Just a Kid - Fic
Apr. 8th, 2008 02:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stefbugI totally blame ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cat_mcdougall for this. And XG. If I wasn't playing Creed and having past time funs with Jubilee this would never have come about.
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: R
Pairing: None
Warnings: Not pretty, but not as bad as it could have been, for all it's Victor Creed
Summary: Victor Creed loves the hunt, and this time Jubilee isn't just a kid.
Just a kid
“Sabretooth?”
The voice was female and he looked up to see her. Jubilation Lee. The Runt’s little hanger-on, sidekick and mansion pet. The littlest X-Man. Prey.
The voice that normally told him she was just a kid died in the back of his head, silenced by whatever’d been done to him to leave him feeling like he’d been healing for a week. He laughed, low and menacing, still gravelly after whatever’d been done. Almost felt like he’d been screaming. Almost.
The fear spiked as he laughed, and it was So. Damn. Sweet. Uniquely her and almost too sweet, almost enough to make him glad he could hunt her down there and then. The last time he’d done this his claws were capped and useless, but there’d plenty of other things that he could think of to do that didn’t involve them. He’d still had his fangs. And his strength. More than enough to kill the little brat where she stood, or where she fell once he’d chased her down, panting and begging and screaming…
Not a kid anymore.
And this time there was nothing to hold him back. This time they were alone in a real wilderness, none of the X-Men around to come to her rescue, nobody around to hear her screams when he took her, hard against the ground.
“Run,” he roared, stretching vocal chords that hadn’t been used in too damn long and relishing the wave of pure terror it elicited. And she ran. She actually fucking ran and the blood red mist came over his vision like a wave, like an ocean of blood, drenching him and dripping down to cover everything. It’d be fresh and hot and spicy-sweet. Oh so spicy-sweet on his tongue, in his mouth, down his throat. Fear just made it that much spicier.
She ran, and he counted. Out loud and mocking, voice booming out among the trees like a thunder crack. He wanted a fucking hunt, not some quick chase and grab. He wanted the damn challenge, and he knew she wasn’t getting away. Not this time. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, not this time. This time she was his.
He might even leave enough of her alive that she could tell the Runt what’d happened to another one of his women, not a kid anymore, a woman. He’d have to live with it and Victor fucking Creed would’ve won again. Just like he always did in the end.
Once he’d got to ten in the count he set off at a loping run. The fear stink was more than enough to track her by, even though she’d been doing her best to hide herself in the thick foliage. The Runt’d been teaching her some tricks, but nowhere near enough to be able to evade someone like him. It would never be enough.
He had her scent. There wasn’t anywhere she could run that was far enough away for him to forget it. There wasn’t enough time left in her pathetic little life to dull it as it pervaded his senses, seductive and sickening all at once.
There was something he should be thinking about her. Something that wasn’t hunt and fuck and feed and kill… Something that wasn’t based in his most primal urges, a rational thought lost in a sea of madness and bloodlust. She was going to be so fucking sweet when he finally caught her.
Stupid frail didn’t even realize she was being herded. He’d been hunting these woods for years on and off, had even bought up a big stretch of them to preserve against fucking lumberjacks and poachers and other idiots who just ended up as more meat and bone fertilizing the land. He knew them like the back of his hand, had done for longer than he could remember and she was on his turf now.
There was nowhere she could go that he wouldn’t find her.
He was silent as he hunted, cracking a branch here and there to let her know when he wanted her to that he was close, to make her change direction when he wanted her to. It was almost too easy, even if it’d taken him a while to catch up to her. Fucking frail bitch was good at hiding. Nobody hid from him.
Sound narrowed down to static, and his vision darkened to a tunnel as he caught up to her in an old clearing. It was the work of a quick leap to have her pinned beneath him, and he growled deep and low, bringing his head down to snap at her neck. His hands grabbed at her wrists, and caught one, holding the weapon they were away from him.
The other managed to paf him, and he backhanded her so hard he swore he heard something crunch in return before hauling both arms up to pin them above her head. Then he extended the claws of his free hand, ready to start tearing. He was still growling.
She screamed then, a pitiful high noise full of pain and fear and hurt and she was just a kid, not a kid, just a kid, Runt’s woman. Kid. Kid.
The scene shifted and warped and suddenly he wasn’t out hunting in the woods, pinning one of the Runt’s women to the ground ready to teach him a lesson again. Suddenly he was back in Japan, running a mission for Team-X, a simple hunt and destroy. Another wetworks mission like so many he’d run before.
Bad intel.
The kid, staring at him, wide-eyed, knowing better than his parents did that he wasn’t going to live to see another year. That he was as good as dead because Team-X didn’t leave witnesses or survivors and Creed was the nastiest one of them all. Even the Runt didn’t match his kills or the pleasure he got, but it was just a kid, but he had his orders.
Gentle hands reaching down, no blood on them, he’d been clean at least, and he’d held the boy and sung an old half-remembered lullaby to him that a woman with blonde hair had sung to him oh so long ago. Sung to the boy and snapped his neck while he did. Quick. Painless. Never knew he was dead. Except for the smell of fear and certainty coming off of him.
And the eyes would follow him forever. Forever, staring at him, damning him wherever he went, no matter who he killed or where he was.
Just a fucking kid.
Creed came back to himself with a jolt. He was in the woods, pinning Jubilee down, ready to start tearing into her, waiting for the blood to start pouring so he could lower his mouth to it and… She wasn’t screaming now, wasn’t even crying, and her eyes… Oh fuck, her eyes were just staring at him.
He wasn’t even aware that he’d moved away from her until his back hit the tree and he fell to his knees, retching. Just a fucking kid and he’d almost… Fuck… He’d almost done that to her. Killing her would’ve been a mercy after he’d finished.
The sobs came unbidden. His father. That rabbit. His mother singing that lullaby, her head split open in all of his nightmares. And those eyes.
He looked at her, glad to see she’d moved away from him, hit a tree on the opposite side of the clearing and was huddled against it, hands raised ready to paf him again. Her eye was blackening, her cheek wearing the mark of his backhand. There was blood on her shirt.
She was just a kid.
He curled in on himself, the sobs and retching continuing until he was tempted to cut his own throat just so his body would reset itself. He was Victor fucking Creed. He was Sabretooth. He didn’t do this. He didn’t cry, especially not over some frail fucking bitch of an X-freak. Not over some kid. Not him.
And then it was over. The rage was gone. Burned away by everything, and he was feeling almost lucid. There was still the faintest red mist burning at the edges of his sight, but nothing he couldn’t tell to fuck off and be done with. Nothing he couldn’t repress until he had suitable prey. Prey that wasn’t just a kid.
He stood and headed towards her, stopping when her hands raised menacingly. She was almost asleep, or unconscious, and he knew he’d pay for the shiner and the face and the blood. The Runt wouldn’t sleep until he was in pieces. And this time, out of all of them, he knew he deserved it.
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya kid.” He sighed at her incredulous expression and rolled his neck, popping the bones back where they belonged. “Yeah, wouldn’t believe me either in your place, but yer in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, an’ I’m the only one who knows the way back to civilisation.”
“So, ya can either trust I ain’t gonna hurt ya and let me get ya somewhere with civilised people an’ a phoneline to that school of yers is, or,” and he restrained the smile that threatened to come even though he still felt sick and tired and weary of the madness that forced his hand. “Or, ya can wander around her an’ starve, or fall prey to one of the other predators out here. What’s it gonna be, kid?”
He put emphasis on the word kid as he held his hand out to her, willing her to take it so he could get her off of his territory and could retreat to lick his wounds. He had hunting to do once she was gone, and he was going to be the hunted too. He needed time and space to prepare for both.
He almost sighed in relief when she took his hand, fingers cold and clammy and shaking. She still stank of fear, but now there was pain and resignation and cold as well. It made the bile rise in his throat. Pulling off his shirt, miraculously undamaged, he draped it over her and then picked her up when she looked like her legs weren’t going to support her. She gave him another incredulous look.
“It ain’t gonna last. Don’t get used to it.” He carried her, following the paths only he knew, heading for the nearest settlement. His mind wasn’t on the girl who’d almost passed out in his arms.
Victor Creed had been manipulated and he wasn’t happy about it.
Correction. He was fucking pissed about it.
And when he found out who’d done it, he was going to tear them to pieces real slow, and then patch them up and do it again, and again, and again, until he finally got bored. God knew he could be inventive when he wanted to.
Nobody fucked with Victor Creed and got away with it.
cat_mcdougall for this. And XG. If I wasn't playing Creed and having past time funs with Jubilee this would never have come about.Fandom: X-Men
Rating: R
Pairing: None
Warnings: Not pretty, but not as bad as it could have been, for all it's Victor Creed
Summary: Victor Creed loves the hunt, and this time Jubilee isn't just a kid.
Just a kid
“Sabretooth?”
The voice was female and he looked up to see her. Jubilation Lee. The Runt’s little hanger-on, sidekick and mansion pet. The littlest X-Man. Prey.
The voice that normally told him she was just a kid died in the back of his head, silenced by whatever’d been done to him to leave him feeling like he’d been healing for a week. He laughed, low and menacing, still gravelly after whatever’d been done. Almost felt like he’d been screaming. Almost.
The fear spiked as he laughed, and it was So. Damn. Sweet. Uniquely her and almost too sweet, almost enough to make him glad he could hunt her down there and then. The last time he’d done this his claws were capped and useless, but there’d plenty of other things that he could think of to do that didn’t involve them. He’d still had his fangs. And his strength. More than enough to kill the little brat where she stood, or where she fell once he’d chased her down, panting and begging and screaming…
Not a kid anymore.
And this time there was nothing to hold him back. This time they were alone in a real wilderness, none of the X-Men around to come to her rescue, nobody around to hear her screams when he took her, hard against the ground.
“Run,” he roared, stretching vocal chords that hadn’t been used in too damn long and relishing the wave of pure terror it elicited. And she ran. She actually fucking ran and the blood red mist came over his vision like a wave, like an ocean of blood, drenching him and dripping down to cover everything. It’d be fresh and hot and spicy-sweet. Oh so spicy-sweet on his tongue, in his mouth, down his throat. Fear just made it that much spicier.
She ran, and he counted. Out loud and mocking, voice booming out among the trees like a thunder crack. He wanted a fucking hunt, not some quick chase and grab. He wanted the damn challenge, and he knew she wasn’t getting away. Not this time. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, not this time. This time she was his.
He might even leave enough of her alive that she could tell the Runt what’d happened to another one of his women, not a kid anymore, a woman. He’d have to live with it and Victor fucking Creed would’ve won again. Just like he always did in the end.
Once he’d got to ten in the count he set off at a loping run. The fear stink was more than enough to track her by, even though she’d been doing her best to hide herself in the thick foliage. The Runt’d been teaching her some tricks, but nowhere near enough to be able to evade someone like him. It would never be enough.
He had her scent. There wasn’t anywhere she could run that was far enough away for him to forget it. There wasn’t enough time left in her pathetic little life to dull it as it pervaded his senses, seductive and sickening all at once.
There was something he should be thinking about her. Something that wasn’t hunt and fuck and feed and kill… Something that wasn’t based in his most primal urges, a rational thought lost in a sea of madness and bloodlust. She was going to be so fucking sweet when he finally caught her.
Stupid frail didn’t even realize she was being herded. He’d been hunting these woods for years on and off, had even bought up a big stretch of them to preserve against fucking lumberjacks and poachers and other idiots who just ended up as more meat and bone fertilizing the land. He knew them like the back of his hand, had done for longer than he could remember and she was on his turf now.
There was nowhere she could go that he wouldn’t find her.
He was silent as he hunted, cracking a branch here and there to let her know when he wanted her to that he was close, to make her change direction when he wanted her to. It was almost too easy, even if it’d taken him a while to catch up to her. Fucking frail bitch was good at hiding. Nobody hid from him.
Sound narrowed down to static, and his vision darkened to a tunnel as he caught up to her in an old clearing. It was the work of a quick leap to have her pinned beneath him, and he growled deep and low, bringing his head down to snap at her neck. His hands grabbed at her wrists, and caught one, holding the weapon they were away from him.
The other managed to paf him, and he backhanded her so hard he swore he heard something crunch in return before hauling both arms up to pin them above her head. Then he extended the claws of his free hand, ready to start tearing. He was still growling.
She screamed then, a pitiful high noise full of pain and fear and hurt and she was just a kid, not a kid, just a kid, Runt’s woman. Kid. Kid.
The scene shifted and warped and suddenly he wasn’t out hunting in the woods, pinning one of the Runt’s women to the ground ready to teach him a lesson again. Suddenly he was back in Japan, running a mission for Team-X, a simple hunt and destroy. Another wetworks mission like so many he’d run before.
Bad intel.
The kid, staring at him, wide-eyed, knowing better than his parents did that he wasn’t going to live to see another year. That he was as good as dead because Team-X didn’t leave witnesses or survivors and Creed was the nastiest one of them all. Even the Runt didn’t match his kills or the pleasure he got, but it was just a kid, but he had his orders.
Gentle hands reaching down, no blood on them, he’d been clean at least, and he’d held the boy and sung an old half-remembered lullaby to him that a woman with blonde hair had sung to him oh so long ago. Sung to the boy and snapped his neck while he did. Quick. Painless. Never knew he was dead. Except for the smell of fear and certainty coming off of him.
And the eyes would follow him forever. Forever, staring at him, damning him wherever he went, no matter who he killed or where he was.
Just a fucking kid.
Creed came back to himself with a jolt. He was in the woods, pinning Jubilee down, ready to start tearing into her, waiting for the blood to start pouring so he could lower his mouth to it and… She wasn’t screaming now, wasn’t even crying, and her eyes… Oh fuck, her eyes were just staring at him.
He wasn’t even aware that he’d moved away from her until his back hit the tree and he fell to his knees, retching. Just a fucking kid and he’d almost… Fuck… He’d almost done that to her. Killing her would’ve been a mercy after he’d finished.
The sobs came unbidden. His father. That rabbit. His mother singing that lullaby, her head split open in all of his nightmares. And those eyes.
He looked at her, glad to see she’d moved away from him, hit a tree on the opposite side of the clearing and was huddled against it, hands raised ready to paf him again. Her eye was blackening, her cheek wearing the mark of his backhand. There was blood on her shirt.
She was just a kid.
He curled in on himself, the sobs and retching continuing until he was tempted to cut his own throat just so his body would reset itself. He was Victor fucking Creed. He was Sabretooth. He didn’t do this. He didn’t cry, especially not over some frail fucking bitch of an X-freak. Not over some kid. Not him.
And then it was over. The rage was gone. Burned away by everything, and he was feeling almost lucid. There was still the faintest red mist burning at the edges of his sight, but nothing he couldn’t tell to fuck off and be done with. Nothing he couldn’t repress until he had suitable prey. Prey that wasn’t just a kid.
He stood and headed towards her, stopping when her hands raised menacingly. She was almost asleep, or unconscious, and he knew he’d pay for the shiner and the face and the blood. The Runt wouldn’t sleep until he was in pieces. And this time, out of all of them, he knew he deserved it.
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya kid.” He sighed at her incredulous expression and rolled his neck, popping the bones back where they belonged. “Yeah, wouldn’t believe me either in your place, but yer in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, an’ I’m the only one who knows the way back to civilisation.”
“So, ya can either trust I ain’t gonna hurt ya and let me get ya somewhere with civilised people an’ a phoneline to that school of yers is, or,” and he restrained the smile that threatened to come even though he still felt sick and tired and weary of the madness that forced his hand. “Or, ya can wander around her an’ starve, or fall prey to one of the other predators out here. What’s it gonna be, kid?”
He put emphasis on the word kid as he held his hand out to her, willing her to take it so he could get her off of his territory and could retreat to lick his wounds. He had hunting to do once she was gone, and he was going to be the hunted too. He needed time and space to prepare for both.
He almost sighed in relief when she took his hand, fingers cold and clammy and shaking. She still stank of fear, but now there was pain and resignation and cold as well. It made the bile rise in his throat. Pulling off his shirt, miraculously undamaged, he draped it over her and then picked her up when she looked like her legs weren’t going to support her. She gave him another incredulous look.
“It ain’t gonna last. Don’t get used to it.” He carried her, following the paths only he knew, heading for the nearest settlement. His mind wasn’t on the girl who’d almost passed out in his arms.
Victor Creed had been manipulated and he wasn’t happy about it.
Correction. He was fucking pissed about it.
And when he found out who’d done it, he was going to tear them to pieces real slow, and then patch them up and do it again, and again, and again, until he finally got bored. God knew he could be inventive when he wanted to.
Nobody fucked with Victor Creed and got away with it.