink flowers and hearts for a guy like him. On any other day, you would’ve laughed. But today, not even that seemed to work.

He was all smiles, chopping ingredients, tending to the pan, and rummaging through the spice rack. All the while, he half-danced across the kitchen, singing along to one of his favorite songs. When he finally noticed you, his grin widened instantly.

“There’s my beautiful princesa,” he beamed, waving you closer.

“Come on, take a taste and tell me what you think,” he added, completely unaware of your current state.

You wanted to smile. You wanted to kiss him, to hug him. You really did, but your body reacted before you could stop it.

All the built-up frustration from the day crashed over you at once, and before you knew it, tears were slipping down your cheeks.

It wasn’t even a gentle cry with quiet, shaky sobs. No, this was full-on, ugly crying. You could already feel your eyes swelling, loud, heavy sobs ripping through you, and your face twisting with every wave of frustration and exhaustion.

Carlos’s smile instantly dropped. He hastily turned off the oven and tossed the apron aside. He came straight to your side, cupping your face in his hands and gently brushing away your tears.

“Hey… hey… hey… baby… shhh…” he murmured in a soothing voice.

“Look at me. Tell me what happened“

You wanted to answer, but your body was still shaking, sobs tearing through you.

“It’s… it’s nothing… I… I guess… I just… it’s…” you managed to choke out.

His expression shifted from surprise to deep worry, his brow furrowing, jaw clenched.

“It’s okay. Let it all out. Let it all out,” he whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You immediately buried your face in his shirt, inhaling his familiar, warm scent, mixed with spices, oil, a hint of sweat, but to you, it was the most comforting smell in the world.

His hands threaded gently through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

„Its's okay…it's okay“

Gradually, your sobs began to subside. Your heartbeat slowed, and your shoulders started to relax. His warm arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe and cared for. He always had this effect on you, no matter when and where. It was like he was your personal big teddy bear.

He looked down at you, placing a finger under your chin to make you look up at him.

„Do you want to tell me now?,“ he asked softly.

You brushed the last few remaining tears away, along with your smudged mascara.

„Yes,“ you nodded.

He guided you to the couch, settling you against his side. Carlos shifted slightly, making room for you to settle more comfortably. You moved closer, pressing your face against his chest, your body tucked between his legs. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you snugly.

After a moment, he reached for a blanket draped over the arm of the couch and carefully pulled it over both of you, cocooning you together. The warmth and the weight of it made the room feel even safer, and for the first time since the day had started, you felt yourself truly letting go.

“Now, tell me. What happened? I want to hear every little detail. I’m here,” he said in his low, steady voice.

You took a shaky breath, feeling a little more at ease.

“It’s stupid, really. Just a… shitty day, in general,” you began, recounting the events. You told him about every frustrating moment, every little insult, all the aches and annoyances. Carlos listened silently, his hand tracing soothing circles along your back.

He rolled his eyes at your stories about your annoying colleagues but when he heard that some people had actually yelled at you, his expression stiffened.

He tensed slightly, jaw set.

“Hey… look at me. No one has the right to speak to you like that. Not ever. I won’t let them,” he said firmly.

Used to a rough tone from his military background, Carlos usually didn’t get shaken. But the idea of someone raising their voice at you? That was another story, and it made him furious.

The way he looked at you, the way he held you, it made your heart melt. You loved this side of him: protective, yet soft.

“Thank you… for listening to me and my… whining,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiled down at you, brushing your cheek gently and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Everything for you. And I mean it. If anyone ever treats you like that again… call me. I’ll be there,” he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You curled up against him, feeling the steady warmth of his body.

“I will,” you murmured.

“That’s my girl,” he said with a small, contented smile.

After a few moments of just cuddling and enjoying each others warmth, he took a deep breath and straightened, his protective energy shifting into action.

“Alright,” he said firmly, a spark of determination in his eyes. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m finishing up dinner, and then… we’re getting cozy. You, me, the couch, and your favorite show. And don’t worry: I’ll bring you a hot water bottle too. No more suffering tonight.”

“You’re too good to me, Carlos,” you sighed, letting yourself sink into the couch cushions, wondering how you’d even managed to end up with someone so perfect. “I’m lucky to have you, really.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before slowly getting up.

“Trust me, querida,” he said with a grin, brushing his hand through his hair. “I’m the lucky one in this room.”

With that, he headed back into the kitchen to finish up dinner, leaving you smiling to yourself on the couch.

After enjoying the delicious meal together and cuddling on the couch, you started to feel your eyes grow heavy. Carlos smirked when he heard your first soft snore. He pulled you closer, running a hand over your arm, the TV show barely registering anymore.

A few minutes later, you were in a deep slumber, and he knew the evening was over.

Carefully, he picked you up and carried you to your shared bedroom, bridal style.

He tucked you gently under the blankets and settled behind you, pulling you close once again. He whispered into your ear, telling you how much he loved you and how strong you were, as if you could hear every word even in your sleep.