See... this was bad. Really bad.

Since joining the X-Men, your reputation had spread fast. Stronger than most. Meaner than many. The one Charles quietly sent when a problem mutant needed handling. The one who didn’t flinch when things got ugly.

And Victor Creed had been your ugliest assignment.

You’d taken it upon yourself to intercept him anytime he circled too close to Logan. The first time had been deliberate; calculated. You waited on a back road, chain in hand, heart steady. When his motorcycle came tearing down the asphalt, you yanked it up at the last possible second.

Metal screamed. Bone shattered. Creed didn’t slow down in time.

You’d watched him tumble, watched him bleed, and then you’d made sure he stayed down.

It should’ve scared him off.

Instead… You matched his crazy.

And Victor Creed didn’t fear that.

He liked it.

That was the mistake.

Because once you’d proven you could meet him where he lived, once you’d shown him you weren’t prey, but something sharp and vicious enough to bite back, he decided something all on his own:

You were his.

Not Logan’s shadow. Not Xavier’s soldier. His.

Tonight was one of the nights he chose to remind you.

It was late, the mansion quiet, the air thick with summer heat and cicada-song. You sat out back alone, legs stretched out, a small table in front of you. A game of solitaire lay half-finished beneath your hands. A drink that was very much too strong for most people or mutants sweated beside it. Earbuds in. World shut out.

You didn’t hear him arrive.

Victor slipped onto the grounds like a ghost that didn’t care about being seen. He stopped behind you, just out of reach, and watched. Watched your fingers move the cards. Watched your jaw tighten when the deck turned against you.

He waited.

He stood behind you for a long moment, head tilted slightly as he observed the way your fingers moved the cards. The way you frowned when the game stalled. He could hear your heartbeat. Smell the alcohol on your breath. Feel how relaxed you were.

Too relaxed.

A massive, clawed hand slid into your field of vision.

You startled, breath hitching, but he didn’t strike.

He simply plucked the card you needed, long fingers careful in a way that somehow made it worse, and set it down exactly where it belonged.

The game opened up instantly.

His voice came low and pleased right by your ear.

“There ya go, pup…”