#iicyify

The Harvest Festival glows with lights and noise, laughter and sugar in the air. He doesn’t belong here and he knows it. But you do and you look too sweet in that skirt, walking beside the idiot who thinks you’re giving him a second chance.

Tyler keeps his hood up, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It doesn’t matter how many people brush past him, how many stares slide over him without recognition. His focus is locked on you, on the sway of your hips, on the bite mark he left on your throat, half-hidden by the collar of your blouse, and the knowledge that you’re leaking with him under that pretty skirt.

Every time your ex gets close, his nails bite crescents into his palms. The guy’s hand brushes yours and he sees red, he wants to snap it off at the wrist… But he doesn’t need to, because you’re already his.

You know it. He knows it. And your body proves it with every step.

And still you smile at that other guy, you tilt your head when he speaks, you let him lead you past booths strung with lights, past games and vendors, like you’re just another girl on a date with her high school sweetheart.

Tyler’s jaw clenches so tight it aches. Sweetheart. Fucking joke. 

Your ex-boyfriend buys you a candied apple so he watches you wrap your lips around it, sink your teeth into the glossy sugar shell, and his cock twitches hard in his pants. He imagines ripping it out of your hands, shoving his fingers into your mouth instead, watching you choke on spit while the fairground spins around you.

He shadows you through the stalls, never more than a few bodies away. People laugh, children shriek, fireworks pop in the distance and his heart pounds in a different rhythm. He imagines you pressed up against one of the rickety game booths, his hand shoved up that skirt while stuffed animals and cheap toys rain down. He imagines dragging you into the shadows under the ferris wheel, your legs around his waist, the whole damn fair spinning lights above you while you drip down his thighs.

And every time your date leans closer to whisper something that makes you laugh, he tastes copper, because all he can think about is how he’d like to split that dude’s lip open. Not because he’s a threat, but because he’s a distraction.

Your laughter belongs to him. Your voice belongs to him. Your body already does.

The guy points toward the haunted house. You nod, smiling, brushing sugar from your lips. Tyler’s breath stutters in his chest. Perfect. Dark corners, screams to cover the sound and a maze built for predators.

The line inches forward. You laugh nervously but your eyes dart sideways toward the crowd… Toward his hooded shadow watching. He sees the flicker of heat in your gaze before you force yourself to look away. His lips curl and he wonders how long you’ll keep playing the good girl. How long you’ll pretend to be your date’s sweet, shy librarian while your thighs are slick with the memory of another man’s cock.

The crowd presses into the black mouth of the haunted house. A strobe flickers, painting the world in violent bursts of white and shadow. Inside, the air smells of dust and fake fog, damp plywood and old latex. Animatronic skeletons rattle and groan from hidden speakers. Cobwebs brush across your face and cling to your hair. The screams of festival-goers echo through the maze, bouncing off walls painted with sloppy bloodstains and glow-in-the-dark bones.

Tyler slips in behind you and him, silent as smoke. The strobe catches him once; a hooded figure at the edge of the group, head lowered, hands jammed in his pockets. No one looks twice. The next flash of light erases him again.

You keep walking, your hand brushing against your ex’s, but your shoulders are tense, spine tight. Tyler sees it — feels it — and his grin spreads slow. You can sense him, even when you pretend you can’t. 

A clown lurches from a hidden door. Teenagers scream, laughter bubbling out with the sound. You flinch back into your date’s chest, but your eyes flick right into the shadows, toward him. Always toward him.

Good girl.

The maze twists tighter, corridors narrowing, decorations closing in. A spray of fog curls low to the ground, masking the floor. Plastic bats dangle from strings overhead, brushing your cheeks as you pass. Your ex laughs, tugging you forward. “Come on, it’s just fake.”

He trails both of you through the black-lit hall, close enough now to see the sweat on the back of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest beneath your blouse. Every strobe paints you in white fire, every scream from strangers masking your quick, shallow breaths.

It’s almost too easy on this perfect hunting ground. 

The next turn splits the group, some are pulled left by a shrieking ghoul, others stumbling right into a tunnel of fog. Your ex goes ahead, laughing, oblivious and you, sweet thing, you hesitate for just a second.

The strobe lights flicker again The fog machines hiss. Shadows warp and stretch across the maze, but none of them matter. Only you. Tyler almost laughs. You’re trembling, not from the fake skeletons and rubber bats, but because you know he’s here, somewhere in the dark.

His hood shields his grin as he hangs back and you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide, lips parted. That little flicker of heat betrays you, you want him to chase you. You always did.

His blood roars. His cock aches. He leans close against the wall, waits until the strobe light hits just right then lets you see him, just a flash, a silhouette in the mist and your whole body jolts.

Run.

His mind chants it, claws at it. He needs you to, needs you to scurry through this fake haunted maze, needs to hunt you down like a prey.

The music shifts into shrieks and distorted carnival tunes. Another strobe and you see him again, this time in a mirror. His reflection multiplied, his grin in every panel. You stop breathing, clutching your chest. So he mouths it through the glass: "If I catch you, you’re mine."

Your lips part, screams and strobes blur into white noise as you break into a run. Your date calls after you, worried, his voice snatched by the music but Tyler hears you; every footstep, every gasp, every frantic little sound you make in the dark….

He doesn’t rush. Predators never do. He takes his time, cutting through shortcuts in the maze, slipping past animatronic corpses and dangling cobwebs until he knows exactly where you’ll end up. You always go left when you’re panicked. Always.

And there you are, pressed against a flickering wall of neon skeletons, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. Alone.

He steps out of the mist. You see him. Your lips part for half a second and you freeze, wide-eyed, caught like prey in headlights.

That’s all he needs.

In two strides he’s on you, slamming you into the wall. The cheap wood rattles, glow-in-the-dark paint flaking onto your skin. His hand clamps your jaw, forcing your head back so he can whisper against your ear.

“Thought you could run?” His breath is hot, his laugh twisted. “The chase just makes it sweeter.”

You squirm, a sharp whimper breaking free, but his grip only tightens. His thigh wedges between yours, grinding up, spreading you open. His other hand hikes up your skirt, greedy and rough. Fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.

The strobe light flashes again, catching your flushed face, the bite mark on your throat, the mess between your thighs that he already knows is there. The screams and laughter echo through the maze, but here, in this corner dripping with cobwebs and shadows, there’s only you and him.

He lifts you up, your back slamming harder into the wall, his grip iron on your hips. You gasp, nails clawing at his hoodie, but he just grins.

“I caught you,” he snarls, biting your neck. “Now I fuck you.”

He cages you there, teeth bared like an animal that finally cornered its prey. His hand clamps around your throat, thumb pressing just enough to make your head spin. Your nails claw at his arms, not to push him off but to cling, as he frees his cock and presses inside you in one brutal thrust. The wall creaks. You cry out, muffled against his palm when he covers your mouth.

“Shhh,” he breathes, grinding deep. “Your little boyfriend’s just around the corner.”

Each slam rattles the plywood walls, the cheap cobwebs sticking to your hair and skin. His hand leaves your throat only to grab your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He spits into it, messy, and groans when you swallow without hesitation.

He pants, fucking you harder, faster, so rough the strobe lights catch every obscene jolt of your body bouncing against the wall. He wants you ruined, wants you wrecked, wants you to walk out of here dripping so much no one can mistake who you belong to.

“I’ll fuck you until you can’t stand,” he promises, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to leave a fresh mark. “And then you’ll still go back out there, leaking me down your thighs while you smile at him like nothing happened.”

The crowd roars on the other side of the wall, another animatronic skeleton screeches, but he only hears you — broken, gasping, clinging — as he fucks you like he’s going to split you in two. The light flickers just as he slams you harder into the wall, his hand clamped tight over your mouth, his hips brutal and merciless. The fake skull behind your head rattles with every thrust. You’re gone, trembling, choking on every ragged cry.

And then a familiar voice calls your name. Your stomach drops. Your ex is just outside the alcove, footsteps crunching closer. Tyler doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow. He grins, eyes wild under the hood. His cock drives so deep you see stars, and he presses harder over your mouth, forcing you silent.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your ear, hips snapping, “he’s right there. Do you want him to see you dripping on my cock?”

You shake your head desperately, tears springing to your eyes. Your date calls again, closer this time. His shadow flickers across the wall, distorted by the strobe. Tyler pulls out halfway, then slams back in so hard the wall creaks. You almost scream into his palm. He licks the side of your face in return, his breath hot against your skin.

The curtain to the alcove shifts. A hand pushes it aside an inch. Your ex's voice is so close it’s in your bones. “Hey, are you…”

Tyler doesn’t falter. If anything, his grin twists darker, more animal. He fucks you harder, deeper, grinding until your back scrapes the wall. His palm smothers every sound you try to make. 

The hand lingers on the curtain, then withdraws. Your ex mutters something about teenagers and hormones and his footsteps fade.

“Good girl,” Tyler snarls, fucking you harder, like punishing you for almost giving it away. “You nearly got caught, didn’t you? And you loved it.”

You whimper, clench harder around him, your whole body spasming. He groans low, biting your shoulder to keep himself quiet. The taste of blood, sweat, him, it blurs everything until you’re floating.

“Stay with me,” he commands, hand sliding down to choke you lightly, forcing your head back, eyes rolling. “Don’t pass out yet, I’m not done with you.”

He slams into you so hard your vision whites out. A scream rips up your throat, but his hand clamps tighter over your mouth, stealing it, forcing you to swallow the sound. You break completely, convulsing, your body betraying you, clinging to him with every quivering muscle. You see stars, your ears ring, and you’re seconds from blacking out with how hard you come.

He fucks you through it, through your collapse, through your trembling, until you’re limp in his grip, drooling against his palm, your body useless but still spasming around him. He snarls, teeth sinking into your neck as he spills inside you with a feral growl, pushing so deep you’re certain you’ll never walk straight again.

When he finally pulls back, you’re wrecked, trembling, your vision swimming. You can’t even hold yourself up. He keeps you pinned against the wall by force, watching every twitch of your ruined body.

“Look at you,” he mutters, with pride in his voice. “you nearly passed out on me. God, you’re perfect.”

You slide down the wall when he lets go, legs useless, skirt still rucked up around your hips. Your chest heaves, eyes unfocused, every nerve still crackling with the aftershocks. He doesn’t let you crumple. His hand fists in your hair, forcing your head up so you meet his eyes in the flashing lights. He looks rabid, sweat dripping down his temple, grin twisted. You can’t meet his stare for long, the hunger there is too much, too raw.

He tilts your face up, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. His chest rises hard against yours, every breath ragged. Your lips part, needy and trembling and that’s all it takes. He crashes his mouth to yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s filthy, desperate, his tongue claiming yours. He groans into it, almost dizzy with the flavor, the heat, the wrongness of it. And you kiss him back, hard and greedy like you can’t help yourself either, making his brain short-circuit.

Because you shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t kiss him like he is oxygen. You shouldn’t claw at his hoodie, pulling him closer like you’ll die if he stops. You shouldn’t moan into his mouth like you belong here, like you’re addicted to the ruin he makes of you.

The realization claws through him, jagged and electric: you want this, not just his body breaking yours, not just the danger, the humiliation, the feral roughness… You want him. 

And he shouldn’t love it… But fuck, he does.

The kiss drags on, messy and consuming. He loves the sting of your teeth when you bite back, like you’re somehow feral too. He loves the way you taste of everything he’s already done to you, everything he’ll do again the second he’ll get you alone again. His chest aches with it, a twisted, ugly ache he wants to spit out but can’t. It coils inside him, hot and sharp and wrong, whispering mine mine mine every time your tongue tangles with his… Until he finally tears himself back with a ragged growl, saliva stringing between your mouths. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot and uneven. He lingers one heartbeat more, lips brushing yours in something almost soft, almost tender, so wrong it makes his skin crawl with need. Then his grin twists into something dangerous again.

“Now go. Before I break you for good this time.”

He steps back, watches you stumble forward. The taste of you still burns his mouth, making him want to tear his own skin off because it’s not supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you. It’s not supposed to feel like he’ll never get enough. 

You walk out of the haunted house first, skirt rumpled, cheeks flushed, your legs trembling in a way no one else would notice. No one but him. He sees the way you try to smooth your hair, the way your thighs shift awkwardly, as if you can’t quite press them together without remembering how raw he left you.

And then your ex-boyfriend finds you, his arm hovering close, like he’s not sure if he should touch you or not.

“Hey, you okay?” the idiot mutters, worry dripping from his voice.

She’s fine, champ, just stuffed full of me and you didn't even notice.

You nod, force a little smile, but Tyler catches the way your eyes flick, restless, searching the crowd like you know he’s still there. Your body’s humming for him. And when the guy tries to kiss you, you turn your face, his lips brushing your cheek instead. You murmur something. Tyler can’t hear the words over the noise of the festival, but he reads the shape of them, the shrug in your shoulders, the way the guy’s face falls: Second chance was a bad idea.

Good girl.

His chest twists, that dark ache pulsing harder than before. He wants to cut through the crowd, rip you from his side, drag you down some alley and finish what he started until you can’t even stand. He wants to own every second of your night, mark you so deep no one could ever mistake who you belong to… But not tonight. Not again.

The fun is over. He has a plan, some blood to spill and a revenge to take… But he’ll be back. For you. 

☕ If you enjoyed this, buy me a coffee and I’ll brew up more filth... 👀🖤

“Looks like you have a fan.” Your dad points.

You brush it off. "Probably just some tourist."

He goes as far as kneeling on the sidewalk to get the entire piece in his shot before turning and striding out of frame again. Your brows knit and you sip your coffee again, vaguely registering that there's something familiar about him.

“You think the board is going to approve my project request?”

“It is a non-profit charity they are overseeing, a program for troubled youth that focuses on healing through art would be an incredible asset to the community….” He smiles. “Let's try to keep a positive attitude about it.”

You snort. “Alright, meet you in the car?” You drain your coffee and kiss his cheek. Before you leave the den, you watch as he pulls a photo album out from one of the shelves lining the den.

“Honey, I’m… I’m going to sit this one out.” He says softly, running his weathered finger tips across his favorite album. The once white velvet has yellowed over time, but the wedding photo in the center of the heartshaped window is as vivid as ever.

You wet your lips and nod. “I'll call you with an update.” He blows you a kiss and you back out of the room, closing the door softly.

“Howd the meeting go?” Your best friend's voice buzzes over the line as you glide through the lobby of the the office building and out the sliding doors. After straightening your bag on the shoulder, you step onto the bustling sidewalk.

“They're on the fence about whether teaching at-risk youth coping skills through art is a good investment.” Your heart sinks recalling their skeptical expressions.

“It's your family's non-profit, why do you even have to listen to them?" There's a short pause. "How'd your dad take it?"

“It's just the way it is. Dad says not to give up... he's as optimistic as always." You sigh.

“Depressing…” Their voice perks up. “So onto good news! You have a lunch date today, right?”

“Yeah… am I horrible for being tempted to flake?”

“No! Don't flake, I have a good feeling about this one!”

“Why?” You snort. “Because he collects comic books and has season passes to the aquarium?”

"Comic books count as reading!"

"Yeah, you're right." You stop to look over a vendor's display of flowers, idly perusing them, touching the delicate petals with your fingertips. One bouquet, lush with peonies, garden roses and sprays of ferns would make a splendid still life.

“Yeah, and… he's cute. Really cute.” Your friend hums.

"Why don't you go on date him then?" You mutter.

“Come on… give him a chance! He's got sweet eyes. Besides that's why you're on dating apps, right? To date?”

“I guess.” You wet your lips and nod to the flower vendor and continue walking. “But, I need more than just good looks.”

“Like what?” Your friend laughs. “Do you even know what you want?”

You pause. What do you want in a partner... in a lover? The first thought that comes to mind is, unsurprisingly, Vigilante. You want excitement and chemistry. You roll your eyes at yourself. Chemistry? Get a hold your yourself. He's a killer.

“I… as long as he isn't boring.” You begrudgingly acquiesce.

“Oh my god… please tell me you're not still pining after that fucking criminal?” Your friend accuses. “I thought you were over that.”

You grimace, your voice dropping to a low murmur. “No, I'm not pining over anyone...” You laugh uneasily. “I gotta go, have to make sure my kind eyed date isn't going to ghost me…”

“Oh, so you're finally listening to my advice?”

You smile and end the call to look over your messages again in the dating app.

You study the photo of his smiling face and just can't remember matching with this guy. He does have kind eyes, even if they're behind dahmer-esque glasses. And sexy dimples.

Usually you go for the dark and mysterious type… he's wearing a plaid button down over a basic tee shirt.

You're drawn back to his eyes, they are warm, and sweet.. Why not give this guy a chance? Maybe a nice guy will break the curse.

Besides, the dark mysterious ones tend to bolt before anything truly starts.

And your only other option is a serial killer whos ultimatum of either killing you or fucking you is thrilling but… totally screwed up. Your stomach flips just thinking about it.

A thought buzzes through you and you turn, scanning the unfamiliar faces on the crowded marketplace street. Could Vigilante be here, right now, watching you? You wet your lips. Fuck… be smart. For once… just be smart.

You tap your lunch dates cell and shoot him a text confirming the meet up. He responds right away with a thumbs up and a merman emoji. You let out a soft surprised laugh. Looks like there is some mystery to this one, because why the merman emoji? Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Adrian watches from across the street as you browse the local vendor displays in the farmers market. You look right at home in the thick of all the artisanal stands, and when you stop to look at a display of chic flower bouquets he can't help but crane his neck and stand on his toes to try to see which you're most interested in. He knows jack shit about flowers, but… how hard could it be to pick out a bunch you'd enjoy?

He watches as you chat on the phone, your face is so beautiful and expressive, especially when you laugh. He can't help but wonder if that beauty penetrates deeper than your polished exterior.

He's heard of your type before... a rich girl who taken up social justice as a mantle to help you feel like you're doing something worthwhile with your well tailored, suffocating, life.

Because no matter the amount of money you have, you always feel like you're running in place. And because you have a conscience. Alright, maybe he just gleaned all that from reading your journal in your phone's notes app. But after all these weeks of observing you, and following you, and chasing you… he feels like he knows you.

He sighs and walks parallel to you on the opposite side of the street. Foot traffic on the sidewalks provide a slight buffer that he can disappear into as he watches you.

But, it's pointless, really. You haven't noticed him… and why would you? He’s invisible to everyone as it is. Except for when he's Vigilante. That bastard gets all the attention… even if its mostly from the local police.

His phone buzzes with a notification from you. He unlocks it and stops in his tracks, grinning like a lunatic and ignoring the grumbles of people suddenly having to move around him on the sidewalk.

After he responds, he picks up the pace, heart racing, overly excited to finally speak to you face to face. Oh, god. Should he try to hug you? No... no. Take it slow.

He closes and relaxes his fists as he quickly winds through people on the sidewalk, keeping one eye on you and the other on the direction of the cafe you've agreed to meet him at.

When you swing the door to the cafe open, a little bell chimes and Adrian sits up taller, waving. Then he stands, beaming.

Usually, he can tell within the first five seconds of meeting a person how they're going to treat him. Their initial reaction to their first impression of him says it all.

His best friend Chris says he's too much. Too loud, too excited, too weird. Whatever the hell that means. Your eyes land on him, and a gorgeous wide smile spreads across your face. You wave back.

Good. This is going good. There was no skeptical glance around or that thing people do with their noses and eyebrows when they don't like something. He watches as you approach, heart hammering.

He could identify you anywhere, even blind folded, just by the sound of your steps and the smell of your perfume. You're wearing the one in the blocky glass bottle on your vanity... his favorite of them all. His breath shudders and he goes stiff when you shake his hand. He wants to press his lips against your knuckles, but manages to resist that temptation.

Be cool. Be cool…

Then he opens his mouth.

“I ordered a drink for you. The one you like.” He blurts. “I mean, you mentioned it earlier when you suggested the place, I didn't like… watch you order it one time or anything like that. That'd be creepy.”

Your mouth forms a surprised “oh”, lips turned up in a subtle smile. “Thank you.”

“The - the barista has it. I didn't want you to … I wouldn't ever want you to accept a drink from a stranger, that's dangerous.” Fuck fuck fuck… hes fucking it up just like Chris said he would! But your eyes just sparkle, in that mischievous way they do.

“That’s thoughtful of you.” You turn towards the barista's counter, then back to him with a smile. “Did you want any food?” You look pointedly at his paper coffee cup.

“No, no - I'm okay for now.” He can't eat, he's way too nervous for that.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He watches as you sweep your fingertips along the table top before you turn and stride to the counter. He takes a deep breath as he watches as you walk away, studying the familiar sway of your body.

When you come back, you set a sandwich and your coffee down. Then you hold up a giant cookie, its as big as your face.

"Will you split this with me?"

He's caught off gaurd. "Uhh.."

"Its chocolate chip, not raisin... I promise." You smile and sit across from him.

"I've always said raisin cookies are a culinary crime. Cookies shouldn't be healthy!" He blurts excitedly.

"Exactly." You grin and take a bite of your sandwich.

You're so much easier to talk to than he expected. He drags his eyes away from you when something brushes his ankle. A fluffy gray cat is winding between his legs under the table.

“I didn't know there were cats here!” Adrian grins wide and is rewarded with a sexy smirk between bites of your sandwich as you eat your lunch.

A pug faced cat just hopped on his lap. “Hey, buddy!”

“That's why this is my favorite place.” You explain, setting your sandwich down. “They do adoption events and fundraising drives for the local shelters.”

“Rad. Oh, I like this one. Look how cute he is.”

He holds a long haired gray cat up, and boops the pink nose embedded in the velvety squished face.

His breath stops in his chest when you hum, eyes sparkling, as you study him snuggling the cat. “You two do make a cute pair.”

You laugh when he grins, and he thinks he may actually die. “But, that's the cafe cat ... he isn't up for adoption.”

“Oh.” Adrian turns the cat, he's nose to nose with it, and looks into it's bright yellow eyes.

“I guess I'll just have to come visit him.” This seems to please the cat, who yawns and curls up on Adrian's lap.

“Do you have any pets?” When you smile up at him and sip your coffee, Adrian goes all hard and soft at the same time.

“No. I was never allowed to have cats or dogs growing up.” He scrunches his nose remembering. “I did have a hamster, but he escaped.”

“Well, why not now?”

“I live with my mother.” He sighs. ”But, it isn't what you think, I just… you know, I don't want to leave her.” It'd be no fun telling you he's Vigilante and a huge reason he's staying at his moms place is because its the perfect cover for his secret identity. He studies your eyes, unable to pull away from them.

“My dad … he left her for another man. His soul mate.” He shrugs. “She took it pretty hard.”

“I'm not judging. I live at home too.”

He bites his lip. Oh, I know. All about your house, your room… your bed.

God, why are his hands shaking? Pet the cat… she wont notice. Fuck, youre so beautiful. He doesn't know if he can handle this, being this close without touching you. Its fucking killing him. Then you open that gorgeous mouth.

“What do you think about the crime around here lately?” Your eyes are wide and innocent. His pulse quickens.

“Crime?” His chin dimples in a confused frown. “What crime?”

“Wait… you don't know about Vigilante?” You say breathlessly, a smile spreading across your face.

“Never heard of him.” Adrian clears his throat and readjusts his seat.

The cat, who he found out is lovingly named Monsieur Smushy Pants, purrs as he pets his head. He listens while you talk animatedly about Vigilante, your descriptions of his deeds bordering on heroic, excitement lighting your eyes up. Then he realizes it… you're obsessed. With him.

He groans inwardly as he feels himself stiffen. God, this cat better not move. Adrian subtly adjusts his waistband of his jeans, trying his best not to tip you off to just how his body is reacting to you right now.

He looks down into Monsieur Smushie's big yellow eyes. This adorable fluff ball is the only barrier between your eyes and his reaction. Can cats read thoughts?

Dont move, Smush. Because, if you jump now we're both in trouble, buddy.

He wets his lips while you continue to talk, completely unaware how he's planning to stalk and catch you as soon as possible now. Because there's no doubt in his mind anymore… you want it. Now that he's sure if it, there no way he can hold back any longer.

The house was quiet when you snuck out, covered head to toe in black, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren't planning on painting tonight, but you wanted to scout the next location. Maybe the side of a bridge, or a decorative wall boxing in some shithead billionaires summer home from the peasants. Maybe you could find a good stretch of masonry on the side of a skyscraper in the city. As far as youre concerned, the world is your oyster.

You'd parked your car a half hour ago and had been walking up and down the deserted blocks of downtown for a good while when you felt it. More specifically, when you felt him. Every time its the same sensation... like a whisper across your skin.

You haven't even scouted your first choice for your next piece when you hear a soft noise. Tread crushing gravel. Most people would pass it off as nothing. But you know it's him. Vigilante. Heart racing, a stab of excitement pulses through you as your ears strain to hear him again. When you do, you spin and run. He bellows a curse as he tears out from the shadows, hot on your heels.

Adrenaline and excitement course through you as you sprint through the outskirts of downtown. You can hear him behind you, he's no longer taking care to keep his footfalls silent, instead his boots throttle the pavement as he chases you.

You catch a glance of him in your peripheral vision. He's fully suited up and armed to the teeth. Your heart stutters at the thought that maybe... maybe he was lying. What would stop him from doing exactly what he's so famous for... killing criminals?

For the first time, real fear surges bitterly in the back of your throat. Thinking you can lose him in the woods, you dash towards a trail you're familiar with. He's right behind you as you speed down the dirt path. Youre breathing hard, heart in your throat. You make a split second decision and hop the railing and veer off the trail and into the trees... he roars in frustration.

This was such a bad idea... it’s so dark in the woods, the only light is the dappled silvery starlight twinkling through the tree tops above. Your breath is turning ragged as you sprint through the trees. You glance back and don't see him crashing through the brush after you, so you slow your pace, ears straining.

Not hearing him anymore, you chance another glance back. There's only shadows, towering trees, and the hum of insects.

Shit. You spin and take in your surroundings as you slow to a walk. Where the fuck are you? Going off trail was a bad idea. What if you can't find your way back? You don't want to be stuck out here until morning.

You find a thick tree trunk to rest your back against while you try to calm your breathing, sucking in deep breaths through your nose and puffing them out of your mouth.

He gave up pretty easily this time. Your stomach flips at the idea of him catching you, tackling you to the ground, taking you right here under the night sky. It's a good thing he gave up, you remind yourself. You bite your lip and shake your head. Yeah, it's definitely a good thing, because that sounds…

When a twig pops nearby, your head snaps up. A shadow steps from behind a tree and your breath leaves your body as cold fingers of dread trickle down your spine. Moonlight sparks off the edge of the sword strapped to his back. Vigilante stalks closer, head tilting side to side, red visor glinting.

Run you moron! You snap out of your frozen panic and dash away, jumping roots and pushing past the dark arms of bushes. Panic washes over you, making your skin prickle and tears sting your eyes. Its so fucking dark out here. Fuck... stupid. So stupid. A terrible thought comes to mind.

Your dad, if Vigilante turns out to be a liar as well as a killer, is going to be devastated. You slow again, ears straining to hear anything besides the pounding of your own heart, feeling very much like prey caught in a trap.

Vigilante materializes out of the darkness in front of you. A startled cry escapes your lips before the wind is knocked from you and your perception changes, youre not staring into his mask anymore... youre looking up at the stars.

You tripped. You fucking tripped! You watch from below as he towers over you, stalking closer, one gloved hand clenched around a knife. You scramble back, breath trembling, cold dread locks your throat into silence.

Oh god. He lied of course he lied… he's going to kill you. Youre dead. This is it. A spike of fear lances through you and your brain goes into survival mode.

You turn, whimpering, crawling away from him as quickly as you can, trying to get back on your feet. But he's faster and stronger.

He roughly grabs your hips and wrestles you down. You're breathing hard, trying to fight him off, punching, clawing, kicking. The various weapons attached to his hosters press into your soft curves.

You expect him to hurriedly strip you down before unbuckling his pants and plunging into you. Plunging something into you. He doesn't.

“Do we still have an agreement?” He growls as try to kick him off of you.

You look into that blood red visor of his and nod.

“Say it out loud.” His voice is low and clipped.

“Yes!” Your voice trembles. Vigilantes head tilts and a dark laugh trickles from his chest. Then he hooks his hands around your ankles and pulls you across the leaf strewn ground while you thrash.

Once he's got you where he wants you, he unbuttons your pants and jerks them down to your knees and spreads your legs wide. Then he lays belly down on top of them, and pulls his mask up above his chin, then over his mouth and nose.

Your hips are shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline rush, everything in you screaming that hes a threat. Your mind is still commanding your body to get away from him. But he holds you down firmly, leaning his forearms onto your thighs to still them, pinning you with your legs spread wide, knife still clutched in one hand.

A quivering gasp escapes you when he presses his hot mouth to your pussy, kissing it over your underwear. He hums and uses a gloved finger to sweep them to the side, exposing you to him.

You yelp when you feel the cold metal of his blade press against your hip, hot tears flooding your eyes. The fabric of your underwear snaps once the razor edge of his knife slips under it. He cuts the other side and groans as he presses his tongue into you, languidly licking your swollen pussy in slow strong strokes, up and down.

Heat flushes your face at how your body is reacting to him. You whimper and buck when he sucks your pulsing clit into his mouth only to release it and push his tongue inside of you.

You.. thought he was going to fuck you. Your hips quiver uncontrollably, the excitement and thrill of him finally catching you overwhelming your senses. You whisper his name as he presses his tongue further into you. Your eyes widen when he spins his blade in his hand, only to stab it down into the ground next to your hip and pull you closer.

“Vig… Vigila-” You gasp.

He lets out a low tortured groan and nips the inside of your thigh, leaving you gasping in surprise. His hips press into the loamy ground below as he lifts your thighs onto his shoulders, licking and slurping.

God, what is trying to do? Eat his way to your heart? Fuck. You struggle to clear your head as his mouth works you into a slick, pulsing, whimpering mess.

Finally, your hand drifts down to his head, fingers bunching on the top of his mask. You want to pull it off, you want to see his face. Your breath stalls when he quickly shifts and grabs your wrist, pinning it forcefully to the ground. You whine at the discomfort and wriggle with renewed efforts, trying to buck him off.

It doesn't work. He just pulls you closer and presses his face into you deeper. A dark laugh rumbles out of his chest, vibrating through to your core. He continues his unhurried, almost torturous pace, soft slick tongue sweeping across your pussy over and over until stars start popping in your field of vision - closer and brighter than the stars peeking through the canopy of trees above.

Your thighs begin to shake, breaths coming fast... you squeeze them around his head. He lets out a muffled groan, and when he presses a gloved thumb to your clit and begins circling it, you shatter completely, an intense orgasm ripping through you. You helplessly ride it out against his mouth, locked in place by his arms, thighs quivering, tears stinging your eyes, whimpering pathetically. He continues to lick and suck your pussy until he's satisfied, well past the point of overstimulation... you're a gasping, throbbing, sobbing mess by the time he pulls away.

Then he's holding you up, your legs trembling under you. His mask conceals his face now, but nothing can conceal the raging erection he has. He gently pulls your pants up, buttoning them and giving your throbbing swollen pussy an appreciative little pat. A stab of anger rears up, you want to knee him in the dick, but youre too weak and exhausted to act on it. Then he turns his attention to a sound in the woods. His hands grasp your shoulders and turn you so you face another direction.

“That way. Three second headstart...” He growls. When you glance up at him again your breath catches and you take a few steps back. His sword is unsheathed and in his fist. Theres… blood stains on it. Did he kill someone tonight? Your mouth goes dry as his shoulders bunch menacingly, looking like he's ready to pounce. Ready to kill.

Heart racing and knees weak, you stumble and eventually sprint in the direction he turned you, not daring to glance back.

If you had looked back you'd realized sooner that you left your bag. Vigilante grins and snatches it up from the ground, watching you as you disappear in the direction of your car.

He'll make sure you find it, and that you get home safe. He could wait, but he can't help but rifle through your little bag of tricks immediately.

You've got the usual supplies he'd expect you to have, half full spray paint canisters, gloves, safety glasses. When his hand clasps around the edge of some kind of book he pulls it out.

It's a sketch book. He taps his phones flashlight on and carefully turns the pages.

“So talented, baby…” He whispers. He can still taste you. God were you sweet. His eyes eat up page after page of sketches and drawings. Then he sees something he wasn't expecting. He grins and bites his lip behind his mask.

“Oh… so this is what you want?” He whispers as he continues turning the pages, growing more excited with each new imaginative depiction youve painstakingly brought to life with ink and graphite and paint.

When the pages are blank again, he closes the sketch book and looks up in the direction you disappeared into, wishing he hadn't let you run off so quickly.

“I hear you loud and clear…”

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I put my whole heart into writing please leave a heart comment or reblog if you liked it 🥹 🫶

Part 3

Xo, M.