“Doll, ‘m back.” He drops the wood pile by the door of the cabin as he makes his way inside, his nose twitching as he searches for you. Living in America during a period where people who looked like you were slaves was dangerous, yet, against his better wishes, you wanted to stay in the Southern states.

He had no issue killing people who stumbled across your humble abode, but he wished you would go where he told you to.

“Am in here, Victor.” He grumbles under his breath as he makes his way into the kitchen, his eyes zeroing in on you quickly. Sometimes, he disliked the fact that you were a psychic mutant, seeing as you usually used your powers to get into his head.

“Thought I told ya to stop doin’ that.” He grumbles though he can’t find it in himself to be mad at you; not when you smile at him like that.