Various Array of One Shots ✔️

If I Scare You Will You Run? >> Victor Creed (Sabertooth) X Reader

"Welcome Mx _______ _________," the computerised voice echoed as the elevator deposited you down below.

"This is it," you whisper. You wonder if you could speak to Sabertooth like you could to his brother. "Holy cannoli," you breathe.

There before you, is a clear cell. That's it - it's thick plexiglass on his side, and real, and thick glass on yours. In all, it must be nearly eight inches thick. The person inside is distorted from the protective glass, but you can still see a muscle-bulky man with sideburns of fury, a torn leather jacket and jeans, and long fingernails that mimic a beast.

No teeth. No wild hair that resembled a museum, animal Sabertooth.

"What's a little person like you doing in a place like this?" His voice is a grating lull, like a panther to its prey.

"I live here," you tell him.

You're going to be brave, you decide.

"Down here? What, you a freak like us?" You weren't sure if there was curiosity in his voice. "Don't look it."

You're in front of the most terrifying thing you've ever heard of, and you had lived with the threat of bears while being a homeless surrogate wolf, you remind yourself. If you could face a brown bear and calm its rage, you're sure you can help a man in desperate need for a pedicure won't be too hard.

"I heard that you're the brother of Wolverine," you tell him. "Logan. He doesn't much like speaking about you," you tell him. "So, what about you? You must be so tired of me, speaking -,"

He laughs. "Yes."

You beam. "Well, I don't want to not speak. It comes naturally to just let it all out."

"Words or other things?" Sabertooth huffs. You're not sure if it's a curt laugh he had just made, or not.

You can't help but chuckle. "I think we are going to get along really well."

You were right. After then, it sort of fast-forwarded; months were like minutes as they flew by. As soon as Sabertooth - just call me Victor, it's less a mouthful! - was released into the school, he was on watch from the Professor, and Ororo and Logan of course, but also you. You'd graduated now, and after a fitful bout of begging Charles, you'd become a sort of guidance councillor.

You let Pietro Maximoff walk out, glad he'd opened finally about his home life. He was a tough cookie to crack, but now you had an idea of how to help him. You were sliding his manilla folder away just as there was another knock at the door.

"You busy?"

You turn sharply, and not even before your heart stopped racing, you beam. "Vic! Come in. I've got a spare hour for you. What can I do you for?"

The hunkering ex-bad guy slid into the little purple chairs for the people you suss out the psyche of, and sighed.

"Why are you so nice to me?" His lips barely moved, his voice only a whisper.

Your heart wrenched at his words, eyes threatening tears. Those words; they hit home. Why are you nice to him? Your subconscious asked. Because I know a little about being not wanted. Abandoning your allocated post behind the desk, you rushed around and buried your head against Vic's neck, arms around his shoulders.

"Why? I'm just some guy who's killed more openly and more people than my age. And I'm pretty old. I've got nothing good to my name and you're -,"

You couldn't hear him talk like this any more. Slowly, you felt your mutation kick in; releasing a calm pheromone.

"Vic, don't talk like that," your lip wobbles. "You're not worth nothing. You're one of the funniest guys I know! And I've been around plenty of guys." 

He huffed, tightening his grip with your embrace. "You're just sayin' that."

"No," you breathe. "No, I'm not just saying. I know what it's like to feel like an outsider. Every damn student here feels that, because of something they're born with. That the humans can't cope with."

It was then you felt another wave of your mutation flow out, and Vic's heartbeat calm down to a steady beat.

"We aren't judged on past actions, you know." You tell him. "Just what we choose to do in moments moving forward."

Maybe it was the proximity you had to the emotional man, or the fact you had known him for a year now, and that four days prior had been your two anniversary of finding the  school, but you felt something move you. Something that nearly possessed you to edge away from his neck, and guide your lips to his.

"What did the coyote tell the moon?" You whispered.

"If I scare you, will you run?"

You withdrew, searching his eyes with your own. He seemed so scared, so sad, so broken. You know you can't fix a broken man. Nobody can but the casualty. Everyone else just helps.

"Maybe," you reply. "But the moon will always be there for the coyote. Always in his orbit. Waiting." You brush your lips against Vic's, and add quietly, "and there's nothing he can do will change that."