Work Text:
When you found the suit in the closet of your apartment, tucked behind a false panel, you were shocked that Adrian would go to all this trouble. He was never a holiday guy, usually picked up shifts for the extra pay, leaving you at home with a kiss and a cheery, “See ya. Don’t open the door for strangers.”
Which, whatever, fine by you honestly. Crowds and noise and the dumbest drivers in Evergreen on the road at all hours did not sound very appealing. So, tonight your plans were with a big bowl of popcorn and a bigger bowl of candy, on the couch with a marathon of Halloween movies. Until you found the suit.
You grab it from the closet, laying it across the bed. You expected cheap foam paneling and maybe some cardboard, but the breastplates are hard when you knock at them, metal clasps and sewn pockets. It’s not expert craftsmanship, but more than you would’ve thought your boyfriend capable of. Clearly, he had alternate plans for you two this year, and you scramble together something from your closet before he can make it back home.
Adrian walks through the door no less than ten minutes later, coffee and bagels in hand, kicking the door shut behind him.
“You would not believe the line, who wakes up on Halloween and wants bagels?” He yells, voice growing closer as he makes his way to the bedroom, “Hello?”
“In here!” You yell back, hopping backward onto the bed, tucking your hands between your knees.
“Pancakes are way more Hallow—whoa.” He freezes in the doorway, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the suit.
“Ta da.” You shrug, waiting for him to react, to kiss you, to say anything. All he can think to do is set the coffees down on the dresser, bag of bagels tipping over. One singular bagel rolls out, bumps a bottle of your perfume, and plops flat next to it.
“What are you doing with my suit?” He asks.
“I found it in the closet! Sorry to ruin the surprise, but I didn’t know you even liked Vigilante that much. Or that you were a costume guy.” You pause, kicking at the corner of your rug, “I did what I could, if you told me I could’ve put something way better together.”
“Ohhh,” A wide grin spreads across his face, “Right, sorry.”
“Do you like it?” You smooth your hands down the front of your shirt as he steps towards you, reaching for your wrist.
“Your outfit? You always look ridiculously hot, come on.” He leans down to kiss you, and his eyes find the suit before he meets your lips.
“Mm, no, hey.” You back away, pushing him away from you, “I’m a criminal!”
“What?” His eyes go wide, a cringing smile on his lips.
“Ugh,” You groan, rushing over to your dresser and rifling through the top drawer, “Hold on, you came home before I could finish, but, one second...” Trailing off, you smudge dark eyeshadow around your eyes.
Adrian’s facing you with his hands on his hips when you turn around, exasperation in his body language, a deep sigh when you finish with another “Ta da.”
“What does a bad makeup job have to do with anything?” He gestures towards you, hand falling back and slapping against his hip.
You laugh, padding over to invade his space, forcing his hands around your waist, “No, no! Get it? Striped tee shirt, dark makeup, I don’t have a ski mask but like the black beanie? I’m a cartoon criminal! Didn’t your one coworker say Vigilante told him he only kills criminals when they had that run in with the mugger a few months back?”
Everything catches up to Adrian at once, and he tugs you into the hug with a boisterous laugh, pushing you away to look at you in your entirety once he’s composed himself.
“Why would you want Vigilante to kill you?” He moves a strand of hair from your face, “Pretty silly of you.”
You let your head fall backward with an exhausted, “Noo,” forcing him to carry your weight. Your head swims a little when you snap back to look at him, “You can put on the suit, and we can maybe, I dunno, do some...roleplaying? Before whatever you’d had planned, of course. Far be it from me to steal your thunder, or whatever. I already ruined the surprise.”
“Hmm.” Adrian pushes his glasses up, breaking from the hug and running his hand along the length of the suit.
“It’s really impressive, I didn’t even know you could sew. Why do you like Vigilante so much anyway?” You ask, hopping back on the bed to curl against your pillow, watching him eye the suit.
“You really want to see me wear this?” He lifts his brows at you, looking up through his eyelashes. God, he’s pretty.
“Duh. Isn’t that why you made the thing in the first place?” Tucking your hands underneath the pillow, you reach over with a foot to kick at his forearm, “Unless you want to keep me in the dark, but I’d love to know. Are we trick or treating? Toilet papering Dave’s house?”
You pause, “Actually, no, don’t tell me.”
“So, roleplaying...I dunno, I heard this guy is really scary. You know, when you’re face to face.”
“That’s fine!” You sit back up, leaning forward on your knees, “You can try to be scary if you want.”
“Hey!”
You shrug, “Can’t be any scarier than Vigilante, that guy murders people for real.”
“Hmm.” Adrian starts tugging off his sweater, kicking his jeans off and yanking on the suit one by one.
Eager anticipation swirls in your stomach as you watch the suit come together piece by piece, tactical shirt hugging his waist, the broad shoulder-pads widening his already outrageous proportions.
“Oh, wow.” You breathe, walking over to him on the bed on your knees. You stop him from putting on the mask, craning yourself to kiss him, a hand toying with the metal buckles atop his abdomen.
“You look hotter than he does.”
“You think Vigilante’s hot?” Adrian smiles against your mouth, a gloved hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
“Sure, obviously I don’t know what he looks like under the mask but he has insane physicality from the videos I’ve seen online. I’d let him fuck me.”
“O-hoh, well, you’re about to.” He slips his tongue in your mouth, smiles interrupting what could be a true, full kiss. But still, it’s satisfying as he starts to tilt you backwards on the bed.
“I’m shaking.” Laughing, you smack his chest, “Now go ahead, put on the mask.”
The helmet shapes to him, and in an instant Adrian is gone. Vigilante remains.
“Jesus, it’s uncanny.” You edge towards him, as far on the bed as you can without falling off, reaching up to squeeze a hand under his chin, turning his head left and right, peering at him through the visor, “You’re damn talented, Adrian.”
“It’s Vigilante, hello.” He responds, grabbing your wrist.
“Oh, right, my bad. Vigilante.” You lean forward and press your lips to the mask, “Forgive me.”
Adrian’s hands come to your waist, “So,” He slips them up your shirt, “What crimes have you committed?”
You can’t help but laugh, “Oh, well, um...nothing, nothing, really. I’m innocent.”
His shoulders fall, “Well, fine, if you don’t want to confess.”
“What? You’ll just have to beat it outta me?” You run your hands up his biceps.
“No, you’re free to go.”
“Wait, what, no, Adr—Vigilante, I mean.” You peck up at his mouth, “I’ve committed crimes, lots of em.”
“Oh, yeah?” His tone is suspect, “Get real, I know you’ve never broken the law a day in your life, and I’d never date a wanted criminal anyway.”
“Obviously, but we’re just playing here.”
Adrian crosses his arms, leaning away from you, a quiet humph in his chest.
“Okay, time out, you’re being weird.” Hands on your hips, you freeze at the edge of the bed on your knees, matching Adrian’s height.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because, you went to all this trouble making this sick ass armor which, I didn’t even know you were into, and you’re kinda dancing around the whole crime thing when like, it’s just pretend. We’re fucking around, right?”
“Yes! Yeah, pretending. Not real at all.” He swipes a hand in front of him, “I didn’t even make this, I don’t even have a sewing machine. You know that, I just found this.”
The gears in your brain are grinding, confusion with every word from him. One possibility crosses your mind, but, no, there’s no way. Adrian?
“Where?” You throw your hands up.
“What?”
“Where did you find it? That’s like, an outrageous improbability.”
“In an alley.” He shrugs.
“And what were you doing in an alley?” You’re not even angry, you just feel flustered.
“Throwing trash away!”
“Adrian! Jesus Christ,” You slide off the bed, squeezing either side of his face between your hands, “Can you just tell me what’s going on? Are you friends with Vigilante or something? It’s fine if you are, just, I should be in the know.”
He reaches up for your wrists, head falling, a big sigh.
“You’re right, sorry.”
“Thank you.” You duck into his eye-line, “So, what, you’re holding stuff for him?”
He shakes his head, “No. I’m Vigilante.”
Your jaw drops, eyebrows raise. Silence crowds the room. You’re not sure you even really care, maybe it’s a bit shocking, but Adrian was always quite a bit off-kilter. Most people couldn’t deal with him for an hour much less move in with him. So he’s a secret superhero, he’d probably have better stories to tell you instead of the recurring saga of his dickhead manager, Dave. You were getting so bored of it you thought you might go homicidal yourself.
“And the rumors are totally true, I do only kill criminals, but trust me, you’re just not believable as a criminal, babe.”
The accusation pulls you from your stupor, “What? Yes I am.”
“No way.”
You shove his face away, “You don’t know. I could be a criminal kingpin.”
He laughs at you, a hand over his belly, “O-okay, sure.”
Smacking him on the shoulder, the chest, his cheek, you invade the space between you, “How’s this, then? Battery, or assault?”
Vigilante catches your wrists, “It’s battery.”
Your breath catches in your throat, the tone of his voice low and grainy, you whisper in the suspended space, “So, what, you’re going to kill me now?”
He huffs, walking you backwards toward the bed, “We’re still pretending?”
“I don’t know.”
You let him push you onto the mattress, hands coming to spread your knees apart, he stands over you. It’s menacing, even in the bright light of the late morning, the way his gaze combs over your body.
“Do you still want me to try being scary?” You’re certain he would be fighting a smile if the mask was off, voice thick with an almost-laugh, holding back for the moment.
“I think you’re succeeding.” Leaning up on your elbows, you blink hard at him.
“Want me to show you what I do to criminals? I won’t kill you.” He crosses a finger over his heart, and raises his hand, “Swear.”
Your stomach flutters at the words. He has a coarse voice when he wants, usually when he’s speaking to you in the dark, trying to level his tone, or manage your tempers. This was a step beyond, the lilt of giddiness straining underneath measured coolness.
“Yes, yeah, show me.”
Vigilante reaches behind his back, and you hear something unclasp, the smooth schlick of a knife glinting off the sun as he pulls it out.
A smile kicks its way to your mouth, and your breathing picks up, “This is new.”
“It’s a few years old at this point, needs sharpening.” He holds it in line with his thigh, tapping the tip to the metal button of a pocket.
“So, you’ve really used that on people?”
He nods, “My sword just isn’t conducive to stealth most of the time.”
A sword? You’d have to make him show you his entire arsenal one day. Where he kept all this stuff, mostly. It was a small apartment.
“Wow.” You reach out for the knife, and he keeps it from you.
“Hey.” He shakes his head, pushing your hand back, “If you think I’m gonna let someone who just committed battery on me have my knife, you’re nuts.”
Reaching forward, he pinches your chin to hold you in place, and drags the tip along the line of your jaw. He presses the flat side underneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.
“Don’t move.” He guides you gently back to lay on the bed, the tip of the knife coasting down your t-shirt before he slips it underneath the hem and punctures the thin fabric, tearing a hold big enough to slip his fingers through. He rips the t-shirt apart in a clean line, leaning up with one knee on the bed to hover over your body.
The knee-pad presses between your legs, and Vigilante slips a hand underneath your back, lifting you in a slow arch as he grinds his thigh into your cunt. The tip of the knife rests at your sternum, scratching at your skin as you breathe gently in and out.
“You’re not gonna kill me, but, are you gonna hurt me?” You ask, clasping and unclasping your fists at your side.
“No way, I don’t want to get blood on our sheets.” He looks up at you, leaning over to graze against your mouth, “Would you want me to?”
“I—” His breath is hot, and you lick your lips, fighting the urge to lean up and kiss his mask, to slick up the fabric with your wet, wanting mouth, “One day, I think so.”
“You’ll have to do something really bad, then.” He backs away, pulling the knife with him, “Here, you can take your jeans off.”
Your eyes linger on the way his fingers close over the knife, grip tighter than when he’d held it over you, and you wonder over the harshness of his touch out there. You’d heard the news stories, the condition of the bodies. Necks torn apart and limbs cut clean off, he was vicious, efficient, unyielding.
For however strange the man you lived with was, he was never ominous or threatening. Vulgar in how freely he talked about death and his entire concept of deserving victims (cops, criminals, sometimes people who cut you off in traffic,) but then, you were much the same. It was all theoretical, at least, you’d thought.
He’s back over you before the jeans have hit the floor, a finger slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear, “These are old, right? You need to replace them?”
There’s some exasperation in his voice, and you breath out a confirmation, watching him cut those off as well.
The thick fabric of his gloves slide between your legs, the bundle of damp hair protecting you from any real friction from the rough texture. His middle fingertip slips between your lips, the touch rubbery as it circles your clit.
“Just to be clear, this,” He breathes, tapping his finger at the bundle of nerves, “Is because you’re my girlfriend.”
“Oh, what?” You ask, chest heaving with the quickening of his pace, “You don’t go around fingering criminals?”
“Is that where the phrase comes from?” Head cocked, he watches you laugh at him and reach for the side of his mask, grazing his cheek before letting your hand fall back to the mattress.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmm, then no, not that kind of fingering.”
Vigilante drags the knife horizontal up your torso, the blade’s angle smooth and cold against your skin. He flicks over the thin fabric covering your nipple, a ghost touch from the edge of the blade as he coasts it back up to hold at your throat.
“If you were a real criminal I’d run this across your throat,” He tilts the knife up, pointed edge just tapping next to your pulse, “Or jam it into your jugular.”
The finger on your clit is rough, smushing the skin around your clit. The gloves reduce tactility, and he’s less precise than he would be using his bare finger, but the carelessness sends shock-waves through your thighs, just hitting the perfect spot before he’s moved a little too far to the left, the right. Up, down.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” Coarse, quiet, he leans down to hover over your mouth, “Over and over until they stop twitching. It’s easiest when they don’t fight back. I mean, really, they act like this isn’t the natural consequence for being a criminal.”
The pressure in your gut wells, coursing out through your body in waves that grow bigger and bigger, Vigilante’s voice guiding you through.
“You’d probably put up a fight, but you’re not a criminal, as we’ve obviously established.” He backs away to watch you cum, the knife flat across the pulpit of your throat, applied pressure choking your moans but far and away from the true threat of harm. It feels dangerous enough, spasming and arching into his hand, against the blade, crying out as he works a hand over his groin.
He’s inside you before you’ve come down from the last dregs of your orgasm, satisfied with the knife at your throat, suppressing comfort but not air.
“You’d look good holding the knife, though.” He groans, holding tight to your hip as he fucks into you, your legs hanging off the bed as he stands between them.
You gulp, “You think so?”
“Fuck yeah,” His head falls back. He’s working himself up into a fantasy of his own, words falling from his lips without provocation, carrying his own self away, “We could make you a suit. I’ll—fuck, I’ll teach you. You’d be my sidekick, Jesus you feel so fucking good.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck, I could kill someone for you. Absolutely.” You exhale, bringing your hand up to bite your knuckles, desperate for any sensation in your mouth if you can’t have Vigilante’s lips.
“Say that again.” He digs the dull side of the blade into your skin, “Please.”
Scratching at your forehead, you grind your head back into the mattress, “I’ll kill for you. I’ll kill with you. Fuck, Vigilante, I will, I will.” Over and over until the words are jumbling together and he’s slipping the knife back in its sheath, both hands firm on your hips.
“Yes, yes, motherfuc—” He goes stiff, jolting into you a beat later, his orgasm rocking through his entire body, “Fuck!” Loud into the air as you tug him down to press your mouth to the mask. The fabric is taut over his lips, but you can feel his breath, feel the way he tries to kiss you back. It stretches around his mouth as your saliva soaks through, moans muffled to satisfied hums as he cools, hitching his hips into you, desperation graduating to over-stimulation.
Adrian rolls onto his back beside you, yanking the mask off with a gasp of air.
You turn to look at him, incredulous laughter from you both as your brains catch up to your bodies, to the moment, what you promised and agreed upon.
“Would you really teach me?” You ask, reaching over to toy with the metal buckles on his suit.
“You really think you could handle it?” Not condescending, not doubtful, just curious, cautious.
“Yeah, I do.”
He leans over to kiss you, groaning as he pushes up from the bed, “Alright, better call Chris, then.”
“What? What’s he gotta do with anything?”
“Well, I’m Peacemaker’s sidekick, and if you’re gonna be mine, I’m sure there’s probably all sorts of politics involved.”
You shoot up from the bed, jaw slack, eyebrows raised.
“Chris is Peacemaker?!”